Jackie Borchardt

Before Christmas, I wasn’t too bummed about spending it away from home for the third year in a row. I survived (and enjoyed) previous Christmases spent skiing in New Mexico and feasting with other journalist orphans in Casper. The actual holiday stretched weeks, brown boxes from friends and relatives arriving weeks before the holiday and into January. I made it home for Thanksgiving both years with some good luck and a one-way ride as far as Colorado from my sister.

Thanksgiving at home didn’t happen this year. Plane tickets were expensive, my sister’s schedule didn’t align with mine and Josh’s dad, stepmom and stepsisters decided to drive to Wyoming for the weekend. I hosted my first Thanksgiving and proved once again I am my mother’s daughter.

Perfect turkey. (Nov. 24)

We served way too many appetizers, including $40 worth of cheese, and enjoyed leftovers for a whole week afterward. We drank wine and played games and watched movies. We were too full for dessert (pumpkin-apple and French silk pies, a la mode) but ate it anyway.

A few weeks before Christmas, I found out family from Virginia that I hadn’t seen in years were driving home. I scrambled to find a plane ticket: $650-800 to fly out of Casper. Flights from Denver were a little cheaper, but I couldn’t afford booking a $350 ticket in the case I-25 closed and I never made my flight. And I didn’t have $800 for a guaranteed flight.

So Christmas at home didn’t happen, again. We ended up driving to New Mexico for a long weekend with Josh’s family. Of course, Nola came with and she behaved so well during the 10ish hour car ride.

Outtake from the Christmas card photo shoot. (Dec. 12)

And when I called my mom’s house where everyone was gathering on Christmas day, no one answered the phone. I called three cell phones before my brother answered, roaring laughter in the background.

They were doing the white elephant gifts, he explained. Apparently, in the Christmases I missed, my family started a new tradition. At that moment, I made a vow to go home next year, no matter what, even if it is only for two days.

Although I’ve done a good job of finding family around the holidays to celebrate with, nothing beats going home.

Nola loves digging in blankets. (Oct. 31)

Two weeks ago, this little one entered my life. It’s hard to imagine life without her.

We named her Nola after New Orleans, something we always agree on. The name seems to suit her well. She’s sweet, loyal and, as demonstrated by more than a few spills, extremely resilient.

She’s part maltese, part poodle — 100 percent love.

We have a lot in common. We both love peanut butter, Motown and falling asleep on the couch to the evening news.

Nola. (Nov. 2, by Joshua A. Bickel)

We searched Wyoming shelters for small dogs all summer. We fell in love with a dachshund, but someone else adopted her before we could. We found dogs in Colorado shelters, but they didn’t adopt out of state.

My mom’s trusted breeder in Illinois happened to have four puppies available when I visited home in September. When I held Nola, she got scared by a sound from another puppy and burrowed her head into my chest with a wimper. I was sold.

My mom drove her as far as South Dakota, and I drove more than 600 miles each way to pick her up. On the ride back, I let her sit in the passenger seat. She climbed into my lap and stayed there until I had to get gas in Rapid City. She felt safe with me. And I didn’t feel so alone driving in the dark.

She’s taught me a few things in the short time she’s been here.

- Patience is something I work on every day. The dog has taken it to new levels. Nola turns into super-hyper puppy for about an hour every morning, and I feel like I’m at mile No. 10 of a half marathon with Josh.

- Confidence is built on a series of experiences. We’re working on her confidence to squat and do her business outside despite barking pitbulls, strong winds and strangers passing by on the sidewalk.

- Sometimes, we need a little help — even when we know we’ll succeed. Nola can get off the couch, but often she will sit on the end and whine for someone to pick her up and put her on the floor.

A colleague asked me why I run races — it’s not like I’m going to win them.

And the answer is different for each race. And it often changes from the time I sign up for the race to when I cross the finish line.

I trained for my first, a 10K in New Orleans, as a healthy distraction from my master’s project. I ran my first half marathon to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I ended up testing my relationship in the process, as my running partner (and boyfriend) and I had different race mentalities.

After that, I kept running, mostly for the mental escape and runner’s high and pushed myself in the Denver half marathon. I shaved 21 minutes off my Seattle time and gained an appreciation for the strength I’ve built in the past two years. I celebrated that strength with girlfriends on a trail run in Napa.

This year’s Denver race tested that appreciation and, after 10 miles, my patience.

I signed up in May for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Denver marathon — the full 26.2 mile race. I was in decent shape and had a whole summer ahead of me to train. Training went well, very well, actually, until the second week of July. I ran a 5K, my first race in 10 months, and injured myself by starting out the gate too fast.

I hobbled through runs for a few weeks, trying to self diagnose because my health insurance doesn’t cover sports injuries. I realized I would lose too much training time to prepare for the full. Over a few weeks, the point of injury shifted and I realized it was my IT band. I started a daily routine of stretching, foam rolling and doing awkward strengthening exercises such as the clamshell.

I stopped running and lusting after running and enjoyed the things I could do — hiking, biking, walking.

And one day, I could run. I was determined to run the half. I fit in a few runs including a 10 miler. I was in no shape for a personal record, but I knew I could battle through it. My boyfriend, less prepared than me, agreed to run with me.

A scene from Seattle replayed in my head: 12 mile marker. He wanted to walk. I’m yelling, “We’re almost there!” He starts walking. I threaten to run ahead. I do. I stop, walk backwards to meet him. He says, “My legs hurt. I think I broke my knee.” I say things I can’t repeat here. This continues for the longest 12 minutes of my life.

Going into the half marathon, I was more nervous about running with a partner than I was about my muscles falling apart. I have done and do a lot on my own. I also enjoy working on group projects, but I get frustrated with them when what I think to be the most obvious, right idea is ignored.

And this is why I struggle to run with others. For me, running has been such a personal, individual effort where I control when to sprint, how far to run and when to finish. I may not be fast, but my excellent internal clock makes me a terrific pacer. My body knows it can run at a harder pace when I’m only running 3 miles vs. 6 and I sustain that pace over time.

Josh doesn’t run this way. He runs hard, slows down and then, just when I think he’s completely exhausted, has an incredible burst of energy that propels him ahead of me and across the finish line.

Knowing this I set a different set of goals for Denver: Run the whole way with Josh, pace him to a PR and finish injury-free.

Coors Field, Rock 'n' Roll Denver (Oct. 9, 2011)

My hips started hurting after only 6 miles. Josh wanted to stop after 10, but stopping made my calves hurt. I channeled my frustration into obnoxious optimism. “We can do it! Only 3 miles to go! Your legs aren’t broken! Let’s run to that corner and then walk!”

The Seattle race gave me the longest 12 minutes of my life — Denver gave me the longest 3 miles of my life.

Like all races, it eventually ended. Crossing the finish line, I realized we accomplished all three goals. It felt better than a PR.

Rock 'n' Roll Denver (Oct. 9, 2011)

And there’s always more races to run for those PRs.

My friend Jenni posted on Facebook for friends to sign up for the Warrior Dash, a trail run featuring several military-type obstacles, in southern Wisconsin.

Man, I thought, I would if I were closer.

Obstacle races haven’t reached Wyoming yet. Honestly, running races are scant and when I look for races, I always end up looking in Colorado.

A few days passed and I realized I had more vacation days left than I though, days that had to be used before the end of this fiscal year. I was already taking two days for a wedding in Missouri, but the four-day series running this week made it easy to take the rest of the week off.

And it wasn’t too late to sign up for the Warrior Dash.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t corral our siblings and friends to join us, so we battled the cold, rainy (and challenging) course on our own. The 5K course involved climbing a lot of 12-foot walls and hanging and dropping down on the other side — two things Jenni have never done and rarely do.

But we did it at our own pace and had fun, finished in about 43 minutes. The race was very well organized and I would definitely do another.

Before

So clean. (Sept. 18, 2011)

After

Post-mud pit glory (Sept. 18, 2011)

Oh, yeah.

When we finished (wading through a mud pit under barbed wire), the announcer saw our shirts and said, “We need some Kool Aid over here!” And spectators chanted, “Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, oh, yeah.”

It was a good time. Getting hosed down by firemen was not.

Even better: Changing into dry clothes before retrieving our free beer.

Long time, no post. I blame it on busy days at work — school starting and lots of state issues — and having way too many fun summer things to do when I’m not working.

I was a little homesick after my brother and dad visited. So the next weekend, my mom drove from Illinois to Wyoming. She brought her two little dogs.

It was really, really hard to let this dog leave me. (Aug. 20, 2011)

While Mom was here, we went for a 4.5 mile hike along the Bridle Trail at the base of the mountain. And, for the first time in a month, I didn’t hurt afterward.

Rewind: I hurt what I thought was my knee after running the Parade Day 5K way, way too fast and failing to stretch properly afterward. How fast? Try an 8:15 first mile — my PR 5K pace was about 8:40. I ran the first mile alongside a group of Marines, which should have been my first warning sign. Soreness went away a few days later and I attempted to run. I gimped through 5 miles and another 7 that weekend. The point of injury moved from my knee to the top of my quad. The next week, I (stupidly) ran 12 in New York.

I hobbled through two runs a week for about a month. When I saw other runners — especially younger, perkier, faster runners — I got insanely jealous and a little sad. I just wanted to run.

Harder than running through the pain was realizing I wouldn’t be able to run the full marathon in Denver next month. I signed up in May, intending to complete my first marathon close to home with friends and family cheering me on. I told myself I could always drop down to the half in case I didn’t get the training in. I didn’t get depressed, but I was pretty down for a few weeks.

After the hike with Mom, I dialed back, focused on strengthening exercises for my IT band. The injury made sense in hindsight — I stopped lower body weight training a few weeks before the injury, stressed all my muscles too hard in the 5K and didn’t cool down properly. I’ve hiked every week since and gradually added shorter runs in.

This week’s runs have given me hope that I can finish the half. My legs felt like new on Thursday and this morning I only felt a little pain after 4 of 6 miles.

So I’m back in the saddle with a modified plan that includes lots of stretching, foam rolling and trail running.