And the ankle says "Snap!": amid huge Yosemite snowstorm, dodging self-pity...

  
In the aftermath of El Jumbo Snow Dump in Yosemite (well, really, it's still happening), Bear is thinking he'll maybe ski this weekend (he supresses a drooling-and-jumping-up-and-down-clapping response every time skiing and all this fresh snow are the topic).

And he's in Yosemite valley today, all day, for meetings.

My first thought last night was "Can I go to the valley tomorrow, too?"

Then I can hike in the freshly snowed valley, take amazing photographs, get them back to you (yes, I think about you a lot), then work (day job) on my computer in the Yosemite bar.

PERFECT!

Then I remembered.


biobabbler is lame


On my last day in New Orleans, after a week of hazards,

• super busy conference so overwhelmed-by-sessions-and-socializing-from-8am-9pm
• speed-walking back and forth between my hotel and the conference in new-professional-person-shoes (NOT used to them, trust me, I live in running shoes) amid traffic & construction
• sleeping-away-from-home exhaustion stupor
• getting yelled at by hotel security at 10:30 at night (guy was 10 feet tall, I SWEAR!) for TALKING (yes, talking)
• exploring French Quarter streets day and night with all the attendant people-freakiness and crowded, cobbly, bumpy streets
• eating famously fatty/hazardous food
• a pontoon boat tour of the bayou, rubbing shoulders with alligators

I injured myself.


How, you ask, did the ever-so-light-of-foot and (semi-) adventurous biobabbler succumb?


NOT running from alligators, as was suggested I proffer in lieu of the real story.*

(photo by Matthew Field)

NOT running from New Orleans muggers or cops or defending a helpless child using my new mixed-martial-arts-fitness-class skills.

(photo wikipedia user Nt2bd)

NOT dancing with the handsome kilted Irish men in the nighttime St. Patrick's Day parade.

NOT battling for beads.

NOT lugging 10,000 lbs of over-packed luggage 6 blocks from one hotel to the other 'cause I'm too cheap and carbon-embarrassed to use a taxi.

Nope, here's the pitiless marauder, the heartless villain:

(Paul Frederickson photo)

A lawn. I hurt myself walking across a lawn.

A LAWN.

Mind you, biobabbler has:

• Tromped MILES across the rocky intertidal zone, through ocean waves, on slippery kelp, teetering boulders, carrying piles of equipment. For YEARS.

• Climbed then hung head first off of the edge of crumbling sea stacks to measure owl limpets, dangling 20 feet above ocean and rock.

• Walked 27 miles in one day.

• Hiked down into, camped overnight at the bottom of (in rain), then climbed back out of the Grand Canyon, with rain-soaked (tent leaked, so everything was 20 lbs heavier) camping gear during a SNOWstorm that was blowing snow sideways (a friend I saw at the conference last week reminded me of that, and said that my face was blue) days after being really sick.

• Rafted down 87.5 miles down the Colorado River in Grand Canyon, including some of its most notorious rapids (and learned that only there and on major roller coasters can I scream at a bat-like high pitch).

This is the Hance rapid. It's the highest rated rapid of those I experienced (rated 7-8 on a scale of 1-10 for the Colorado River Grand Canyon, 10 is most crazy, 1 is mildest. Pretty sure our guides said the water level made it an 8).

• Been complimented on my balance by people I barely know.

• Been paid to relocate rattlesnakes.

(photo Tigerhawkvok)

• Was in a burning car once, briefly trapped, then escaped with just a slightly melted jacket and an irrational fear of the smell (so diesel exhaust freaked me out years afterward--I'd always look to make sure there weren't flames at my side).

And a lawn brings biobabbler down, making her ankle go "SNAP!" Sprained, not broken.

So I am biohobbler, once again.

And with all this (possibly record breaking?) SNOWY GLORY I do NOT get to SNOWSHOE IN AT LEAST EIGHT FEET of fresh snow in MARCH.

ARRRRRRGH!

Logic equation: If bb = snowshoeing, then bb = happy.

And today it's been snowing for hours at my house, so it's STILL piling up at Badger Pass.


Anyhow, I've not exercised for days, now. Too busy pouting.

And the options are pretty much pilates or sitting down/one-legged yoga and possibly free weights and pushups and sit ups (wheeee!).


However, I've decided on a new mental approach.

I will try to view this exercise as the start of my summer-hiking-get-in-shape program.

In high country with trail-dirty bum: bb happy.
Gaylor Lakes, Yosemite NP.

Work on building strength (since cardio will be hard to come by for a while), muscular endurance (lotsa situps, pushups, back exercises, core stuff), so I will not tire as easily as I might if I hike with bony back and arms.

The thought arose this a.m. while viewing photos of summertime Yosemite high country.

Trail side creek on hike to Elizabeth Lake,

Yosemite NP.

Unicorn Peak, from Elizabeth Lake,

Yosemite NP.

View south (I believe) from Gaylor Lakes,

Yosemite NP.

Yeah, could be worse.

And at least my legs usually work.

And I live pretty near a staggeringly beautiful place, and have the time and health to explore and enjoy it.

For that I am truly grateful.

bb

* BTW (by the way): who knew re: many sites telling you how to avoid, and most interestingly, survive an alligator attack. Think you don't need to know what and where an alligator's palatal valve is? THINK AGAIN! And, by the way, it can only be reached if your ARM is in the animal's MOUTH!


P.S. Do they really need to suggest you see a doctor promptly if you've been attacked by an alligator? How stoic can people be?!?


P.P.S. I just LOVE that there's a "crocodilian biology database"--that's where the palatal valve link takes you. TOO cool! University of Florida, of course. =) )