Clarification on Boston update

I realized some of the time references in my post below may have been confusing, so thought I’d clarify.

I crossed the finish line at 2:22pm real time, and have a text from my sister from 2:40pm that I got as we were leaving the finish line area. The explosions went off at 2:51.

My race time was 3:57, but that was by a different clock than the one that reads 4:09 in all the videos and photos. There are so many runners that they stagger their starts in three different waves. Basically, the first wave was for the elite runners, second wave was for normal runners who had entered with a fast enough qualifying time (the wave my dad and I were in), and third wave was for runners who had entered by raising money for charity.

Which also means that most of the runners who were crossing the finish line when the explosions went off were running for a cause, and the spectators in the stands were the ones there to support them. The fact that most of those injured were spectators who were probably there cheering on friends and family who were running for charity, for which this was a once in a lifetime event, somehow seems particularly cruel. 

Boston Marathon update

My dad and me at the finish line

First off, thanks to everyone for all of the calls, texts, emails, tweets, comments and likes I got today—it felt so good to have so much love and support come through. I just made it safely back to DC; my dad, step-mom, little bro & sis are en route to CA; older brother & his wife back at their place just outside Boston. It’s been a crazy, enormously sad day. 

The race itself was beautiful—so exciting and encouraging to have the huge crowds cheering you on from the sides. I felt great up to about mile 22, after which I started to hit the dreaded wall. My thighs and calves seized up into awful cramps, topped off with a worry that I was starting to feel pain again where I had previously stress-fractured my foot (which was why I couldn’t run Boston last year, for those who know of that saga). I broke down and started to walk. But with all the people shouting at me that I was “almost there,” my pride kicked in—I felt like I should break 4 hours—and I made myself run the last mile, through tears and all. I crossed the finish line clocking in at 3:57—and about half an hour before the bombs went off. 

My dad was just past the finish line waiting for me. We took some photos, got our medals and heat blankets, and wove through the crowd of tired runners to the exit—all of which took us about 15 minutes. 

Once we had gotten out and made some progress slowly walking to where we were supposed to meet up with our family I called my little sister to check in with her. Her voice sounded totally panicked in a way I haven’t quite heard anyone sound before. She said that there was a bomb scare and everyone was running around, but they were ok. It was so surreal and I was so confused (and probably kind of delirious). I didn’t know how seriously to take what she was saying, and at that point couldn’t get her to tell me very much else. 

Then I started to get calls and texts from others and pieced it together. My dad and I managed to meet up with the rest of our family for a weird “celebratory” meal. The restaurant was full of other runners and spectators and no one really seemed to know what to do or say. 

As I've heard and thought about it more, it has felt shocking how close my dad and I were to having a very different ending to the race. It was so hard to get myself to run those last 3 or 4 miles; I can’t help but wonder where we would’ve been had I not. 

I of course feel very lucky that everyone I was there with is okay right now, but of course also feel so sad for those, and the friends and families of those, who are not. The Boston marathon is such an inspiring, iconic event that so many people work so hard to make happen and participate in. It is totally beyond me how someone could think of it and all that it represents as a target. 

Let's all continue to send good thoughts toward Boston. 

Running DC

After not being able to run it last year (thanks to getting a little overzealous about minimalist shoes and ending up with a stress fracture), I'm getting ready for the Boston marathon coming up next weekend.

It has felt like a long process getting back in the game. But, first and foremost I don't want to re-injure myself, so I've tried to stay patient as I've build the mileages back up. Of course it feels good to push yourself to do your best, but what I most love about running is the simplicity of it--right now I'm trying not to bog that down with forming any sort of personal expectations. I do it for that sense of lightness that running gives me when I step out the door with nothing but what I need to keep moving along for the next couple of hours. For the sense of freedom that comes with not having do anything but put one foot in front of the other.  

U.S. Capitol 

I also love using running as a tool to explore, and my long runs have been a great way to get to know DC. Most of my runs start at the Capitol, which is quite close to where I live. From there I have a bunch of different options for some monumental jogs. 

MLK Memorial

Sometimes I like to make my way over to the Martin Luther King Memorial--from there I can run around the tidal basin to the FDR  and then Thomas Jefferson memorials. Then I can continue along for a loop around Ohio Drive. 

The Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument from across the Potomac

Or I'll often go down the National Mall, past the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, and take the Memorial bridge across the Potomac into Virginia. From there I can hang either a left to Teddy Roosevelt island for a good 13 miler, or a right if I'm looking to run longer. 

Theodore Roosevelt Memorial 

I think Teddy Roosevelt's is my favorite of the monuments. I love running through the trees around the island and then suddenly (it somehow always sort of catches me by surprise) coming upon the grand statue in the middle. 

Navy-Merchant Marine Memorial

But for my really long runs, George Washington Memorial Parkway continues on and on along the river. My training runs peaked at 20 miles, which brought me past Lady Bird Johnson Park, Ronald Reagon National Airport and on into Alexandria, VA. As I turn around and make my way back I can use the Washington Monument as a reference point of just how far I've gone (and how far left I have to go). 

My training got thrown off a bit because I was traveling the last two weeks of March and not able to run. I had done 20 miles right before I left, which felt great, but then a final 16 mile run last weekend got me a little worried at the thought having to put 10 more on top of that so soon. I figure I probably won't beat the time I used to qualify for Boston (from the Big Sur Marathon), or even come close to it. But I've decided not to worry about speed, I'll be happy just to be there and enjoy the race. 

Dreams and Goals

An article about me was recently featured in a Language Arts textbook for 6th graders--some of the students who use the textbook have been sending me letters over the past several months. Here are some of the letters that I have gotten about setting goals, and my response to them below!

Dear Samantha,

           You are inspiring to me to achieve my goals. It was amazing for me that you were the youngest person to climb the seven summits. So it would be fun if you made a goal for one to achieve like the one you already achieved.
            My goal is to have a skate or bike shop. I will achieve this by setting goals and working towards them.
            
Sincerely,
Angel

Climbing and Dance

Hi Samantha,

I am 11 and my name is harmony. I am a big fan because you are so brave. I always look at your pictures on your blog. I first heard about you in school and I was interested in how old you where and you climbed mount everest. I wish I could be just like u because your so brave. Did u have any second thoughts before climbing mount everest? People think climbing mountains is so easy but you have to practice and practice. My dream is not exactly what you did but I want to be a professional hip-hop dancer. But that has some similarities like being brave on stage and practicing. I wish I knew you because you because inspire me. Good luck on your next adventure love your friend:
harmony

Me at a dance recital in June 2000 (when I was 11!!)

Hi Harmony,
I think that's so cool you want to be a professional hip-hop dancer! I did a lot of dance up through when I was about seventeen. It was actually one of the main ways that I got exercise when I wasn't in the mountains. It may not be what you'd normally think to do when training to climb a big peak, but I think it actually turned out to be a really big help. Not only does it work your legs and heart, dance teaches you so much about things like body awareness and balance that are also important in climbing.

I took some hip-hop classes and really liked them, but I have to say I wish I had been better at hip-hop--I think ballet and tap were more in my stride. When I was about 13 I actually thought I wanted to be a professional dance choreographer! Sometimes I still miss dance a lot--who knows, maybe I'll be able to pick it up again now : )

You're very right that both climbing and dance take a lot of practice, and bravery. I think the patience, persistence, and guts (I always had horrible stage fright) I learned from dance taught me a lot that helped me in climbing, not to mention things like school or jobs.

To answer your questions, I was 18 when I climbed Everest. And yes I did sometimes have second thoughts about it, or moments of self-doubt, but I also never gave up the thought that I could do it as long as I really wanted to.

I'm so glad you like the pictures on my blog. Keep dancing!

Spring, summer, fall

It’s been awhile since my last post but life, and adventures, have carried on. The email from I got from Harmony (above) inspired me to write another post.

I’ve had two major developments in the last few months: Finishing up my master’s degree and moving to Washington, D.C. to start my first “real” job as a research assistant to a journalist.  

I spent spring quarter on Stanford’s main campus, my last quarter there. Besides my Earth systems classes I took a couple of classes in the journalism department—I wrote this story for one of them, which I’m quite proud of. It’s about Michael Kobold and two of the Sherpas I climbed Everest with (including Namgel, who I summited with).

Namgel with Everest in the background

I spent my summer finishing things up at Stanford’s Hopkins Marine Station, in Pacific Grove, California. I took a class there called “Ecology and Conservation of Kelp Forest Communities.” It was an amazing class—we got to use Monterey Bay, which was right out our back door, as our laboratory and playground. We went scuba diving every morning to get a closer look at the organisms and ecosystems that we learned about in the classroom. I loved becoming so familiar with this totally other world—I felt so happy getting under the surface and seeing what’s really going out there in that vast expanse we call the ocean. (Well, most days I felt happy to. Bad visibility and cold, cold water did make it a little less than fun on some particularly groggy mornings). 

My kelp forest ecology class getting ready for a dive in Carmel Bay.

 One of my favorite dives was to a site where there’s shale beds (most of the rock there is granite), making for a different collection of critters than we found elsewhere in the bay. There were dozens of a type of nudibranch (sea slugs) called Melibe leonina. They were translucent white and anywhere from a few inches to almost a foot in length. Most of them were hanging off the kelp and feeding by letting their tentacles drift around their heads, but some were actually swimming by closing up their foot and undulating their whole bodies from side to side. They seemed so completely fantastical.

Me and a Melibe leonina

While a big part of me still misses seeing (and getting in) the ocean everyday, I think I’m starting to find my groove here in D.C., too. I had never even been to our nation’s capitol before moving here, and there have been a lot of little things to adapt to. But I did survive the two big events that swept through the past couple of week—hurricane Sandy and the election.

I’ve also managed to dip my toes into some of the climbing that the east coast has to offer, with a short trip to the Gunks in upstate New York and a couple of visits to the New River Gorge in West Virginia. Check out my friend Keith's blog to read about my first day climbing (or more like trailblazing!) at the New. But I really enjoyed these trips--both the Gunks and the New have so much to offer. 

Me rappelling down after a climb in the New River Gorge (it's hard to take actual climbing shots when you're there with just one other person--I'd rather have a good belay than a good shot!)

Hetch Hetchy: water, water, water

 

In 1870 John Muir called the Hetch Hetchy Valley the "wonderfully exact counterpart of the great Yosemite." While people travel to Yosemite Valley to marvel at the static granite monoliths, Hetch Hetchy draws visitors to Yosemite National Park's northwest corner with the dynamism of its water. 

The 117-billion-gallon Hetch Hetchy reservoir was created by the O'Shaughnessy Dam in 1923 (its construction was long stalled by a battle against it led by Muir). Fed by alpine melt off into the Tuolumne River, today the reservoir provides drinking water that is pristine enough it doesn't need to be filtered to 2.4 million people in the Bay Area, as well as hydro-electric power generated by two plants downstream. 

It had been awhile since I went to Yosemite with no intention of climbing (given the still healing stress fracture). But when I got home from seeing Hetch Hetchy a couple of weekends ago and drank a glass of water from my faucet in Palo Alto--85 percent of which came from the Hetch Hetchy reservoir, now 120 miles away--it had never tasted quite so sweet.