What's That Smell?

I am well aware that my running form stinks, thank you. But my attempt to exercise on Saturday morning was accompanied by an additional odor above and beyond my bad mechanics and lack of coordination. More about that in a moment.

(Warning, the next several paragraphs contain ego-centric introspection and elements of psychological self-discovery. If you are bored by that kind of "Oh look at me! I'm experiencing personal growth!" kind of crap, then feel free to skip down to the stinky stuff. Thanks.)

I got up before the crack o' dawn, as I usually do, and tried to be as efficient as possible with my morning rituals so that I could get out to the canyon shortly after sunrise. I planned to go my regular 12.5-mile loop, and knew that it could take up to 4 hours if the soreness in my knees forced me to walk the whole thing.

[Informational interlude: A person burns nearly the same number of calories walking a particular distance as they do running it. Of course, if you run, you get done a lot sooner -- more calories per minute. But if you are having arthritis issues, as I am, and can let go of the whole "but I used to be able to run like a gazelle" mindset, then you get almost the same health and weight-control benefits from walking that you do from running. And if you like to get up early and have nothing else pressing on your schedule for the day...well, why not take your time and enjoy the fabulous mountain scenery?]

It probably takes me longer to eat a cup of yogurt, take my vitamins, and shave, etc., than it does a normal person. And I tend to forget all of the little steps it takes to get me out the door -- strapping on my heart-rate monitor, applying BodyGlide, selecting just the right pair of socks, and so forth -- so I did not make it to Waterton by sunrise. But I was still one of the first people to arrive, and figured that I had a good chance to hobble most of the way up the canyon before the regular crowds arrived to laugh at me.

I knew it would warm up as the sun climbed, so I chose not to wear long pants, a jacket, or gloves. I might regret this decision later, but once I've locked the car and walked over to the Mule Deer picnic tables, I'm not going back for anything unless absolutely necessary. I had my hydration backpack, my GPS, and my emergency oatmeal energy bar, so I should be good.

I stopped to do a final bit of stretching before heading up the canyon, and was surprised to find that my legs and knees felt pretty good. The ibuprofen must've kicked in already. I decided to try a slow jog to start.

As it turned out, I was able to maintain my slow jog all the way to the turnaround. There were fluctuations -- I'd feel better for a bit, worse for a bit, and sometimes even a tad discombobulated, but was able to keep moving. I had to concentrate and focus on each and every step, but by doing so, I could work through the little aches, pains, and mechanical anomalies my body would throw at me.

The only things I even noticed during this 6-mile trot were a couple of geese, what looked like a discarded water bottle off to the side of the road, as well as the 3 cyclists who passed by me.

When I reached the trail sign (touching it as the ritual requires), I knew that I was going to walk all of the way down. My knees provided their usual protests as I hobbled down the steepest part from the top, but once it flattened out past the 6-mile outhouse, I was able to recover my normal walking stride and stride forward at a brisk pace.

I began to really enjoy myself. It was a gorgeous morning. The water spewing out from the dam was a sight to behold, as were the patterns in the water in the stream beneath. There were birds everywhere, flitting about in what were probably mating rituals. Clouds came and went with startling rapidity, and the shadows formed fascinating patterns across the rocks and vegetation.

I suddenly realized that my hands were cold and swollen. I hadn't noticed it while I was jogging, but my fingers were like little frozen bratwursts, all red and pudgy. They weren't in danger of frostbite or anything -- it wasn't that cold -- but I realized that I'd be glad when I reached the part of the trail that was exposed to sunlight.

Hmm, I don't remember seeing that rock formation before. And check that out -- a pelican swooping down across the creek. Is there always this much nature stuff going on up here?

As I walked and looked about, comparing this walk to the jog I had done on the way up, I realized something very significant about the way I participate in athletic endeavors:

I have no autopilot.

I just can't multitask like some people can. When I run, almost all of my mental faculties are tied up in making my legs go where I want them to go. When I swim, I have to control each and every stroke or I'll tangle myself up in the lane ropes. That's why I can't sing, mentally create a grocery list, or map out my daily activities during my workout the way other people claim they can. That's why I can't hold a dialog with my friends and accomplish a good workout at the same time.

Most people prefer running in groups, because the companionship and conversation helps the miles fly by in a more enjoyable fashion. They set their legs on autopilot, and have a great time catching up with their buddies while simultaneously ignoring the physical discomfort that accompanies the long-distance training effect.

I can't do that. The only way I can enjoy a workout is by performing well...and the only way I can perform well is by devoting my entire meager intellect to the task of moving my limbs through the proper motions. It doesn't just...happen.

This is clearly a detriment to my running. It's not such a big deal with swimming, since you can't chat while doing freestyle, anyway. In fact, it may be a bit of a help there—since I concentrate on my stroke throughout each set, rather than getting lost in my own thoughts about what's for dinner or what errands I have to run.

This might also explain why I have such a hard time coming up with "fun" sets for our Friday workouts. The lack of an athletic autopilot makes it impossible for me to approach a workout like a "normal" person.

I wonder if they make drugs to cure this? Are there support groups? Can I apply for government assistance? I'll have to look into this.

Anyway, my descent of Waterton turned out to be a good and enjoyable walk. As I strode downhill, I saw more and more people on their way up, including my friend Katie, an excellent runner who would probably finish about the same time I would, even though I had started quite a bit earlier. I also saw a cormorant apparently diving for fish; I thought he would just stab downward the way a duck does, but this fellow submerged completely and stayed underwater for about 30 seconds. When he didn't come right up, I stopped to watch, and was impressed by his diving capability. He didn't have a fish in his beak when he came up; perhaps he had swallowed his meal underwater, too. Fascinating!

But when I came upon the item I had thought was a discarded water bottle, I discovered that it was a pile of trash. It contained a beer can, a Hot Tamale box, and a Doritos snack-sized bag. The litterer had been considerate enough to scrunch the can and the box and stuff them into the chip bag, but it was still litter.

What are these idiots thinking? (OK, it's possible that the perpetrator was merely storing the trash beside the road for later pickup, but since I was one of the first people up and down the canyon, I doubted it. I'm sticking with "idiots".) C'mon people, there are plenty of trash cans on this road -- use 'em! (And I'm not really fond of people who smoke on the trail, either. Fresh air is one of the main appeals of being in the mountains beside a freshwater stream. Feel free to stink up your own home all you want, but please leave the death sticks at home when you're going for a hike, OK?)

I picked up the trash, figuring I could easily carry it down to the trashcan and dispose of it properly. No problem.

But that's about when I started to smell the skunk. Not a surprise, really -- the distinctive aroma of Pepé LePew is occasionally detected up here. But it usually doesn't last long.

But I smelled it all the way to the trailhead. Weird. I threw away the trash I was carrying and headed back to my car. About that time, Katie finished her run and came over to say "hi".

"Do you smell a skunk?", she asked. I told her that I had smelled it for three miles. "I just now smelled it," she said. She headed for her car and moved away from me. A moment later, I walked over toward her car. "There it is again," she said.

Uh oh.

Yes, that's right, my faithful friends...the skunk smell was on ME. I suspect that our little striped friend had sprayed the pile of trash -- probably because the beer can was "Lite Beer with Clamato", which I'm pretty sure is an abomination against nature. I picked it up, and now I was carrying the odor myself.

I couldn't verify whether the stink was attached to my hands, my feet, or some other part of my wardrobe. For some reason, Katie didn't respond positively to my request to sniff my appendages, so I drove home unsure what my cleansing strategy would be. One thing was for sure, though -- the smell stayed with me in the car, and into my home.

You'll be happy to hear that I think I've rid myself of the stench. I took a long, long bubble bath, and finally figured that it was safe to reappear in public.

Unfortunately, a bath can't fix what stinks about my stride, but we can't have everything, can we?

Oh well -- if you have any hints on how to develop an autopilot, let me know. And have a great day.