Double take

A day well spent, in two parts, up Lundy Canyon. This morning, huffed almost to the resort at the backside of Lundy Lake (or the front side, I guess ... depending on whether you have a peak or basin perspective). Cruised downhill, with heavy thighs, faster than Mill Creek.

Then, in the late afternoon, S and I drove past where I had turned around to take a short hike into the Hoover Wilderness. The wildflowers had mostly passed, but there were still lots of larkspur, monkshood, columbine, paintbrush (scrophulareaceae galore), and one lonely tiger lily to be seen, the final flame of August:


The canyon must have been unbelievable with color earlier in the season. In any case, it's a good thing beavers don't gnaw down wildflowers. The aspen (and, as result, the creeks), in Lundy Canyon aren't so lucky:


Also went for an easy double round the city at dusk.

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AM: 10 mi, 70 min; Out Lundy Canyon Rd (or rather, up), nearly to the end of the lake, and back

PM: 5 mi, 37 min; Mono City sage-167 ramble; plus a short hike up Lundy Canyon

Monday, 8/30: 9 mi, 63 min; a ramble that included Conway Ranch (past the fish ponds and cross-country for a bit near Wilson Creek), the Goat Ranch Cutoff development, a utility road, and Hwy 167

Waking

I've been nursing a niggling injury for awhile that just won't let go. In fact, after a few minutes of running, it sometimes feels like a hand is pinching the side of my achilles--not the achilles itself, but the soft facia, I guess, that run along the outside, just above the shallow cup behind the ankle bone. It wakes as I start out, then falls back asleep and I don't feel it by the end of my run. Whatever it is (any ideas?), it really broke up my training in June, because I took some days off--six, at one point--to try to shake it. But it's still hanging around.

I find that I wake up in the morning thinking about it. The definition of preoccupation. Coming out of unconsciousness, my mind creeps to my ankle, and tries to assess the situation. How does it feel? Is that a tingling? An ache? How am I to interpret that? Is it worse than yesterday morning, or better?

I can't remember.

On my run today, I crafted an analogy: it's like waking alone in your sleeping bag in the desert, and imagining that something's visited you in the night. Breathed on you, perhaps. Paw prints in the sand. The sound of boots. Could be just you. Or not. Is it still lurking? Stalking?

Then, if you're me, you just ignore the sensation. You never really check it out beyond a quick glance aournd. So it haunts you.

It's running taking on different psychic embodiments. Some days I think of running as if it were a dog. I have to worry about when I'm going to feed it, when the right temperature for a jaunt outside is. It's probably best to let the dog out immediately and go on with your day. But I'm not really a morning person.

In any case, I actually had a great run today, around 11, up Lundy Canyon. First time I ever did that. Bit of a huffer going up, but shady aspen and an easy cruise down.

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11 mi, 77 minutes; Lundy Canyon (past the dam, on trail) out and back