Ties

Skander-ness

adventure

I woke up on June 29th knowing exactly where I needed to go for the 4th of July holidays. A few phone calls and a few days later, I was headed into the Cowen Cirque south of Livingston, Montana. In my last blog post I lamented not having the adventures I really want. Time to stop lamenting. We left Bozeman at 530am on the fourth, carried our climbing gear up the 9 mile, 3,600′ vertical trail, and drank in views of an incredible climbing line. Knowing my foot, and afternoon thundershowers were still a huge liability, we took the rest of the day to rest and watch the weather. It rained at 430pm, blew over at 630pm, and our friend Marko showed up to boost the spirit at 7pm.

At the base of the very wet route.

Josh and I woke up at 400am on the 5th, and moved quickly- breakfast, bathroom, gear, approach the route. 545am- rain. Shit. And it kept raining. We found the base of the route, but it was pouring, so we bailed and hiked up into the Cirque. While we were both sad not to climb the technical route, I think it’s impossible not to be stoked on simply being in the Cowen Cirque.

The Yellowstone Range, from the Cowen Cirque.

We had left a few creature comforts in hopes of “going light” and with more rain on the horizon, it seemed unlikely the route would be dry even by the 6th. So we hiked out and made promises of our return.

More hiking. Sad faces but great company.

This is for my mom- it’s wildflower season…

After the hike up to the Cirque, and 20 miles on the trail, my foot was cooked. Maybe the weather was a sign I wasn’t ready to be on big rock routes, but it doesn’t matter. The focus of my weekend changed on the way down, perhaps towards something even more important.

So wet. Everywhere.

Back in Bozeman Josh left for the Tetons, and I was still itching for a climbing fix. Marko and I headed out to Gallatin Canyon for a few pitches, and a little more validation that my foot is indeed still recovering. The rain chased us back to Bozeman, and left me scratching my head for the “next thing”. Saturday dawned with splitter weather, but I could barely walk. I was searching, and wasn’t going to stop. “Get your bivy gear Marko, let’s go.” My original vision from the previous Saturday wouldn’t fade- we got in the car and let my lead foot take over. I wanted alpine, any way I could get it.

Traffic jam, Yellowstone style.

East then south, then east, then north. Paradise Valley, Yellowstone National Park, the Beartooth Highway, and East Rosebud came and left the windshield. Saturday night the road ended in Alpine, Montana, and we walked from there. 10 years ago I came to Alpine after my first ever alpine climb on Granite peak. This place is even more inspiring now. We walked up the trail until I couldn’t any more, and camped on a boulder, under a boulder, with the rain washing around us.

Marko. Always game.

The morning dawned clear and we woke early. Marko had to work, and I was ready to let some domestic chores pull me away from the deep reflection and introspection the wilderness can bring. Thanks Josh for your indomitable stoke, and Marko for your willingness to simple be there with me.

lessons

So what was I chasing? Skander-ness. Like the eagles, and the mountains, I wanted to see what Skander would do, when he couldn’t be the running, climbing mountain athlete that he aspires to be. For a long time now, I’ve been living with the determination that who we are is determined by what we do- but really, this is backwards. What we do is a reflection of who we are. In many ways, I am so focused and driven by what I “should” be doing, rather than simply doing what feels most authentic to me. The notion that I am like a mountain, defining “what is Skander” simply by being, rather than pushing myself to be any particularly thing has been comforting. This post and my trip last weekend are fun reflections of that.

My last few posts have been an accurate reflection of the sadness in my heart. Compassion, breath, and gentleness have been on my mind. These are the things I need most, and are the things that I am the least good at. For a long time I’ve held to the notion that “we can be whoever we dream we are.” I’m realizing that some of the best support I’ve gotten recently has been from friends who share that vision of who I can be, even when it includes the things that I am not so good at. I’ve written a lot about my core values, but sometimes they can feel like a burden I have to uphold rather than an affirmation of who I simply truly am.

This weeks realization: “support” is more than encouraging words or physical acts- it is the belief that someone can accomplish their dreams, even if they are very difficult or don’t come naturally. My friends know my ability for compassion, joy, and gentleness- they are holding that in trust for me. I’m grateful to tap into it.

Enough.

Protected: Processing

Enter your password to view comments.

Protected: Here First

Enter your password to view comments.

Change

1 Reply

I was supposed to head down to Utah again last night, but after a difficult telephone conversation it became clear that the motivation for going had changed, and I was not to go again. Sometimes people are different, and realizing that can be a sudden and unpleasant surprise. The morning after change is often when it is the hardest to swallow.

This post may be premature, but in my commitment to leading an examined life in this space, it would incongruous not to discuss the difficult bits. Some lessons:

Choose your words carefully- they can pack far more meaning than intended.
Never skip an opportunity to express gratitude.
Question your criticisms- they are less useful, less witty, and less wise than they may originally appear.
The power of compassion, and silliness, should not be underestimated.

Per the second item, I am grateful that the pain illuminates some dark, unnoticed corners of my personality. I am profoundly grateful to have been exposed to her joy, her wisdom, her compassion, and her energy, even for a short time. This time around, it is clear that this outcome was a product of my own word and actions, and I’m hurting for it. I have a lot of work to do on my manhood, and I look forward to it being a theme for the summer.

Easy Thankfulness.

Thank you, desert lady.

Portland #6: A Look Back

2 Replies

(written Sunday night)

Driving down I-84 into the Columbia River Gorge Friday night I felt my chest rise and breathe a little more easily. Portland feels like a stable vantage point to look back at the course I’ve plotted since the spring of 2011. A step back from the (suddenly insignificant) concerns I choose to carry in the day to day of Missoula.

Hello Oregon.

Life seems nice here. Maybe it’s the options for breakfast, but more likely it is the deep relationships that have already weathered time and distance. The bigness of the city reminds me of the smallness of my life, like my brother that reminds me not to take myself too seriously.

Mark and George. Trouble.

My foot is healing. I’m back in regular shoes, but walking with a limp. Workouts still aren’t a priority, and some of the nerve ends still aren’t firing correctly. Many cups of coffee and brilliant Portland food accompany a description of my life that plays on repeat, every two hours meeting a new old friend. David has an xtracycle that makes riding around town feel even more familiar (I still miss that bike). Being back here seems to lift the self imposed limits I’ve put on my life in Missoula.

Many cups of coffee.

A little too much fun?

I mostly made it back to spend some time with Mark and Kylee before they move to Philadelphia. Upon arrival, my priorities seemed to multiply, and I filled every possible minute seeing people. The farther I am from living there, the more I realize how that place affected my adult life. Thanks to everyone there that continues to support me, David for putting me up (with a real bed and everything), and George for putting up with me.

Barb, the Doctor, and Gleb (if he weren’t in Mongolia).

Addendum:

I’m excited to be back in Missoula. In many ways, this is the harder path, but there’s space here for consequence. Space to try and fail and success and explore. Maybe I didn’t challenge myself to take my Portland life to the next level, but it seemed obvious. I left to follow my journey, and I’m glad to come back here and find I’m still on it.

Morton’s Neuroma

16 Replies

I’m writing this in hopes of helping other people get more information on a debilitating foot condition called Morton’s Neuroma (warning, graphic photo below).

My left foot, working itself to oblivion.

In October of 2011 I spent 16 days riding a bicycle ~700 miles from Bogota, Columbia to Quito, Ecuador. Days in the saddle were long, hills were steep, and I wore trail runners for the utility of having around the town shoes. After moving to Missoula, I got back into a regular pattern of long trail runs, and shortly developed an annoying pain in my left foot. I had high deductible health insurance and a healthy distrust of western medicine, so I tried ice baths and acupuncture and strengthening exercises and anything else I could think of. No luck.

Spring 2012, more biking, less running.

I started biking more, and got away from running all together, until I found 5 Fingers. My toes splayed out wider, my calves got stronger, and I got back to running. Morton’s Neuroma describes damage to nerve tissue in the web spaces between your toes, and normally feels like shooting pains. I felt the pains strongly wearing normal closed toed shoes, but the 5 Fingers seemed to keep me pain free. In June of 2012 I fractured my second metatarsal after a 14 mile run in 5 Fingers. I saw a certified Podiatrist, he gave me a walking boot, and confirmed my symptoms as Morton’s Neuroma. Not my finest moment, but I didn’t have any trouble with the Neuroma for a while.

$10,000', Pintler wilderness. The day before this photo was taken, I fractured my second metatarsal.$

10,000′, Pintler wilderness. The day before this photo was taken, I fractured my second metatarsal.

I got back to running in 5 Fingers in September 2012, and even started to wear closed toed shoes with a substantial metatarsal pad in the footbed. Things seemed to get better, until they got worse. Real pain returned in October, and I went back to the podiatrist in November for a cortisone shot. This seemed to provide some substantial relief, but I wasn’t up to running, and by the time ice season rolled around in December, ice boots didn’t feel very good either. The podiatrist wasn’t even interested in the followup appointment, let alone giving me further options for treatment. I stumbled out of his office and hoped for the best.

I went to Australia in January of 2013 and wore flip flops and 5 Fingers for a month. I was pretty much pain free, and even got out for some longer running. I took closed toed shoes, and wore them on occasion, but I had fallen in love with the 5 Fingers, so I didn’t worry about it. Coming back to work in February and something flared up in my foot, and things turned ugly for real. While in Seattle, I happened to talk to a client that had had the same problems. I had avoided even thinking about another surgery on my left foot. The bunion I had removed in March of 2011 was enough to turn me off the idea. This guy though, said it was required and I was starting to get desperate.

Just not that fun.

I boot the walking boot back on after a tough construction job in the beginning of April and got the name of a good surgeon in town. Walking without the boot became purely impossible over the next week. The surgeon and I talked on April 30 and it didn’t take long for me to realize cutting things open is sometimes the best way to go. Last Friday morning, Dr. Heid cut a 1.25″ bag of seriously pissed off nerve tissue out of the top of my left foot.

morton neuroma, neuroma surgery specimen.

The perpetrator. Scale in centimeters.

I’m taking it slow and dreaming of running in the gorgeous evening light outside my window. A big thanks to the team at Northern Rockies Orthopedics, my lovely girlfriend Sarah, and the many different Missoulians that have come out of the woodwork to trade cars (Steph&Noah!), make meals (Krista&Nate), and generally make life easier (Meghann, Tess, Paul, Kim, and many more). I think life is going to be better this way.

Good company on my couch.

Lessons:

Don’t ignore the early symptoms. Toughing it out is a bad plan.
Don’t rule out the options. I’ve passed up more adventures than I’d like to admit in the last year, mostly because I didn’t really dig into dealing with the problem.
I’m still not sure there’s a way to avoid surgery, but I suspect early treatment is always better.
Dr. Heid suspects that my leg length discrepancy+an improperly adjusted touring bike probably put my feet over the edge with all the other abuse I’ve put on them. Get your bike fitted and make sure your body mechanics work. $300 bike fitting >> $3000 surgery.
The writing desk.

My Favorite Things

2 Replies

I remember when I was very young, my mom taught me to sing “My Favorite Things.” You might allow a single mom raising two kids and running a business would be tempted to complain sometimes, but I remember this song more than any complaints. In high school, I found the legendary John Coltrane cover of the same tune, and I think back to jamming out teenage angst on that 3/4 groove.

I’ve been feeling pretty out of my groove lately- my foot has me shut down, moving house has required heroic effort, and professional fulfillment seems frustratingly illusive. Coming home from the grocery store tonight though, I started to notice a few of my favorite things:

The way the sun dapples through the new crabapple tree outside the living room.

Sharing with people.

The way the sun and breeze dry my clothes in the Montana spring.

The visuals are easy, but stepping back there are plenty of others.
– I have people in my life that remember how wonderful I am, even when I don’t remember myself.
-That whether I see it or not, the sun rises every damn morning.
-and even when I’m not my best, other people are, and that inspires me.

What are your favorite things? Post to comments.

Try!

1 Reply

“Sometimes, you just gotta jump in with both feet and try your best.”

I was in over my head at work again today. Fortunately when I got home, I saw this from my friend Tom (spoiler- contains adult language, but will make your day). Click the link, it’s the point of the post…

Planning and organizing and teaching people about 700lb windows from Poland is hard, especially when you are 200 miles from home.

So difficult it was comic.

Huge props to the Dave and the crew at Chase Skogan Homes. Back to adventures soon.

stickthefeeling

engineering, adventure, and balance