Colorado Skiing

No posts for awhile, nor running for that matter.  Lots of work.  Alice and I have been managing to squeeze some skiing in on the weekends though.  This is Alice's first season skiing, and we've managed to hit up Eldora, Keystone, Winter Park and Loveland.  Very enjoyable - some pictures from these adventures are below.

Part 2 - In which medical attention is acquired.

So here I am, 5:20pm, it is getting dark, and I am wandering through the streets of Playa del Carmen, with only a vague idea of my whereabouts and destination.

And a very wide open head wound, with blood trickling down my temple and neck.

Needless to say I got some funny looks.

About 30 minutes and maybe 2 miles or so of wandering later, I arrive at the Red Cross, and after some confusion with the door (I couldn’t figure out how the hell to get in), I approach the counter where an EMT is sitting admitting people.  There’s a bit of a crowd in the waiting room, and I’m worrying that it may take awhile, but as I wait in line, the room empties quickly, with people and families being called back, and my stress eases a bit.

Eventually I get to the counter.  The conversation goes like this:

EMT: Buenas tardes.

Me: Buenas tardes, pienso que necessito puntos en mi cabeza (I show him my head)

The EMT guy takes one look at me, gets up, walks away, calls for the doctor.

In walks the doctor.  Very nice lady.  Conversation/action went like this:

Dr: Buenas tardes. Que es su problema?

Me. Buenas tardes, Yo corto me cabeza en un piedra, y pienso que necesito puntos

(I again show my head, to which the doctor gives a sort of ‘Yikes’ face to.)

Dr.: Cuando paso?

Me: Um….mediodia.

Dr. (shocked): Cuando?!?

Me (thinking I may have said something unintelligible due to my blood loss): Uh, doce?…hace 5 o 6 horas….Noon?

Dr.: No…Entiendo, pero…Dios mio….OK,..sigueme.

And so I was lead back into the clinic where the doctor and 2 nurses proceeded to put 4 stitches into my scalp and get a quick medical history, all in Spanish.  Much fun was had with the fact they got to cut my hair to access the wound.  Less fun was had when the nurses had to brace themselves to hold my skull steady as la doctora was yanking my scalp back together with medical twine.

The wound upon return from the Cruz Roja

In the end, all told, I had the following expenses:

The stitches, obscured by my hair.

$ 215 pesos for the procedure and clinic fees

$ 295 pesos for the antibiotics that I had/have to take because I spent the better part of the day walking around with an open wound protected only by Captain Ron’s gross shirt. 

This is the equivalent of  $36.39, and none of that involved any kind of insurance.

While I have many thoughts about this and the implications for the medical system in the US, I will share only the following two:

1.     With ‘good’ insurance in our privatized system, when I got stitches earlier this year in a less critical area (knee) and for a smaller wound, I've paid at least $500, just received and paid off the last bill, and very frankly lost track of all the bills that were sent and paid, so it was likely more.

2.     I waited less than 5 minutes for care in what was the equivalent to an ER/Urgent Care place.  Once, in Vegas, Alice and I waited to see a doctor for over 10 hours, all told, when she had a pulmonary embellism, and during which time I watched a man sit down to wait with 3^rd degree burns such that I could see the tendons in his arms move like piano wire.

So in the end, my head was still pounding, and I had to miss a few days of running (2), but I was mostly faced with the following ironic fact:  I had chosen to forego a trip to Mexico because I had stitches, only to end up getting stitches while in Mexico.  So there’s that.

An homage for Arrested Development fans.  That was the dressing the nurses put on me.

And the moral of the story is, if a stoned out beach bum tells you that you are fine and your injury isn’t a big one, never, for any reason, under any circumstances, ever, for any reason, should you believe him, or allow anyone else to.

Part 1 - In which a head injury is sustained...

For my first 2012 post, I shall recount the non-running related events surrounding yet another non-running related injury which I sustained.  To give context here, my family and I went to Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico over the break.  These events occurred the second day we were there.

Leading into the actual accident, we had spent the morning visiting Mayan ruins (very cool) then doing a zip-line/ropes course (pretty bored by this, what with trad climbing and all) that involved a 30 minute ride into the jungle aboard a suspension-less German army personnel truck with our stoned-out guide (think Captain Ron, if you have seen that abomination of a film).  After these activities, we were set to go swimming and snorkeling in cinotes, limestone caverns that were now filled with water.  These were spectacularly beautiful, with stalactites reaching down towards crystal clear water, and bats flitting in and out of the cavern roof and surrounding trees. 

So not 5 minutes after diving into this thing, I’m diving down to the bottom of the cave, a ways away from the entry point and where my family are swimming, and as I come up, I'm fiddling with my dive mask, and surface directly underneath the 2' square hulk of a now broken off stalactite/stalagmite column, head first. At first this was both painful and frustrating, but in retrospect, I doubt I would have even been able to distinguish the obstruction, being as it was, the same color as the ceiling of this cave. Regardless, it was a thunderous collision, and as soon as I swam to the side and out from under block in question, I immediately head to a rock, and perch myself up there to let the reverberations of pain subside, and ensure that I've not got a concussion, and that I'm not in 15' of water should I pass out.  After a moment or two, I’m thinking, “Ok, not so bad...Don't seem to be dizzy or anything, so I’m good, I’ll just have a wicked goose-egg tomorrow.”  But just as I am finishing this thought, something is running into my eye and blurring my vision, so I reach up and touch my head, and my hand comes away soaked crimson with blood. 

With this new information, I jump back into the water, and swim towards the exit, allowing others to now notice my condition, since I'm swimming back with my head pouring blood down my face and neck.  Out of the water I come. Everyone is getting a bit panicky, and so I try to defure things, and calmly just ask if they have any gauze, a med kit, or anything.  Nope.  So Captain Ron, who is not dealing with this crisis well himself, tears off his shirt and hands it to me, only to stop short, and ask, “I gotta ask man, you don’t have AIDS do you?”  Nope.  So he dumps a bottle of water over my head, then I proceed to begin putting pressure on my wounded scalp, which I have yet to see, with the shirt this guy has been wearing since 7am (it is 11:30 or noon) in a hot, humid jungle. Sanitary, yes? I know I was pleased.

This was taken just prior to our 35 minute ride out of the jungle.  I look thrilled, right?

The next 5 hours, to try to avoid all the minutiae, involved everyone around me trying to convince me that this was not a big deal, and that ice and pressure would fix it, and maybe I should eat something, while it became more and more obvious to me that I was far and away the most qualified person to make that sort of medical judgment (Captain Ron, nor his colleagues, were exactly EMT trained - At one point hydrogen peroxide was applied, but it's effects were minimal since the aforementioned t-shirt went right back on my head), but had no way of seeing this particular wound.  So it was Captain Ron’s shirt and a block of ice from the beer cooler as medical supplies while we rode the 35 minutes out of the jungle, bouncing up and down in the troop transport.  This was, I have to say, probably the worst part of the whole endeavor, as a bouncy ride trying to keep pressure on a wound with a hard block of ice that keeps bouncing up then slamming down on said wound, was, in a word, awful.

Around 4, we finally arrive at a place where I can take a taxi home.  But no one wants this to happen, since I think they worried they would be abandoning me. This wasn't a concern for me, my still bleeding scalp being much more disconcerting, but I struggled to communicate this. Eventually, I escape the sage advice of Captain Ron (“If you get in the salt water, it’ll close right up,"…"Just go chill out in a hammock and have a beer,”), make it home via a taxi, shower, and get to assess the state of my scalp.  The injury itself was a rather long, ‘7’ shape that continued to bleed with significant gusto. I will not describe it in detail, but will only say that, following my quick exam, it was apparent that the tectonic plates of my scalp were shifting independently of one another along the fault line of the cut.  This is, of course, grounds for stitches.  And so, nearly 6 hours after the incident, I wander off into Playa del Carmen with a vague idea of the location of a Red Cross station, to get medical attention....

Did the trails just get rockier?

Since the second Monday in June, when I crashed and broke my wrist, I have not been on a bike.  Part of this was doctor's orders, but the last month or so has mostly been due to fear and fitness (lack of) for riding.

However, since cycling is normally a big part of my cross-training regimen, and this week was a down week, I took my mountain bike out for the first time in months.  It was both great to be back out, but also terrifying, as it seemed not just my cycling fitness, but any semblance of handling skills had disappeared over the summer, and the trails; trails I run on (and rode on this spring) daily, seemed suddenly to have sprouted more rocks, bigger rocks, and tighter turns. 

I didn't fall, but I did have to unclip several times on what is really a pretty easy loop, which didn't exactly help with the whole fear thing.  Maybe I should have gone out on the road before I tried mountain biking again.  Ah well.  Based on that performance, reintroducing regular riding will have to wait until after the Bootlegger, I think.

Below enjoy a photo of my beloved Orbea Alma 29er.  No factory build here, I put this together from the ground up this past spring.

Bear Chase media

First, my Bear Chase result got some coverage from RunColo.com.  This is probably the first and last time my name will ever be featured next to a world champion's (J. Simpson) in any sort of discussion of athletic performance:

http://www.runcolo.com/content/charles-hillig-michael-dominguez-jenny-simpson-impress-other-colorado-race-results-9-24-9-25-869/

 Second, pictures from the Bear Chase came in, taken by Running Guru.  

Pretty obviously the start at 6:50am. That meant a 4:00am wake-up.

First 10k.  The guy in the jacket and no shirt hung for 8k, clipping my heels, then disappeared.

The most sedate of the 3 stream crossings.

Another stream crossing on the first lap, with Paul Terranova sitting in second behind me.

At the top of the major climb.  The park was spectacularly beautiful.

Apparently the camera guy knew I was finishing.

Bear Chase Trail Race 50k

I have just returned home from a much needed massage following the Bear Chase Trail Race 50k in Lakewood, CO.  It was a pretty spectacular event; well run and on a great course.  This event was meant to be a psuedo-culmination of my training cycle, with the upcoming Bootlegger 50k in Vegas a potential bonus on the end of a long season, so I was hoping for this to go well, and it did indeed.

The race was a fairly large one, and included a 50 mile, 1/2 Marathon and 10k event as well as the 50k I ran.  All 4 of these races used the same course loops, one a 10k loop around Bear Creek Lake, and one a 20k loop that circled the whole park, both of which shared the same start/finish/crewed aid-station area.  For the 50k, we did one lap of the 10k loop, then 2 of the 20k loop, with 1,950' of climbing, though I'm not sure if that was per lap or overall.

My preparations and pre-race for this went well, and going in, I was, based on the times from last year, aiming for a 3:50.  With this in mind, I left Alice and Anthony at the start line with instructions for what water bottles and nutrition to hand me each lap, and estimated times through of :46.00 for the first 10k, and 2:18 for the 30k.  The race though, went a little differently than my plan.

I'm not about to narrate everything that happened during the race, but I ended up running far more aggressively than I anticipated I would, coming through the first 10k in :40.42, then the 30k mark in 2:06, and feeling pretty good.  At this point, it started getting pretty hot out there (there was a high of 88 on the day according to later news reports), and my shoes hit the end of their supportive lives, so I slowed a bit on that last lap, but ended up coming through the finish line in first in 3:37.40.  Great, right? Not apparently.

To be clear, I'm in no way griping, the following circumstances were just pretty comedic:  I cross the finish line and proceed to stop, and stumble around a bit, expecting someone to say something, seeing as how I just won and all, but nobody does.  No cheering from the crowd, no acknowledgment by the announcer, no sign of Alice or Anthony. It is in fact oddly quiet.  At this point, a race volunteer comes over to me and sweetly instructs me that I'm stumbling in the wrong direction.  The aid-station is over there, to the right.  I'm done, I inform her.  Realization strikes her face, she gives a cheer, and eventually the announcer catches on too.  This kind volunteer gets me a chair, and some other excellent volunteers generously fetch gatorade and water.  However, my wife and buddy are still MIA.

It is a few minutes before the next finisher comes through.  I greet him, say congrats, but still no Alice or Anthony.  A few minutes more, and I begin to get really curious. I want to change my shoes, and get to some nutrition in my bag, but don't really want to walk myself to the car just yet.  I look around, and eventually see Alice sitting a ways away among some other spectators.  Still seated, I start waving to her, which manages to catch her attention, and draws them rushing over.  The resulting conversation went something like this:

Alice:  "Oh my gosh, did you just finish?!?"
Me:  "I've been done for 15 minutes."
Alice: "What!?!"

As it turns out, Alice and Anthony weren't expecting me for quite some time, as per my instructions and goal time, and the fact they didn't hear the announcer or any cheering, because no one thought I had finished.  This is all made doubly hilarious because last year at Imogene, Alice wandered off from the finish line in Telluride to get my bag from the car, only to miss me finishing.  Both were good races, so maybe I should encourage her to get distracted at the end of races more often.

In any event, the Bear Chase was a great event, and the course was really quite beautiful.  Definitely worth attending/racing.  I will post pictures and media as they become available.

Imogene 2011

Imogene is over.

This race had been a primary objective of mine for this year, so I was understandably a bit nervous before hand.  Lots of variables come into play during an event like this, where one runs from Ouray, CO at 7,000' the 10 miles it takes to get up and over the 13,100' Imogene Pass, and then 7+ more miles down into Telluride at 8,000'.  It's an awesome race, despite the story I am about to relate.

Telluride celebrating the race, with the pass in the background.

Unfortunately, this year I had a less than awesome experience with the race.  After a fine drive from Boulder to Ouray, a normal pre-race day, and sedate evening, I attempted to go to bed around 9 for my planned 4:30 wake-up and 7:30 race start. This didn't work out as planned. Dunno if it was worries about work, nervous stress, or not a long enough run that day, but lying in bed staring at the ceiling worrying about how being awake is going to ruin your race is not a good way to either a) prepare to race, or b) get to sleep. Long story short, I got 2.5-3 hours of intermittent sleep.

Despite this, I managed, with some trepidation, to make it to the start line.  Unlike last year, when I had no clue what the heck I was doing, this year I had some expectations, lined up at the front, and sleep or no, planned to give it a shot.

This attitude worked, sort of.  I started out well, with Mike Smith (the eventual winner) and some other guy taking off ahead in mile one.  No worries, I thought, my climbing tends to get stronger at higher altitude and then I've got the descent.  But 3 miles in, my lack of sleep and prior week of not feeling ideal crept up on me, and things went bad, fast.  My legs started feeling as heavy as concrete, and my muscles were burning like I was in the midst of a set of over-weighted squats.  Add on to that, I was having issues getting my nutrition down, and the remaining 7 miles didn't look like they were going to be pleasant, let alone possible.  It took some serious self-abuse (and an embarrassing amount of walking in the last 2 miles to the top) to get myself to the pass far slower and in worse shape than I had been planning on.  A few people had passed me (I was sitting in 5th position, I think), and 3 people were close on my heels, closing the gap fast on the climb.  Not a good spot to be in.

At this point in the race, however, things can't get worse in an exertion sense, so there was some consolation in that.  Still hoping to make the most of it, I did what I'm good at, and dropped out of the sky on that descent, passing in the first 2 miles of downhill running all but Smith (who was astronomically further ahead).  Things looked good at this point, until I took a wrong turn.  The course basically runs down a jeep road that winds up to the pass, but there are occasional offshoots that, at certain points, may or may not be the right way.  Hitting a particularly confusing fork, I saw port-a-johns off to the right, and so took that way, only to run into a gate, realize it was the other road, and have to run back and get onto the correct path.  Add 3 minutes to my time right there.

Following my wrong turn and correction, it was a pretty straight-forward run into the finish, only to find myself second by....19 minutes, and my time almost the same as from last year, when I was in far less refined shape.  Pretty disappointing.  I had been hoping to run around 2:20, which I think would have been possible (particularly considering my wrong turn adjusted time was 2:26) had I not had sleep and nutrition problems, and better been able to capitalize on my fitness. It was not my best day ever.

Anthony, Cara and Alice, post race in Telluride

Despite all that, Anthony, Cara, Alice and I had a nice weekend, and Telluride and Ouray were once again beautiful and impressive.  Hopefully I'll be able to sleep the night before next year, and have a better go at this tremendously awesome race.