March, April, and May

Hey CBC,

Dean asked me where I've been wandering all summer. I suppose I can't expect you all to follow along on Instagram.  It'll have to be broken into parts, since the answer isn't very short. 

Like the child of warring, divided families, I've been shuttling across the country between frustrated parties. The exasperated sighs of my new (and lovely) USBA coach have become commonplace, as he's put in the tricky position of trying to teach a new biathlete who is only around half the time and buys plane tickets five days before she flies.  The master's program I'm supposed to be graduating from probably often wonders if I haven't actually just dropped off the face of the earth.  It turns out that this spontaneous, planning-allergic, Colorado transplant just doesn't fit into the straight lines of periodization very well. (Don't even get me started on updating USADA on my whereabouts, which are something I rarely know myself until I've arrived.) Periodization is something where organized people plan out workouts in a precise set, order, and cycle, so as to maximize the benefits of training. Totally astounding. Some days I manage to get my life together enough to eat breakfast. 

March, April, and May

My car and I are great friends.  I have a white car I borrowed (ahem, stole) from my mother (you probably remember her, she's the hero that followed me around last season lugging the scope and watching me miss), named Cloud. After Bill, Kyle, Dave, and I returned somewhat victoriously from nationals-by which I mean we all got there and raced, Bill won both of his races, and a priceless photo of our teammates randomly standing under a "senior citizen" sign was captured (SOMEONE FIND THAT, PLEASE!)- I had the month off. 

Cloud and I journeyed south. This little winter sport athlete has a deep love of the southwestern heat. We passed through the Garden of the Gods in the Springs, to the limited radio soundtrack of either a) country, b) Christian rock, or c) some mixture of the two, and on towards Pueblo, where a closed highway took us onto dirt roads that were fringed by green fields, encircled by mountains in the distance.  Rain spattered the windshield, and the sky darkened to night as Colorado faded into the rear view mirror. 

I woke up somewhere outside Santa Fe (don't worry, I told USADA I was at the third exit past the border, in a white Toyota Highlander, parked next to a field), drove Cloud into the center somewhere, and took my Trek Superfly out of the back. I wandered the streets of Santa Fe on the back of my mountain bike, just because I could.

Middle of somewhere, Sante Fe, NM

Somewhere between Arizona and New Mexico

 I passed onwards through Albuquerque and then out of New Mexico, landing in Scottsdale, Arizona. Arizona is home to the largest outdoor range in the entire United States. Like every biathlete who shows up at a regular gun range, I was immediately mobbed with questions, and every single range worker wanted to try this rifle (and they did!)

There are exactly no cactuses growing behind this range.
Also, just check out how much brass is on the ground there. 

I case you were wondering, it gets kind of hot rollerskiing in southern Arizona. Especially if you are a night owl who does not prefer to rise before 10. 

Luckily, AZ has the best pools in the world. Also, they don't have to heat them because the air temperature of roughly 1,000 degrees does that for you.  

My cousin (of which I am fortunate to have many), happened through the Grand Canyon on his tour of what seemed every national park between the East and the West.  I wandered up to meet him at the north rim of the Grand Canyon where I creeped on these unsuspecting people enjoying the last rays of light shining on this incredible place. 

I fully expect my readership to rise high enough that we can get this photo to these people via the power of social media.

I drove north up through Utah the next morning until I hit I-70 and headed East, one of my all-time favorite drives-and this from someone who has driven the whole length of I-80, coast to coast.  Cloud and I journeyed through beautiful red rock canyons, unbelievable rock formations, past Goblin Valley state park, past the turns for Moab, Arches, and Zion, and crossed into Colorado.  Rising all around me came our mountains, from the snow-capped to the Aspen-adorned, each one more incredible than the next.  Mile by mile, we slid from West to East.  From Grand Junction all the way to Boulder, the lovely rocky mountains that John Denver never stops singing about on the Snow Mountain Ranch speakers escorted me home.  (Seriously, is that the only music they have?)

Somewhere in Utah

If you can't recognize where this is, we're kicking you out of the CBC.  Lew will personally tear up your membership form.(Grand Junction)

So lucky am I, to call this state home.

I spent ten days in Placid after this, in what I've heard is called "sober-up week," but you can draw your own conclusions as to the validity of that statement. We did a lot of shooting at things, attaching cables to things, and determining what to work on for the coming season (ahem, everything?). 

Note to user: this is not a wireless system.

We also had this really fun day where we ran uphill with poles on a treadmill as long as we could, which determined how pathetic we really were after our month off.  I mean, it determined our heart rate zones or something.  You actually have to run one-poled, and lean all the way down to the side every three minutes so that the coach can stab you with something akin to a rapier and measure your lactate level. I know, you're starting to get really jealous of my life at this point. Welcome back, training starts now.  Who wants to go next on the treadmill? Chester, I'm looking at you. 

In case anyone wanted to know, I'm actually so bad at being indoors that this was the first time in my entire life that I actually ran on a treadmill. 

-J