Over the years yoga has been in my life. At my heaviest (200+ pounds) I did yoga. Granted I hid at the back of the class but I did yoga. At the very beginning I remember how hard just going through Sun Salutation A was. I huffed and I puffed. Holding Downward Facing Dog was nearly impossible. However, there was this feeling I had after every yoga class that I just couldn’t shake. It’s magical.
Right before my divorce in 2005 I hit my first Sirsasana or headstand. It was an early Sunday morning class in Annapolis. We were given time to practice flying. When I actually got up into it I squealed and then promptly hit the floor. I remember it like it was yesterday that is how profound it was. Balance and flying poses are always a tell. The more out of emotional balance you are the more challenging (if not impossible) they are. I never hit another one.
Over the last year or so I found an organization called Vetoga. They are an organization created by a former Marine who wanted to share yoga with the veteran community as a way to deal with stress, PTSD, and other anxieties. There is something profound about being in a room of people who regardless of service, age or gender are family even if you’ve never met them before.
Then this past summer during a WOD at CrossFit Park City they had us attempting headstands as a precursor to handstand pushups. From the CrossFit perspective it’s simple: you use your core and you should be able to pop right up into a headstand. Now as a practitioner of yoga I know better. It is not as simple as core strength then pop up. In order to obtain a headstand you have to have inner peace. Sure, core strength is part of it, but without the inner peace, even momentarily, you will never fly. Since 2005, I had tried headstand many times, often met with me slamming to the floor in the most ungraceful like thud. With all of the mountains and clearing of my mind I had had over the summer I figured why not try a headstand. This was as far as I got, but hey it was progress over the previous 12 years. While it is not a true Sirsasana which is suppose to be done on forearms, it was still much closer.
A few days ago at Trident CrossFit I was feeling much less pressure. My internship was over, the paper was almost complete, and a host of other things in my life had fallen into 
place. There are still stressors, but I am mentally at peace with the major decisions I have made. I decided to give it another try. What’s the worst that could happen? Sure, I could fall on my face, but I’ve done that plenty in my lifetime. Then this happened. Again, I’m not on my forearms, but I’m up and I held it. This is the truest sign I can have that the path that I have chosen is the right path.
What path is that? I have decided to go through the Vetoga teacher training. I have wanted to go through teacher training for many years, but the time was just never right. Despite being in grad school, despite the stresses from work, despite every reason in the world why I shouldn’t do this, this just feels like the right time. I don’t handle change well (I know that this comes as a surprise) so the fact that I made this major decision and I am at peace with it means I am on the right path.
I’m very much looking forward to the learning process. Most of all, though, I’m looking forward to helping others find their moment to fly. It truly is glorious.
If you want to help me reach my goal, click here, and donate to my teacher training.
My very last night in town I spent having dinner with #teamcaboose. I couldn’t have even imagined a more perfect way to cap off my time in Utah. We sat on her deck with a glass of wine, talking, and watched the sunset. I sighed a happy sigh. Family indeed.
The miles clicked by and we saw lake after lake after lake. The further away from the trailhead we got the fewer people we saw. Up through Notch Mountain and over to the other side. The views were just amazing and the lakes just kept coming.
As we came around the bend for the last lake they were waiting for us and I kidded in the typical whiny kid voice, “Mom….I wanna go swimming….” MountainGoat looked at me and said, “I’m game!” We peeled off the trail and made a beeline for the shoreline. Stripping our shoes and socks we waded into the ice cold water and it felt amazing. (Hence the notch in the elevation profile.) By the time we got out to do the last mile to the trailhead none of us had any feeling in our legs! Makes for some interesting running.
Heading up the trail it started off sweet and innocently enough. Then the rocks started. Not little rocks, no, no rocks the size of basketballs+. The picture to the left is one of the better sections of trail. This is the kind of trail that you wonder if it truly is a trail or was it the bottom of a creek that someone had the “ingenious” idea of making INTO a trail. 7+ soul crushing miles later of doing nothing but picking, plodding and praying that I didn’t fall or sprain something Brown Duck lake came into view. It truly was gorgeous; however, at this point I was fried mentally and physically. It took 2.5 hours to get 7 miles. It wasn’t from a lack of trying to go faster it was just the conditions on the trail. There was no way I was going to make it another 2 miles up, and then 9 miles back down to the car. Enough was enough. I spent ~20 minutes at the lake. I soaked my feet and my knees in the cold water and headed back. My watch died ~3 miles from the car.
Approaching the water images of last week were flashing through my head. Don’t tell me I came the way for nothing, I thought. I let Charlotte off leash to let her suss it out. She won’t cross anything even remotely dangerous. She found a spot and waded right across. I followed her path. This repeated itself four more times. At this point the trail was more of a unstable boulder field and straight up. One of the water crossing was actually a waterfall! I was exceptionally grateful for having had something to eat at this point. That could have been really bad. Now, I know that in summer NONE of this water is here, but thanks to the heavy winter snow they got this year and the super hot temperatures it’s water water everywhere. At this point my feet were soaked and we were approaching 10k feet. No big deal, we just kept moving, and my Lone Peaks drained beautifully. Amazing things wool socks and the right shoes. Right up until the trail disappeared. Um….
I pulled out my topo map and compass. I also looked at the gps breadcrumbs I had of the trail. Theoretically the lake should be just over the ridge line. I saw how the trail was suppose to stair step and loop around. There was a big meadow that I started to make my way across. About half way I stopped. Warning bells were going off. This was STUPID. Not only did I not have any surveyors tape with me to mark my trail, but my feet were wet and I had no idea if the trail even started again. Nopenopenope. I turned both baby trail dog and I around, found the trail where we left it and headed back down the mountain.
another rural part of Upstate New York Dad would take us back there as often as he could. We were raised with a healthy respect for the wilderness. Up until a couple of years ago part of his Continuing Medical Education every year would be at the 
the trailhead and headed up the trail. The plan was to do 10 miles round trip or snow which ever came first. When we got to the 2.5 mile mark we got to the creek. You could see where the bridge used to be. With the level snow that they got this year all of the water sources are raging right now. I looked to the other side of the creek and there was a deer. He looked up and down the creek for a spot to cross just like I was doing. We looked at each other and both turned around and went back the way we came. Neither one of us had a death wish. That water is running too cold and too fast to even attempt a water crossing. Well, crap. As I headed down the trail I came across a group of Boy Scouts and a couple of hikers. I told them about the bridge. I think the kids were actually relieved. When we got back to the car we saw a bunch of horsemen loading up to go check the fields for grazing. I told them about the bridge (and the water level). They said thank you and then pointed in the direction they were headed. We chatted for a couple of minutes about other snow free options and they were off. I made a sign and hung it on the gate that you were required to go through.
Thursday I met the Wranglers at the same trailhead Nate had pointed out two days earlier. I have to say this, despite my absolute slowness there is always at least one person waiting at the intersections. I try to keep one of them in view, but sometimes I just can’t go any faster. Charlotte on the other hand, I think, would much rather be with the fast kids especially now that I bought her a cooling coat. However, sometimes letting the fast kids go has its perks. Like when I run up on them and ask them why they are stopped. They all pointed. “SNAKE!” Yep, sometimes it pays to be slow.
marked and we get times and bibs so I guess you could call it a race. Having been out there on Thursday I knew that some of the sections of up were going to be brutal. I tucked myself and Charlotte into the back and watched the fast kids scamper off. Man are they fast! I saw one of their splits just above mine on Strava. His per mile time? 11 minutes. Mine? 16:45. Sigh. Charlotte and I managed to hang with a couple of the Wranglers until the 12k/5k course split.
them. She is an experienced road runner who has just come over to the dark side to trail running. This was her 5th trail run. She and I stuck together for the rest of the course encouraging each other along the way. Team Caboose! It was nice having someone to chat with along the way. She’s a super interesting human with lots of stories to tell. I hope I get to spend more time with her out on the trails.