It is easy to get caught up in the fear of taking on a new challenge.  I myself, am not a fearless person.  The trick is that I try and fool myself into thinking that I am indeed fearless, and then while my brain is caught up in the confusion, I quickly go sign up for a triathlon, or a trip to Alaska, or whatever else I may actually fear most.  Once I return to sanity, it is too late to get my money back.  A training partner of mine has mentioned that she thinks my mentality is- what is the point of doing something if there isn’t a slight chance of it killing me?  That may taking me a bit far. . .but I know on many levels she is right.  If you can easily do something all along, where is the satisfaction in completing it?  Fortunately for me, most things don’t come easily.

The challenge of the week (or maybe the month) for me is: Clipless Pedals.  As I increase the mileage on my road bike in preparation for my triathlon at the end of September, I am starting to learn the benefit of taking the bike a little more seriously.  In the 9 mile sprint course I did last year, I could pretty much fake my way through it.  Anyone can travel 9 miles on a bike if they have to.  But 26 super hilly miles gets a little tougher and I need every bit of help I can get.  Enter: clipless pedals. 

Supposedly they will give me more power out my rotations, and will help me stand up easier, and all in all make me a more efficient cyclist.  But despite all of the future benefits, it is hard to ignore the present setbacks.  I can’t get my cleats in the pedals.  I also seem to keep getting them in wrong, and they get jammed, and then I panic.  I haven’t actually fallen yet but I have gotten honked at. . .and I haven’t even left my neighborhood yet.  Everyone says it just takes some time, but everyone also says they have never heard of someone not being able to get INTO their pedals.  Usually getting out is the problem. 

So what does this mean for my cycling training?  Well, I was tempted to throw in the towel, and only ride under controlled circumstances in areas only sparcely populated with pedestrians or cars.  But this, of course, means that most of my favorite rides would have to be amended and I would also have to stop riding to work.  And I don’t know, but I am guessing that spending less time on my bike in the final 7 weeks of training will not do much for race day.  So caution to the wind I forced my brain to do a 180 and have decided to spend every possible spare minute with my bike.  But the question is- is it good to push myself beyond my comfort level and rise to the challenge?  Or is getting on my bike when I know there is a significant chance of falling, perhaps into traffic, just plain stupid?  I get a little worried about myself when the line between ambition and stupidity blurs. 

The whole experience so far seems painfully reminiscent of learning to drive a stick shift.  It took me days (okay, maybe weeks) to even make it out of the parking lot in my ’87 Isuzu Trooper that surely needed a new clutch shortly after my 16^th birthday.  And the first time I ventured onto the street, my dad had to pull the emergency break trick at least once and I felt like it was physically impossible that I would ever actually be able to drive a stick shift comfortably.  Hopefully though clipless pedals seem impossible now, some day, like driving a stick shift, it will just be second nature and I will wonder why it was ever so hard.  And why my dad’s hair seemed to turn grey so suddenly.

Stayed up last night until close to midnight. No Northern Lights. Set the alarm for 2am. No Northern Lights. It’s the wrong time of year, but they were sighted a couple nights ago. I’ve got great animal mojo, but apparently I’m not celestially gifted. Slept late. John, a former cop, pours our coffee. Tells me stories about befriending gang members and hookers in Winnipeg. Says he’s thinking of working a cruise next.

We hop on the tundra buggy tour with Neil, our new best friend. After seeing bears for the last 14 days straight, we spend four hours traversing and see absolutely nothing. One bald eagle. A dead caribou on the back of an Inuit’s ATV. A couple sandhill cranes. A few snow geese. But I’m after bear. And, I’m patient. The next tundra buggy tour is booked solid with, get this, the Canadian Chapter of the SATW (Society of American Travel Writers). Pretty much anything I try to do something around here, the SATW already has it taken. What’s a girl to do? I decide to crash the party. I meet the head of the chapter and Travel Manitoba’s PR folks. Tell them I’m willing to be held captive in a tundra buggy for six hours with fifty writers who can pitch me every story they want for our magazine if they’ll just let me in among my peeps. They do.

I spot the only bear we see and loan out my binoculars to the journalists. I earn my keep. They let me drive the Tundra Buggy and drink their beer. They’re a fun group. We have a “tail gate” party right there on the tundra in the rain.

We sleep late. Sunday is the day of rest around Churchill. No tours. No snorkeling. Nothing much open except the grocery store. We buy some picnic items and head for the beach to watch the Belugas and look for bears. Tomorrow we head home. Two polar bears in the wild. Worth the trip. Getting away from civilization for a while (my cell phone doesn’t work here)…priceless.

I did find out a secret denning place for mother polar bears and their spring cubs. Only sixteen people at a time can go. It’s in the Wapusk National Park. That’s all I’m going to say until I visit one day. Maybe in March. I’ll keep you posted. Here are some of my final photos…..

Michelle driving the tundra buggy

The town of Churchill

The Lazy Bear Lodge

Churchill Weather Station

Watch for Bears!

Finally spotted one

I’ve forgotten to mention the other big summer attraction here in Churchill…beluga whales. They are every where. They look a lot like oversized, lumpy dolphins. In my opinion though, they are cuter than Orcas or other whales. For one thing, there are no barnacles hanging off of them. Another, they seem to possess human characteristics. They smile. On the boat to Seal River on day one, we saw a ton of them. The water here is a clear blue, so you could make them out under the water even though they don’t leap out like dolphins or breach like other types of whale. At some points, we could even hear them communicating with one another. To get a face shot of the beluga though, you have to get in the water with them. My plan today was to go snorkeling with them and test out a new underwater camera I’ve had at the office for a while. Bad news. It’s windy. Wind kicks up debris in the bay. No visibility. No snorkeling. We took the three hour cultural tour instead. Saw the polar bear jail and bear traps they set for bears who misbehave. I’m thinking the next feature article I write will be about the different ways states, countries, and even towns deal with wildlife. They’ve been killing the bears and cougars in Boulder for some time now. One doesn’t have to be aggressive to be put down. It just has to be relocated and return after the third time. Three strikes. Ridiculous if you ask me. We choose to live in the foothills and mountains. We get what we get. The polar bear is the largest carnivorous land mammal on the planet. Here, when the bears come to shore to wait for the ice, they shoot “crackers” to scare them off. Occasionally, they use slugs. But they never put a bear down unless it has attacked someone. Never. Even then, they’ll autopsy the bear to see if perhaps it was crazy or starving to have attacked a human. About 1,000 polar bears roam through the Hudson Bay area. The population of Churchill is around 950. Bears outnumber people. But, fear hasn’t caused them to lose their heads here. We could learn a thing or two back in Boulder from the town of Churchill.

We took yesterday off to rest. The boat trip on day one wiped me out. Lots of sleeping. Found the best place to eat in town. A place called Gypsies. Awesome pastries. Nice people. Everyone in Canada is nice.

Tomorrow, we signed up for tundra buggy tours to search for polar bears and bird watch. The tour this morning saw a momma bear and two cubs. Crossing my fingers.

I might be able to get back on the Seal River again by Sunday, if Wally runs a tour. And, if it’s not windy tomorrow night, I’ll be trying to snorkel with the Belugas. Otherwise, more sleeping. Which is nice too. And, tonight I’ll set my alarm to try to catch the Northern Lights.

I have to remind myself that I’ve just seen a polar bear in the wild. Not on the Discovery Channel from my Lazy Boy or at the Denver Zoo in 90 degree heat or at Sea World in Texas. As bears go, he wasn’t a big bear. Medium size. Swimming. Diving. Huffing in big, disgruntled bursts.

The best months for polar bear viewing in Churchill are October and November. The land starts to freeze up. The seals congregate. And, the summer fasting for bears is over. They feast. Winter tourists use tundra buggies to get up close. And it’s cold. Way cold. In the summer, you’ll get an occasional bear sighting in town, but otherwise, you’ll need to take a boat across the Hudson Bay to find them. 

At breakfast, I ask a local if I can run through town. He points, “Run that way, otherwise you’re likely to bump into one. They’re starting to come back now.” Some part of me is tempted to go the opposite direction, but yes, I’m still smarter than that. I say, “Don’t polar bears usually avoid people though. When was the last time anyone in Churchill was attacked?” Stone faced, he says, “Two years ago. But, it was 1am and the guy was drunk and went out with his .22 and tried to wrestle with the bear. He’s lucky he only lost an arm.” He chuckles. “He used to be a two-fisted drinker. Now he’s just one.” The town bears have names. Bruno and Scarface. The last bear attack fatality here was in 1983. As I’ll find out in my boat later, they are more frightened of us than we are of them.

I start out the day in shorts and a tank top. It’s hot. Sweaty. I lather myself in sunscreen and bug spray, but we’ve missed most of bug season with the Bull mosquitoes. We hop on a motor boat. Wally, who owns the Lazy Bear Lodge with his wife Dawn, captains it. We’re wind-whipped and bounced around. One hour or so to get to Seal River. Belugas on the way. We search for about an hour around smooth rocks where the bears are known to lie around. No luck. I think we’re giving up when Wally spots one. Standing up in the water about a mile away. Wally has “guide eyes”. A reminder to me never to discount the value of a good guide. Wally speeds us in the direction of the bear. But, we lose him. We spot him again behind us about half a mile away. We keep our eyes on him. Roar back the other direction. We get him. There is no land any where close. 

We follow the polar bear in our boat, taking photos as he swims in front and along side us. I’m on my knees on the deck of the boat to keep my balance and get low to the water. More than a few times, the bear was close enough to reach an arm over and pet, if I had tried, which I didn’t. The polar bear was definitely afraid of us, and a bit pissed off. He wanted to hunt some beluga whale calves. And, we were interrupting. More than a few times, we asked Wally if we were stressing out the bear. He seemed labored. And with no land in sight, well, we worried. Wally assured us that the bear could swim for 60 miles. Still, we started to herd him back toward shore, using the boat like a cattle dog on a ranch. The bear had other ideas. Turns out bears don’t want to be herded. So we left him to do whatever bears do.

More later. Exhausted today. Who knew shooting shots on your knees from a moving boat could be such a great workout.

“On the Polar Bear boat”

“Meet Mr. Polar Bear”

“Bye for now!”

Hi to all from Churchill, Polar Bear Capitol of the World. Churchill sits in the Northwest Territory of Canada on the Hudson Bay. I’ve packed every bit of winter and foul weather gear I own, digging out snowboard clothing I’d stored away until November. Polar bears like cold weather, right? And, I’m supposed to be heading toward the North Pole. As we land after the three hour flight from Winnipeg into Churchill (the only way you can get to Churchill is by plane or train), we look out the window and spot the Casper-the-Ghost-notebook-paper white skins of Beluga whales below us. Very cool. But, too far for my new Canon G9 to shoot. I’ve sold my big lenses in favor of an easy-to-travel with point and shoot. After shooting in Africa and Alaska, I’m tired of lugging the big equipment and am hoping that digital advancements will get me what I need. But, I’m thinking I’m going to have to get pretty close to wildlife to get what I’m used to with my mega lenses. I’ve got good animal mojo though. I know they’ll come to me.

I get to the customs guy, a friendly Canadian who asks me why I’m in Canada. I answer, “Hopefully, to see Polar Bears.” He answers that he just returned from Churchill and saw several in town even. Okay. Now I’m excited. This time of year, there are no guarantees. Summer tours in Churchill promise Belugas and “possible” polar bears. So this is good news. The mountie (they are called mounties, right?) asks if I’ll be leaving anything behind in Canada. I answer, “Hopefully, not my dead carcass.” Good thing the Canadians have a sense of humor.

The Lazy Bear Lodge is a log cabin style inn at the edge of town. Lots of wood. Spartan rooms. Quaint. Don’t plan on being uptight here about anything. It’s laid back. For dinner, I had arctic char. The table next to us returned two of their fillets because they were still cold in the center. For someone like me OCD about food poisoning, that might have sent me over the edge. But, I convince myself that mine was cooked. Poke a finger into the middle of the remaining slab and find it still warm to the touch. Breathe. There’s a polar bear rug mounted over our heads. Makes me a little sad to see him hanging there like that.

After dinner we walk through town. Lots of kids on ATVs. Not a whole lot else for them to do around here. Churchill’s buildings need a remodel. Mixed use hasn’t caught on here yet. It’s slightly dilapidated, weathered. But, it works. You can find the liquor store and bank in one building with several churches steps away. Go to the bank, spend your money on booze, then repent. Got it.

Mosquitoes are still around. Got my BUZZ OFF™ clothes and some repellent. It’s hot here. Balmy even. If I were a polar bear, I’d be on some ice far, far away. Hope it cools off soon.

Today, we’re off for a 6 hour boat trip in search of the great white bear. More later!

Next week, I’ll be at the Lazy Bear Lodge in Churchill Manitoba in search of polar bears. It’s a dream trip, oddly enough bestowed upon me by none other than Montel Williams (yes, the bald, handsome black man who usually has a psychic named Sylvia on his show). I was on Montel this summer and had a very Oprah-esque moment.

I got the trip for having Multiple Sclerosis. Well, actually for running an adventure magazine and having MS. But, I feel a little guilty. I’m not in a wheel chair. I don’t walk with a cane. I can still see. In fact, I run / walk about twenty miles a week. I snowboard, rock climb, and lift weights. I direct the publications division of a company. I raise a three-year old energetic toddler at the age of forty-one. There’s not much I can’t do today that I couldn’t do five years ago when I was diagnosed.

Still, it doesn’t mean I don’t battle the effects of MS. Every single day, I’m reminded that I have it. But my symptoms are irritating and not debilitating. Thank God. So while part of me feels like an imposter, the other part says, hell yeah, take the trip. Because MS is sneaky and I don’t know what the future holds and I’d really like to be able to run away from the polar bears if I had to and maybe three years from now, I won’t be able to. So, I’m off to see the polar bears. And I won’t feel guilty about being able to walk and run and see. Instead, I’ll try to enjoy every second of it. Look for reports from me!

Someone once told me that we make time for the things that are really important to us. I believe this to be true. I cannot make more time in the day. But, I can allocate what I have judiciously. Being a new mom has really put that philosophy to the test. How can I work, run, take care of any personal issues and errands, be a loving partner and parent, and keep my sanity? Prozac helps. But it can’t get me out on a run or help me make dinner. I have to decide what’s important.

In particular, I’ve realized that I have to commit to working out or it will never happen. I have to make and get approval in advance for plans to rock climb or snowboard or hike. Before adopting Logan, our three year old sweet boy, I had all the flexibility in the world. Now, I schedule and scheme to keep my life orderly and balance work, play, and motherhood. I still believe you can have it all though. You just might have to get up an hour earlier and go to bed an hour later to get it.

One of the biggest adjustments I’ve made is running Logan in his BOB Stroller to day care two miles away, then leaving the stroller for pick up later, and running home to shower and go to work. I don’t like running with a stroller. Especially when it’s loaded with thirty pounds of toddler. But, it gets the job done. I take him to school and get my run in…it’s a win-win. When Logan was really little, I tried hiking with a Sherpani baby carrier on my back. I’ve decided I’d rather roll Logan down the hill than carry him strapped on my back. Whew, man, that’s a workout.

When Logan gets old enough, I look forward to snowboarding and climbing with him. But for now, my partner and I trade off parenting time to do things we love but can’t quite take him on yet. I struggle, perhaps like many of you, with the guilt of taking time for myself. But I do realize that adventure is a huge part of who I am. Being outside in the mountains makes me happy. If I’m happy, I’m a better and more patient parent. If I’m healthy, I get to be part of my son’s life for a long time. And, I am lucky I have a fully participating partner. I honestly don’t know how single moms do this. Seriously, my hat is off to you all. Keep getting outside and share your tips with other moms!

There’s something about the mind of an athlete. I used to be one. Some days I still am. But, I have to think that athletes approach jobs, illnesses, and setbacks in ways most other folks don’t.

The saying “No pain, no gain” as a motivating mantra for football players and marathon runners means that they equate discomfort and trials with progress and improvement. Getting stronger and better hurts. You work through it. You believe the hard part is temporary. You strive for a payoff that’s not guaranteed. You suck it up. You fight. You win. Athletes spend 95% of their time training for competitions that might only last an hour a day or even seconds. And they find those moments worth it.

So are athletes better at rebounding from life’s hard blows? More resilient? I met a man at a conference who was doing research and writing a book on this very subject. He studied former athletes battling cancer. He found that they approached their recovery in much the same way they trained for races and competitions. They pushed the limits and reveled in small improvements. They believed they had control over their illness, rather than the other way around. They chipped away at getting better. Rationalized and regrouped when things didn’t work out as they’d thought. Took a glass half full approach. They trained their body and mind through their illness. Athletes believe they can do anything if they work hard and don’t give up.

I recently read that most female CEOs played sports. It doesn’t surprise me. I run my own company and at times it has felt like an ultra-marathon. Our new reader stats show that 40% of Women’s Adventure readers are owners or co-owners of their businesses. We fight. We win. We believe we can do anything with hard work and determination. I learned those lessons on the track with lots of sweat and interval work in the Texas sun. I ran through college. I still run.

And now, while I battle MS, I’m back to running 5 miles. Three weeks ago, I had to walk most of my shorter routes. But, I’ve been chipping away at it. The 5 miles feels good. But, my body still isn’t ready for it. It’s as if the run activates my brain into overload. A 5 mile run at any speed means that I’m down for the count the next day with muscle fatigue, tremors, spasms, and skin sensations. I’m foggy. Unable to focus. Just need a dark room to calm everything back down. But, I feel really blessed to have that 5 miles. I know it’s a gift.

So, I rest. I let my brain reboot. And, by my next blog, I expect my recovery time to be better. Normal. I believe if I work hard and don’t give up that I will control my disease instead of it controlling me. I have the mind of an athlete. It’s a placebo. Because whether or not what I am doing helps me get faster, better, healthier, my belief that it does, changes everything for the better.

I hear mewing. I’m alone on a trail with my two twenty-five pound dogs who haven’t heard it yet. I stop. Listen. Definitely mewing. Coming from behind some thick brush about 50 meters from me. I actually do think for a split second that I might go investigate. But the moment passes.

Three days prior, I sat on the couch in my living room. Call it intuition or some other type of sixth sense, but I glanced out the window toward the Flatirons and caught sight of a mountain lion racing downhill. By the time I’d grabbed binoculars, he was way gone. It’s a blessing to see a mountain lion. A rare occurrence.

The next day, I read in the paper that a 2-year old male mountain lion had been tranquilized, collared, and moved from someone’s backyard two blocks way and back into the wild where he belonged. That lion was a male, though. Not likely to be the one raising the cubs I hear. My pups and I move on before anyone else sees us and finds out our secret. No, I won’t tell the division of wildlife. I don’t want the lion and her cubs disturbed. Yes, she’s chosen a high-traffic area to nurse her cubs. But, she’s not bothering anyone. And, I chose to run there. I could have run on the pavement, down Sixth street, to the river.

Later that same afternoon, I’m weeding in front of my house. A ranger pulls up his truck, gets out, and trains his binoculars up the hill. I’m thinking someone else has heard the mewing. Someone called the cavalry. I’m relieved when he drives away. I check the paper in the morning to see if any lions and cubs have been tagged and moved or euthanized. Nothing but a short blurb about two men who simultaneously tasered each other at a bar over the weekend. The lion can relax for a while. Law enforcement is busy with more important things in Boulder.
-Michelle

I miss my 20-year old, pre Multiple Sclerosis body. This was my thought while walking the second half of my morning run today. I’m not prone to whining. But heck, if I can’t vent in a blog, where else can I do it. I’m not talking about the way my body looks. I’m okay with the exterior (and posterior) of my 41-year old self. Nope. It’s the inside stuff that needs a facelift. It’s downright saggy. And because I have MS, it’s hard for me to determine if my digestive, breathing, and muscle weakness problems are caused by the disease or just the natural aging process. The fact is it doesn’t really matter. There’s not much I can do about MS or being over 40, except exactly what I’m doing. Eat right (my big downfall), exercise, and keep my stress levels low.

But the reason I run has always been less for my health and more for the way it makes me feel…which used to be good. Now it’s a little like gambling. I still bet each time I go out that I’ll catch a little glimpse of that athlete and connect with that effortless motion akin to my childhood dreams of being able to fly. Today, I couldn’t get off the ground. And maybe tomorrow will be the same. But, if I keep trying, I believe I’ll get there again. I always say that my health is where it needs to be when I can run 5 miles. Right now, I’m running downhill 1.5 and walking the remaining 1.5 back home.

That said, there’s always something good about being out. Everything’s in bloom right now in Boulder. You have to love purple and fuchsia blossomed trees. It’s like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. The Boulder Creek is also running fast. Makes a nice soundtrack with the beat of my feet. Complements the new Counting Crows playing through my iPod Shuffle. And hard as the run was, it still beats sitting in this office typing. I feel cleansed and awake. Because with running, there is an afterglow. So for now, I’ll stop my whining and bask in it for a while. Thanks for listening.
–Michelle