As I scrolled through updates about the wildfires in Maui, my pulse quickened even as my heart broke. This is the stuff of my worst nightmares — of anyone’s worst nightmares. Flames consume entire communities as people flee on foot into the sea. There’s no time to escape, nowhere to go. Dozens don’t make it out. Those who do are scarred by burns and ravaged by smoke. They’ve lost everything. It can happen in tropical paradise … it can happen anywhere.
For the past three years, I have spent far too much time ruminating about what I’ll do when the wildfire comes. In my community, the autumn of 2020 was a wake-up call for how fast these conflagrations can move and how little control we have. The Calwood Fire started at a small ranch high in a canyon, and within hours roared through 10,000 acres into the high-density suburbs of North Boulder. The East Troublesome Fire jumped two miles of treeless tundra over the Continental Divide during a 100,000-acre, single-day run toward Estes Park. One year later, the Marshall Fire started as a shed fire on a windy winter day, and within hours destroyed more than 1,000 structures across miles of suburbs.
Our neighborhood in the foothills is walled in by mountains. There are only two roads out, and both are narrow, winding corridors that could easily become blocked during a disaster. We knew when we moved here that we were in a high-risk zone — that wildland-urban interface that is much maligned these days. But it wasn’t until 2020 that I really contemplated what that meant. If (when?) the wildfire comes, I wanted to be prepared. I used to keep go bags packed at all times. I’d consider the most valuable items in the house and where I’d pack them in one car if I had time to gather belongings before fleeing.
But the more I thought about it, the less I cared about stuff. If (when?) the wildfire comes, the wildfire can have my stuff. This was a liberating thought experiment in terms of managing my anxiety. I can genuinely say I don’t care all that much about material things. Even the irreplaceable stuff, the photo albums and journals that were the impetus for starting this Substack — which I originally intended as a digital archive of my memories — can go. It’s just stuff. One day I’ll be dead and no one will want it. That’s reality. I’m okay with that.
More scary to me is the prospect of trying to survive a fire. I witnessed the movement of the Calwood and East Troublesome fires. I saw the aftermath of the Marshall Fire. You think you have time … you don’t have time. I’ve considered the trails near my house that I can use to escape on foot if it comes to that. I’ve worked out the time it will take to run to safety in any direction. I’m grateful to have the mobility and health to rely on myself and only myself in a disaster scenario. It might not always be this way.
This is something I’ve been ruminating on lately — what the future might hold for my mobility and health. Earlier this week, I visited my allergist to discuss the frustrating but not-unexpected results of recent skin and lung tests. I’ve been undergoing immunotherapy treatment since October 2016 — seven years! — but the past three summers have been particularly hard on my asthma. Last October, I underwent what was supposed to be a last-ditch buildup with the maximum FDA-recommended dose of serum. It was rough — in terms of symptoms, it was like getting a Covid booster twice a week for five weeks. Feeling downtrodden for much of the month while pushing through it like nothing was wrong sent my mental health spiraling downward in a way I hadn’t expected. I don’t want to endure a month like October 2022 again.
Sadly, my recent skin test showed almost no improvement in my grass allergies. And my lung capacity has dropped more than 20% since April. As a seven-year patient, I’m a sort of super senior at the asthma clinic. I was supposed to graduate last year. Reviewing my tests, the doctor shrugged and said I have two options: They can cut me loose (congratulations, you just put yourself through seven years of hell for nothing!) or I can endure one last October buildup under the hope that this dosage will stick. I didn’t ask but can only assume that this onslaught of allergy vaccination exceeds FDA recommendations. It will likely mean a repeat of October 2022. I have a few more weeks to think about it.
I had been on an upward trend before 2020. What was it about 2020 that sent me backward? Covid? I don’t think I’ve been infected yet. I’ve not tested positive after many tests. And I essentially have not been sick since January 2020, although for all I know that was Covid. Anyway, there’s no way to know. The downward trend started before I had my first Covid vaccine, so it’s unlikely that particular immune system intervention had any effect. Sometimes I wonder if it was the particularly smoky summer and autumn that pushed me over the edge. I’m extremely sensitive to poor air quality. During the summer of 2020, I was stubborn and persisted with long rides and hikes during purple-air days. I chose to ignore the wheezing and coughing so I could do what I wanted with my one wild and precious life. The wildfire doesn’t care. The wildfire doesn’t care one iota about your one wild and precious set of lungs.
During the Fire Summer of 2020, I remember thinking back to the lessons of quarantine. It was so awful for many of us — staying indoors, not being able to move freely as we once had. And yet, Covid quarantine may have been a mere practice run for the cloistered future we face under the ravages of climate change. Hazardous air, extreme heat, dangerous storms, flood damage, new pandemics, and disaster scenarios may force us into limited indoor spaces and increased isolation.
Even in the near future, I might not be able to spend much time outside during the summer months. Summer 2023 has been good to us here on Colorado’s Front Range. We’ve only had a handful of bad air days so far, all caused by far-away fires in Canada. But I’ve still struggled with my breathing because my grass allergies are slipping off the charts again. As an athletic person, this is frustrating. I was relatively fit in May, and then my fitness dove off a cliff and has been bobbing in unpredictable waves ever since. It’s not just about feeling fast and strong; asthma becomes legitimately dangerous when it’s not managed well. I’m finally starting to accept that summer race goals may be a thing of my past. If I want to set an athletic goal, I still have the winter months as a respite. I’m grateful for that. I might not always have that.
Three weeks ago, Beat learned he needed to travel to the Bay Area for another conference, so we splurged and signed up for another California 50K. I had so much fun at the last one I ran in May, the San Francisco Endurance Run (I got this shirt and hat as my latest participation awards. I used to be blase about 50Ks but these days I wear them with pride.) That race in the Marin Headlands was foggy and cool, and the sea level boost made me feel like I was running with rocket boosters. There was one hill where I passed at least a dozen people. Near the top, a woman called out as I breezed past her.
“You’re killing this hill!”
And I was so pumped with adrenaline and exhilaration that I didn’t even try to act humble. “I know!” I called back.
I have already accepted that the Redwood Trail Run 50K will not be like that. To start, there won’t be many hills to kill. Uphills are the only thing I can do well; my leg turnover is sluggish in the best of scenarios. This race is fairly flat. And it’s August now. Hot. I won’t be in the foggy Marin Headlands, but further inland in Oakland. My training has been spotty and my fitness is all over the map. I might have an okay day or I might have a terrible day. Still, I’m excited. This feels like the ultimate indulgence — a summer race! I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to do these sorts of things.
You never know if (when?) the wildfire is going to come. All we can do is cultivate joy and gratitude for what we have, and strive to kill as many hills as we can.
"All we can do is cultivate joy and gratitude for what we have, and strive to kill as many hills as we can." You are not all gloom. This is a perfect antidote to pessimism.
I feel your pain and frustration, sending encouragement your way!
My hypothyroidism started to act up again, I think chronic inflammation is an added new autoimmune issue (that would make 3), stopped all supplements and muscle myopthy ramped up ( like having flu type body aches and cramps for weeks on end) and it roamed around my body. Referral to a endocrinologist is 5 months out....did a online blood tests for a current baseline, started supplements again with Journaling to track myself. Looking at Marek Health, an online heath optimum focused resource and starting more self study on my issues.
My ROI on general care has been marginal and I don't want to exist stuck in a low state of health any longer so time for me to invest more into myself. Not sure the outcome but there is a psychosomatic boost of hope....I'll take what I can :).