For more than four decades, Steves has guided Americans through the art, food, and culture of Europe, first with his bestselling guidebooks, then as host of his long-running PBS show, Rick Steves鈥� Europe. But lately, the seventy-year-old travel expert has fallen for a different kind of journey: long-distance hiking. From the Tour du Mont Blanc to the Alta Vias in the Dolomites, Steves now prefers alpine trails and mountain huts to museums and city squares鈥攁nd he thinks you will, too.

The Hike That Hooked Him: In September 2021, I went on a six-day, sixty-mile trek on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Here I am, supposed to be this expert on European travel, and I鈥檝e never done a multiday hike in the Alps. I loved the rhythm of my feet on the trail. It鈥檚 therapeutic. It was something totally new to me, and now I want to tell everybody what a great travel option it is.

On His Most Recent 国产吃瓜黑料: This past summer we did the Bernese Oberland Traverse. I wanted to link together some of the most venerable lodges in the Eiger and Jungfrau areas. I used Grindelwald as the springboard and hiked deep into a valley. At one point we were on a ridge high above, looking at lakes stretching out [below]. We heard the alpenhorns blowing and knew that coffee and schnapps would be served at the hut. It was enough to make a Lutheran raise his hands to the sky to praise God.

The Next Hike: This summer we鈥檙e doing a one-week hike along the Alta Via routes in the Dolomites. I鈥檓 still a fair-weather hiker, so I don鈥檛 want to sleep outdoors. I鈥檒l stay in the rifugios and huts along the way.

How Hiking Helps Him at Age Seventy: It forces you to get in shape before the trip. My body feels stronger on a hiking trip. My legs and of course my lungs feel better, even my voice is stronger. It鈥檚 an intangible value to be out there.

His Secret to Enjoying a Hike: Hire a sherpa service to take your bag from one hut to the next. That way you can just hike with your day bag and hiking poles and get lost in nature without thinking about the weight on your back. I鈥檓 not looking to impress anybody with how heavy a pack I can carry, and neither should you.

Advice Travelers Want from Him: Our focus isn鈥檛 on hotels as much as it used to be, and I think that鈥檚 because of . Advice on eating is more important than ever. Every night in Europe I鈥檓 out there for four hours checking out restaurants, because people want to know what鈥檚 good. People also want to know the nitty-gritty like how to navigate public transportation, and whether a place requires reservations. After COVID, a lot of the greatest sites in Europe expect you to reserve a spot. In Amsterdam alone, the Van Gogh Museum, Anne Frank House, and some of the best restaurants all required this.

Why Instagram Influencers Can鈥檛 Replace Travel Experts: I look on social media and I see people having a wonderful time showing off how great their trip is, but I don鈥檛 think it鈥檚 great for other people to plan their trips off of that. There鈥檚 a ton of information online but it鈥檚 all crowdsourced. So, all of a sudden anyone who has traveled to Paris can be the expert on where to get the best hot chocolate. But nobody is asking how many places did they try? Because the answer is usually one. There are a lot of amateurs sharing travel information out there, and there鈥檚 nothing wrong with that, but do these people know how to tell you how to best use your valuable time in Florence? I think that鈥檚 why guidebooks are still here, in fact they are growing. I鈥檓 selling more guidebooks than I鈥檝e ever sold in my life, over one million a year. It鈥檚 because we go there鈥攎y team and I spend 400 days of research time in Europe every year to update the books. Americans have the shortest vacation time in the free world. Time is a resource. And that鈥檚 why we want expert advice.

The post Rick Steves is Still a Travel Icon at Age 70 appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

None of Marcus Samuelsson鈥檚 childhood memories took place inside. Growing up in Gothenberg, Sweden, the acclaimed chef, who was born in Ethiopia, spent much of his time on the water fishing or in the forests foraging for mushrooms or lingonberries. His uncles, professional fishermen, would take him with them for their daily catch. Surrounded by a vibrant food culture, Samuelsson apprenticed in kitchens in Switzerland, Austria, and France before moving to New York City in the 1990s. He channeled his love of soccer into long runs through Central Park and beyond, exploring the culinary mecca mostly on foot. He ran and in-line skated his way through Manhattan, first as an apprentice at Aquavit, a Scandinavian restaurant in Midtown, and then as its executive chef. There, Samuelsson became the youngest chef to earn a three-star rating from The New York Times. Samuelsson, now 54, still runs through the city, often dreaming up dishes for his new restaurant, Marcus Addis, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

OUTSIDE: I hear you have a rule: no matter where you are in the world, you exercise four times a week. Often you run. How does a kid from Gothenburg become a lifelong runner?

I think it鈥檚 because I鈥檓 Ethiopian. I grew up watching sports, and . Like them, I found it easy to run. It was something in my veins that I enjoyed, and I鈥檓 light on my feet. I played a lot of soccer as a kid too, but as I grew up and started working in kitchens鈥攈aving less time for team sports鈥擨 started running just to run. Running gives you freedom. You start to think about your outside experience differently than when you鈥檙e playing on a team with a coach, refs, and so many moving parts. It was like skateboarding or biking as a kid鈥攁 sense of freedom and discovery that I really enjoyed.

How did running shape your relationship with New York City?

It became my way to explore. I like to , especially in the early morning, when there aren鈥檛 that many cars. There is a sense of discovery that you can鈥檛 get once a city is fully awake.

But one of my favorite ways to see the city was on Rollerblades. I鈥檇 skate from Midtown down to Chinatown to discover the best food stands, or find places where you can pick up international foods like galangal or different types of ginger that weren鈥檛 [available] in Midtown. The train or a cab was out of my budget, so Rollerblading or running became the ways I got down there.

What makes running in Central Park one of the best places in the world?

If you go for a run in Central Park on a weekend, you meet people from all over the world doing something鈥攎aking music, praying, screaming. Whatever it is, they鈥檙e doing it well. You run past iconic places, like where John Lennon lived. If you run downtown, you see beautiful historic buildings鈥攊t鈥檚 urbanism at its fullest.

How did you decide to run your first marathon? What did your training plan look like?

It was a challenge from my mom. Growing up, she pushed me constantly. She challenged me to open a restaurant in Harlem [Red Rooster, in 2010], and we were arguing about whether I was still an athlete. I鈥檝e always been naturally athletic鈥擨 could roll out of bed and play sports pretty well. But she said, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e not an athlete anymore.鈥� To prove her wrong, I ran my first in 2001鈥攚ithout any proper marathon training. I was only running maybe six miles at a time, and I never built up to twelve or eighteen miles. I paid dearly for it. I don鈥檛 recommend that to anybody.

You鈥檝e gotten involved with run clubs recently. How does running with other people change the experience for you?

I love running with young people. You get into new music, learn new slang and trends鈥攖hat鈥檚 exciting to me. It鈥檚 fun to share space with people who aren鈥檛 part of the chef community. I love that. And people [I meet at run clubs] are always excited to learn I鈥檓 Ethiopian鈥攂ut I鈥檓 probably the slowest Ethiopian you鈥檒l ever meet. I blame it on being Swedish.

Has running altered your relationship with food?

You know, it鈥檚 not just running鈥攊t鈥檚 spending time outdoors with my kids. When fall comes around and it鈥檚 time to pick apples or pumpkins, that鈥檚 such a great way to be outside with the family. Not only does it take them away from their iPads, but it鈥檚 also the kind of food-driven freedom I grew up with. I realized that Swedish freedom is a luxury, and I鈥檓 trying to give my kids that same sense of luxury.

Running is also a good time to meditate on my work. I鈥檇 come to understand umami while running鈥攖hinking about how I can improve my processes and recipes. A lot of that happens during the cerebral thinking process when you鈥檙e running.

Has running ever inspired a dish? Can you share one you came up with while on a run?

At Hav & Mar [his seafood restaurant in Chelsea], we have a dish called Addis York, which really balances New York City life with Addis Ababa. That鈥檚 not a dish I would have come up with in a kitchen. It popped into my head on a run, where I get space from the kitchen and have time to think deeply. I was wondering how to connect these two places and came up with the idea of placing a piece of Ethiopian-spiced fried chicken on top of injera with doro wot stew.

Do you find that running helps you find some zen?

When I travel for work, running takes over my thoughts. Right now, I鈥檓 in Miami for an event, and all I can think about is . Running is decompression time. A lot of people focus on the distance when they run, like it鈥檚 work. For me, it鈥檚 more about the excitement of looking at the ocean or exploring the city.

Why was it important to you to open your restaurant in Addis Ababa?

I have a very strong heritage there: my half-siblings from my father鈥檚 side, my wife鈥檚 brother, and her mom all live there. We travel to Ethiopia often. I鈥檓 really excited about the restaurant because it鈥檚 connected to a school where Ethiopian students have a path to study hospitality, learn to problem-solve, and work together. It gives them a path to a job and a path to success. That makes me really happy.

Why is your work with World Central Kitchen so meaningful to you?

During the pandemic, Jos茅 Andr茅s and World Central Kitchen were among the first people to come to Harlem when we truly, truly needed help. With their support at Red Rooster, we served more than 1,000 people per day for several months.

We recently went to Altadena, California, to help after the fire, and the devastation was shocking. But it also brought out the best in people. In the worst of times, you see real people鈥擜mericans helping Americans. No one cares who鈥檚 a Republican or a Democrat. That makes me proud of the organization and proud to be an American, especially when that can feel challenging.

This piece first appeared in the summer 2025 print issue of 国产吃瓜黑料 Magazine. Subscribe now for early access to our most captivating storytelling, stunning photography, and deeply reported features on the biggest issues facing the outdoor world.

The post Running Helps This New York City Chef Create His Best Recipes appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Shaun White has been the face of snowboarding for two decades. So what is he doing in retirement? A lot. He鈥檚 launching his own snowboard brand. He鈥檚 raising money to protect public lands. He鈥檚 even starting his own half-pipe competition. In this live interview from The 国产吃瓜黑料 Festival in Denver, former NFL linebacker Dhani Jones talks with White about life after pro sports and how the keys to his past success play a role in his future.

Tickets to the 2025 国产吃瓜黑料 Festival and Summit are on sale now at early bird prices at

The post Shaun White鈥檚 Next Twist appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

This story update is part of the聽国产吃瓜黑料听颁濒补蝉蝉颈肠蝉, a series highlighting the best writing we鈥檝e ever published, along with author interviews and other exclusive bonus materials. Read 鈥淭he Same River Twice,鈥� by David Quammen,聽here.

In the grainy Zoom window, I see Quammen鈥檚 walls of shelves, heaving with books, and also a large, empty glass tank.

鈥淚鈥檓 in here with Boots the python,鈥� he says, as if it鈥檚 totally banal to share office space with a large snake. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 his tank.鈥�

Ah, the tank is not empty. That鈥檚 cool. And a little terrifying.

鈥淥h, he鈥檚 a sweetheart,鈥� Quammen says. 鈥淢y wife, Betsy, came downstairs one day about five years ago and said, 鈥楧on鈥檛 get mad at me, but鈥斺�� You know how those conversations begin. Betsy says, 鈥楧on鈥檛 get mad at me, but I鈥檝e adopted a python.鈥� Betsy and I are snake people. I said, 鈥榃hat species?鈥� That鈥檚 kind of what passes for our collaborative decision-making.鈥�

Boots is a 鈥渧ery gentle鈥� ball python, Quammen says. 鈥淗e, like most of our dogs and like the cat, is a rescue.鈥� When Quammen lets Boots crawl around the office, the snake will sometimes slither up and into hidden spaces in the shelves.

鈥淭heir favorite habitat is rocky walls. A ball python can go into a niche in a cliff or a mud bank and wedge itself in there like a ball, and it makes it hard for a leopard or a baboon to pull it out and eat it. Boots wedges himself in my bookshelf, and I have to delicately figure out: Which book do I take out next in a way that does not hurt him, bend any of his scales in the wrong direction, to loosen him up a little bit? Eventually, he just sort of falls into my hands.

鈥淗e鈥檚 only bitten me once, and it was by accident. He was very embarrassed.鈥�

We digress, perhaps. But a conversation with Quammen always contains multitudes: Darwinism, connubial negotiation and bliss, dedication to the literary and the true, and a fierce and gregarious curiosity, with Montana often in the wings. Let鈥檚 digress a bit more: had he not bought a used Volkswagen bus in England, and had George McGovern won the U.S. presidency in 1972, it鈥檚 very possible Quammen might never have ended up in Montana at all.

He grew up in Cincinnati and got into Yale, where he studied literature and wrote a novel, . He then won a Rhodes Scholarship and headed off to Oxford to earn a graduate degree, writing his thesis on the works of William Faulkner. He obtained the VW bus with money earned from the novel. But in May 1972, Quammen recalls, Richard Nixon ordered the mining of Haiphong Harbor in Vietnam, and 鈥渨ithin about 24 hours I left the Rhodes without permission and came back to the U.S. to work for McGovern鈥檚 [anti-war] campaign. After McGovern was squashed in November, I promptly went back to England and found that the head of the Rhodes Scholarships hadn鈥檛 written me off.鈥�

Quammen got his Oxford degree and then convinced his friend Dennis to ship the VW to a dockyard in New York. Following an unsatisfying stint in Berkeley, California, Quammen decided to drive the bus 鈥渢o Montana, filled with Penguin Classics and a portable electric typewriter. And a very cheap fly rod, which I soon ran over and replaced with a better cheap fly rod. I arrived in Missoula on September 12, 1973. A significant day in my life.鈥�

OUTSIDE: I came to work at the magazine the year after you wrote 鈥淭he Same River Twice.鈥� I don鈥檛 know if you remember, I was your fact-checker back in those days. I read this essay, and from that moment on I loved your writing. The bones of the story have everything to do with how you came to 国产吃瓜黑料.
QUAMMEN: In 1981, Steve Byers, E. Jean Carroll, and I were all trying to break into magazine writing from Ennis, Montana, the little town we were living in. I was 33; they were a few years older. We heard that the editor of 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine was coming to Montana to schmooze with writers, and we thought it鈥檇 be great if we could get a shot at meeting that guy and pitch stories to him.

From a phone booth in Bozeman, with a handful of quarters, I cold-called 国产吃瓜黑料 in Chicago and asked for John Rasmus, editor in chief. My heart was racing. I was nervous. My mission was to say, 鈥淚f you come to Ennis, Steve and I will take you fly-fishing on the Madison River.鈥�

This young, casual voice comes on the line: 鈥淗i, this is John.鈥� I say, 鈥淗i, John Rasmus. You don鈥檛 know me.鈥� I do my little spiel, and he says, 鈥淥h, OK. Cool.鈥�

Steve and I taught him to cast a fly line in my side yard. Then we took him fishing, and we made sure that he caught some fish. By about sunset on this stretch of the Madison, he was landing a 16-inch rainbow trout.

We took him back to the farmhouse where Steve and Jean lived, and we cooked steaks and drank whiskey. By the end of the evening, we were all best friends. At some point I said: I got a story idea for you. I want to write a piece about what鈥檚 good about mosquitoes. John said, 鈥淚s anything good?鈥� But in the sober light of day he said, 鈥淚鈥檓 assigning this to you, right?鈥� I mailed the essay off in a manila envelope and thought, What鈥檚 going to happen?

What happened was he accepted it and offered you a job as columnist for a slot already known as Natural Acts.
That was the only time, I think, that I ever actually pitched 国产吃瓜黑料 an idea. After that I鈥檇 just send him a piece, usually on time, but at the last minute: 鈥淗ere鈥檚 an essay on sea cucumbers.鈥� 鈥淗ere鈥檚 an essay on giant Pacific octopus.鈥� 鈥淗ere鈥檚 an essay on why crows get bored.鈥� Which is because they鈥檙e too intelligent for their station in life.

When I was doing the column, I tended always to look for some kind of synergy between elements that were unexpectedly combined, but when you put them together鈥� well, son of a gun. I had taken some courses in zoology at the University of Montana when I lived in Missoula. I had taken a course in entomology, another one in aquatic entomology, and another one in ichthyology. I was interested in how spring creeks worked, the fact that they maintain a constant temperature and therefore have a 12-months-of-the-year growing season and can be very productive. This creek behind Steve and Jean鈥檚 house was a spring creek.

And then Steve and Jean came to an end. I had so revered their union that, when they split, it gutted me. Then, several years later, I was noodling up a column.

I had that spring creek idea, but it was only half of a column. I needed another half. I needed the yang to that yin. That creek that I fished on with Steve, and the end of their marriage and the end of our special moment, the three of us in that town, became the yang of this piece. I always thought of that time as鈥攖here鈥檚 a wonderful sentence at the very end of , Ernest Hemingway鈥檚 memoir of Paris. He says, 鈥淭his is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy.鈥�

One thing I enjoy about the essay is that there are no identifiers鈥擨 don鈥檛 know where it is except that it鈥檚 in Montana. As I reread it recently, I thought about how we are now so information saturated. This piece is almost allegorical鈥攖he opposite of online culture.
It鈥檚 a very particular, very personal story, but I wanted it to have some sort of universal dimension. I wanted it to have legs. I want to give myself credit for an instinct that not naming the town, not naming the people, not naming the specifics would give it a little bit of permanence. I was describing science with great care and, I hope, precision, but also connecting it with things that were very unscientific鈥攅ither artistic or simply emotional.

I love that 国产吃瓜黑料 was a place where you could do that, and everybody had the good sense to keep letting you do it.
I did between 152 and 155 columns, something like that. All those wonderful people at 国产吃瓜黑料 just letting me do any damn crazy thing, as long as I could make it work and get it in on time. It was a fool鈥檚 paradise.

But you started out wanting to write fiction, right?
I wanted to be a novelist. I had taken one science course in college, a biology course, and it was not a good biology course. Didn鈥檛 even mention Charles Darwin.

I discovered Faulkner when I was a sophomore at Yale, and I became obsessed with his work. I studied him with a great teacher and a great friend to me, Robert Penn Warren, who knew Faulkner, and who was himself a southerner and a towering American man of letters. When I was a senior, I was rewriting what became my first published novel, To Walk the Line.

But I was a middle-class white male from a happy childhood in Ohio. The world didn鈥檛 need that guy to be a novelist. When I got to Montana I started reading nonfiction. Voraciously.聽For the first time.

What prompted you to do that?
I had always been interested in the natural world, but I had been in New Haven and then Oxford鈥攏ot places where the natural world is very strongly present. I got to Montana, and I got back to the natural world. I was interested in feeling the cold and the snow and feeling the flow of the rivers. But also, I was interested in thinking about it. I was interested in ecology and evolutionary biology. I started reading Darwin. I started reading Heraclitus. I started reading Herodotus. I started reading Jean-Jacques Rousseau. I started reading every which way: Loren Eiseley and J.B.S. Haldane and Mary Kingsley and Annie Dillard and others. And I saw people doing things with nonfiction that were every bit as creative and imaginative as fiction, and much more creative and imaginative than 97 percent of novels.

I want to ask about your books on pandemics, which are both highly literary and diligently reported. You were prescient on this topic, having published , your 2012 book about the rise in zoonotic diseases that transmit dangerously from animals to humans. A decade later came Breathless, in which you argue persuasively for the zoonotic theory of COVID-19 and against the theory that the virus escaped from a virology lab in Wuhan, China.聽聽聽
One story is the imagined story of a lab leak, and the other is the inferential story of a zoonotic spillover. There is a lot of empirical evidence to support but not finally prove the idea that COVID originated with a zoonotic spillover. There鈥檚 a whole historical and scientific context for that. There are pieces of immediate evidence that support that idea.

There鈥檚 no empirical evidence to support the lab story. But it is a very, very powerful, enticing story. And that is why it has legs, in my opinion. One of the things that they argue on that side is, 鈥淲ell, if this came from a zoonotic spillover from a bat, why haven鈥檛 we found the original virus in the bat? It鈥檚 been four years now. That鈥檚 very suspicious.鈥�

Well, no. The problem is they don鈥檛 know anything about the history of zoonotic diseases. With the Marburg virus, for example, it took 41 years to find the bat. With Ebola it鈥檚 been 48 years, and we still don鈥檛 have the answer. It is not mysterious that the last section of evidence in the structure of empirical support for zoonotic spillover of COVID hasn鈥檛 been found.

Are you working on a book now?
Yeah. My desk is covered with files, files, files, books, books, and files. I鈥檓 working on a book on cancer as an evolutionary phenomenon. I鈥檝e been incubating this book for 17 years.

How is cancer evolutionary?
There is a school of thought that I stumbled across in 2006 or 2007 that says to understand cancer, you have to understand it from a Darwinian perspective. Every tumor is a population of cells. As a tumor begins, the cells start mutating more and more. As a tumor grows, it鈥檚 a population of cells that vary from one another with genetic variation. And they鈥檙e competing. They鈥檙e competing for space. They鈥檙e competing for blood. They鈥檙e competing for oxygen, for other resources that allow them to grow. And when you have a population of variant individuals competing for resources in order to survive and replicate themselves鈥攄oes that sound familiar? You turn the crank and you have evolution by natural selection.

So why does chemo so often not work? An oncologist prescribes a drug, and I don鈥檛 know how much cancer you鈥檝e experienced in your family or your life鈥�

I had breast cancer, and my husband died of lymphoma.
All right. Ouch. Yes. So an oncologist says, 鈥淲e鈥檙e going to treat this with chemo. This is a good drug.鈥� And the chemo knocks down the cancer for six months or so. You get some improvement. And then the cancer becomes resistant to that drug, so you鈥檙e forced to use a different drug. Why does it become resistant? For the same reason that a field of grasshoppers becomes resistant to the insecticide DDT. You hit the grasshoppers with DDT one year. You kill off 99 percent of the grasshoppers, and 1 percent of the grasshoppers happen to have genetic resistance to DDT. Two years later, your field is filled with grasshoppers again. This is cancer as an evolutionary phenomenon.

If we live long enough and are lucky enough, we鈥檒l all die of cancer. Lucky enough because it is a result of, among other things, but importantly, the cumulative number of cell divisions that you have. But here鈥檚 a question: Why do whales not get cancer?

Whales?
It鈥檚 a mystery. It鈥檚 called . Whales live a long time, and they have lots and lots of cells. Their cells are not larger than ours, they just have more of them. If you trace a linear curve, whales should be dying of cancer in early middle age, all of them, and they鈥檙e not.

Are there any tiny animals that don鈥檛 get cancer?
Yes. The naked mole rat, which lives in burrows in the Middle East. It has hardly any fur. It鈥檚 blind. It lives underground. A naked mole rat lives to be 20 or 30. A mouse lives to be two. There are cancer biologists who have whole colonies of naked mole rats and have been studying them for 40 years.

This conversation makes me want to be huge. Or very small.
Lisa, just remember: 国产吃瓜黑料 in the 1980s, that鈥檚 what it was like, when we were very young and very happy.

The post How David Quammen鈥檚 Writing Career Was Influenced by his Time Fishing in Montana appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

This story update is part of the聽国产吃瓜黑料听颁濒补蝉蝉颈肠蝉, a series highlighting the best writing we鈥檝e ever published, along with author interviews and other exclusive bonus materials. Read 鈥淭hese Pants Saved My Life,鈥� by Natasha Singer here.

She had us at 鈥渁ngry walrus attacks.鈥� The vision of hardy frontier folk stepping up to the mic to regale friends and neighbors with gonzo tales of death-defying rescue by outerwear was too good to pass up. So we sent Singer back to Talkeetna to cover the annual event. (Which is still going strong, despite a COVID-19 interruption in 2020.) At the time, the ball consisted of locals modeling Carhartt鈥檚 spring line at the VFW hall, followed by a storytelling competition at a nearby bar. Not only was it sponsored by Carhartt, but the clothing manufacturer鈥檚 main man in Anchorage served as the event鈥檚 emcee (decked out in a 鈥渂espoke brown Carhartt tuxedo with black lapels,鈥� natch). Singer鈥檚 story ran in the magazine鈥檚 25th anniversary issue, in October 2002, under the rubric 鈥淩evelries of the Rustics.鈥�

This wasn鈥檛 the first time Singer had traveled to a remote locale for 国产吃瓜黑料, and it wouldn鈥檛 be the last. As a roving correspondent for the magazine in the early 2000s, she documented a cockeyed attempt to return Keiko鈥攖he killer whale star of Free Willy鈥�to the sea off the coast of Iceland, hopped a ride on a U.S. Coast Guard cutter attempting to break through the ice-choked Northwest Passage, and slogged through the jungles of Thailand in pursuit of a group of WildAid activists trying to halt an illicit trade in endangered species. (鈥淥h, my God,鈥� she said, recalling that reporting trip, 鈥渄id I tell you about the anti-leech socks?鈥�) These days, she writes about technology and education for the New York Times business section. Stowe recently caught up with Singer about her globe-trotting experiences.

OUTSIDE: Maybe I shouldn鈥檛 say this, since I wrote it, but your story ran under my favorite headline: 鈥淭hese Pants Saved My Life.鈥� It鈥檚 straight to the point, prominently employs the word 鈥減ants,鈥� and has the added value of being true. How did you discover the Carhartt Ball?
SINGER: There鈥檚 this saying about Alaska鈥攊f you鈥檙e a woman looking for a guy, the odds are good but the goods are odd. And in Talkeetna especially, the odds are better but the goods are odder. I had been sent there to do a story on the bachelor auction, and I started to hear these really interesting stories, episodes where people got into trouble and their Carhartts鈥攎iraculously, like the Shroud of Turin鈥攕eemed to have magical properties that were healing or lifesaving. People were telling real stories, like: This tree fell on me, but I was wearing my double-knee Carhartt pants, so I didn鈥檛 get hypothermia. I survived for three hours. This was normal discourse, and the pants were the common denominator.

I鈥檝e always thought there鈥檚 a reason people go to live in Alaska, and it鈥檚 mainly to get away from the rest of us in the lower 48.
We all have tribes, and we all have things that distinguish who gets in the tribe and who doesn鈥檛. The Carhartt epic is a way of saying, 鈥淥K, we have a shared lived experience, even if yours is, you know, dropping your lighter on your pants and flaming out the crotch.鈥� It鈥檚 a common thread that binds people and demonstrates their Alaskanness.

Was it easy to get people talking?
One of the things I love about being a reporter is when people share their passion for the things that matter to them, whether that鈥檚 expertise about the bearded iris or how to butcher a roadkill deer. So even in standoffish places, I find that if you鈥檙e authentically interested, people will show you something, and then it will be super cool. And you鈥檙e naturally going to say, 鈥淥h, that鈥檚 amazing.鈥� And they鈥檒l say: 鈥淲ell, you want to see the next thing?鈥� And then it鈥檚 three hours later, and they鈥檝e shown you every single pair of Carhartt pants in their closet.

At one point you meet Ted Kundtz, a 鈥渏ack-of-all-trades鈥� in Talkeetna, and over eggs and reindeer sausage he scoffs at the tourists who鈥檝e tried to buy his Carhartts right off him. He says: 鈥淭hey called the years of wear and tear I put in them 鈥榓uthentic character.鈥欌�夆�� He鈥檚 very perceptive. Like, these Alaskans know they鈥檙e being ogled just as much as the grizzlies.
Essentially, he was saying: These are real. The tourists want the veneer of reality, but they don鈥檛 want to live our lived experience. Which鈥攊t鈥檚 tough to live in Alaska, right? It鈥檚 cold. And the winters are harsh. And it鈥檚 still our frontier鈥攖hat is, if you don鈥檛 live in downtown Anchorage. I got what he was saying. People want frontier cred without actually putting the years into the effort.

How did you get your start?
I studied Russian in college and wanted to go off to Russia. Even though I was not fluent, I ended up going to Moscow and staying for a decade. This was in the 1990s. The Soviet Union had just collapsed, and it was inexpensive to travel because everything was in rubles. So I was going all over. I was covering human rights for The Forward, business for USA Today, and fashion for Vogue. It was this crazy decade. You know: If it鈥檚 Monday, this must be Siberia! If it鈥檚 Tuesday, I鈥檓 doing a segment on Good Morning Kazakhstan! And then I was asked to help start Vogue Russia. I鈥檓 grateful I was able to cover those former Soviet republics, but at some point you have to either decide to stay forever or go home. Then I went back to New York and nobody wanted me to write about New York. I was Ms. Strange Places.

One of your first 国产吃瓜黑料 stories was about an American billionaire鈥檚 attempt to release Keiko back into the wild. In another you hitched a ride on a U.S. Coast Guard icebreaker as it busted through the Northwest Passage鈥攁 trip made possible by climate change. When you think of those pieces along with the Carhartt Ball, the range is impressive. Ridiculous, sublime, daunting鈥攜ou were able to do it all.
The various stories I did with 国产吃瓜黑料 had an adventure quality, but they also had a quality of observation. It鈥檚 what we now call lurking, right? Watching what鈥檚 happening and then explaining it. I felt lucky to be in that position.

We have this romantic notion of icebergs, but the Northwest Passage, it鈥檚 just miles and miles of bumpy, ugly ice. As I wrote: 鈥淯nlike freshwater icebergs, sea ice is not romantic. It is neither majestic nor soaring. It does not give off that otherworldly spectral glow of pure whiteness born of glacial snow. Its verticality does not threaten ocean liners with a predatory, awe-inspiring loom. It is not prehistoric in origin. Quite the contrary, most sea ice is younger than a decade. It is flat and flawed. It is often pockmarked, dirty with algae, and lumpy with protruding hummocks.鈥�

I love that paragraph, and I still don鈥檛 know how I got away with writing it, or how anybody signed off on it. I鈥檓 working at the Times now, and I don鈥檛 get to write paragraphs like that very often. So the other thing I鈥檓 grateful for is that 国产吃瓜黑料 pushed me to write at the top of my range.

I was very happy to sign off on that.
We still have to talk about my friend from high school who wrote a letter to the editor of 国产吃瓜黑料. She was like: I read the story by your writer Natasha Singer. I went to school with a Natasha Singer, and I鈥檓 wondering if it鈥檚 the same person. Because in high school, we didn鈥檛 think of her as an 国产吃瓜黑料 girl. We thought of her as an inside girl鈥攁s in, inside the house.

I鈥檓 glad we were able to help you defy the opinions of former classmates. You鈥檝e been able to report on a lot of amazing things that go on in the world.
It鈥檚 like when we said that those pants saved Alaskans鈥� lives. In a way, 国产吃瓜黑料 changed my life. To be able to write those stories, report them, and meet all those people and get to do all those things鈥攔eal stories, where there were people telling us real things that really mattered鈥攊t was a gift to be able to do that.

The post I Went to Alaska to Learn How Carhartt Pants Save Lives appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Earlier this month, 68-year-old Mick Fowler and 74-year-old Victor Saunders pulled themselves onto the airy summit of Yawash Sar (20,532), becoming the first known people to stand atop the Pakistani peak. The two took a photo, frowned a bit at the mass of clouds blocking their view, and then turned around, descended the peak, and went home.

鈥淲e went to Pakistan, saw a mountain, climbed to the top, and came down,鈥� Fowler joked. 鈥淣othing much else to it, you know.鈥�

Take the understatement with a grain of salt. The feat involved a weeks-long expedition into the Karakoram鈥攖he notoriously rugged range that borders the Himalaya and contains K2, the world鈥檚 second-highest peak鈥攁nd seven days spent living on the side of the mountain.

On their best nights, the two slept in a tent wedged onto narrow shelves of rock and snow. On their worst, they slept sitting upright in their harnesses, with their legs dangling off the side of the cliff and tent draped over their heads for shelter. In between, they kicked steps and swung their ice tools up narrow ribbons of ice and walls of crumbling rock.

They had no map, no guidebook, and almost no route information鈥攁side from what they鈥檇 managed to glean through their binoculars in the days before the climb.

Saunders and Fowler are used to such discomforts: both men are veteran alpinists, each with their own long resume decorated with first ascents and remote expeditions. But they鈥檙e also well past the age where most mountaineers hang up their boots.

Fowler is a cancer survivor, and Saunders is firmly in his mid seventies. So, what鈥檚 the secret? The two spoke to 国产吃瓜黑料 about their recent ascent, their long friendship, and their guidelines for living a long, adventurous life.

OUTSIDE: You two have been climbing partners for almost 50 years now. How did that friendship begin?聽

Fowler: Ha, well, when we first met, we didn鈥檛 quite get along. I described Victor as an irritating little squirt, and he described me as an arrogant twat. So, I鈥檇 say it got off to a pretty good start. But we had a week in Scotland together doing some good winter climbs in 1979 and that鈥檚 when we began to appreciate each other more and formed a friendship that has lasted nearly 50 years.

Saunders: I found I felt more comfortable with Mick on more serious ground than I felt with a lot of climbers on easier ground. I think we instilled a lot of confidence in each other from the get-go.

Fowler: Yes, and Victor is an exceptionally confident chap. It鈥檚 quite difficult to ruffle his feathers. Which is a very valuable trait in a climbing partner.

What about Yawash Sar struck you as a peak worth climbing?聽

Fowler: We鈥檇 probably first discussed it more than 10 years ago. There was a very small photograph of the mountain that had appeared in the American Alpine Journal taken by a Polish chap back in 2011. We both discussed it as a possible objective, but all sorts of things happened between 2011 and 2024鈥攎y health, the pandemic. All sorts of things.

Saunders: Aside from that photo, we didn鈥檛 actually see the route until we got into base camp. Until that moment, we鈥檇 seen the picture, but we didn鈥檛 know what it would really look like. We were both pleased to see that it looked shapely and steep.

Fower: We have a list of criteria before we climb a mountain. Ideally, it should have a wonderful unclimbed line that goes straight to the summit. It should be in an area neither of us have been to before, and in an area that鈥檚 culturally interesting. The climbing has got to be challenging for us but not too hard. Yawash Sar ticked a lot of the boxes.

When you mention your health, you mean your brush with cancer, which I understand was pretty brutal. How has that impacted your climbing?聽

Fowler: Ah, well, we were about to go on a trip a few years ago, and the doctor told me I had cancer of the anus, which is not what you want, really. So I did radiotherapy and chemotherapy and eventually the removal of my anus and rectum.

It鈥檚 not recommended, cancer. All that left me with a colostomy bag. Most people would think that鈥檚 the main problem, but for me the bigger problem was that I was too thin for the surgery to be convenient. So they had to remove all the fat from my buttocks and do plastic surgery, and that left me with no padding whatsoever.

That makes things like sitting down really uncomfortable. And then with the colostomy bag, the trouble is that on these big alpine climbs, you have your harness on all day and lots of layers of clothes. So it鈥檚 not so easy to maneuver when you start to have some output into the bag. But that鈥檚 just life, you know.

Saunders: On the other hand, in a tent, he doesn鈥檛 have to go out to take a poo. So there I am, having to hang on outside the tent in terrible conditions, tied onto the mountain somehow, doing my business off the side of the cliff, and Mick just laughs at me. He says 鈥淎h, you should get one of these things, it鈥檚 much more convenient.鈥� We spend a lot of time laughing it. We鈥檙e really just a couple of four-year-olds at heart, you see.

What was the biggest unexpected challenge of the climb?聽

Saunders: No bivouac sites. [Bivouacking means 鈥渁d-hoc camping,鈥� typically on the side of a mountain.] There wasn鈥檛 any climbing that was outrageously difficult, but there were very few places to put a tent.

Fowler: Most of the time, we managed to arrange rocks in a vaguely flat way so we could pitch a tent over them. But we had one bivouac that was especially uncomfortable. It was a sitting bivouac, which was my worst nightmare, given the surgery I鈥檇 had. And it was very windy and the ledge we were sitting on was icy and slippery so we kept sliding off.

Saunders: We used the tent fabric without the poles and hung it over ourselves like a sack. It was a very cold night with just enough wind that, without the sack, we would have had hypothermia. I don鈥檛 think either of us slept more than a half-hour or so.

Many of the alpinists we interview for 国产吃瓜黑料 are in their thirties,聽 forties, or even younger. What鈥檚 your advice for staying in the game so long and continuing adventures late into life?聽

Fowler: For me, it鈥檚 been very important to make time in my life to do what I love, which is to go mountaineering and go climbing. A happy father and happy husband is one who鈥檚 had his fill of mountaineering. But within that, I鈥檓 very careful with my choice of objectives and with my choice of climbing partners.

Choose a reliable, safe climbing partner like Victor, and more than anything, carry on having a good time and living the life. I think we鈥檝e also always chosen routes that are going to give us the most pleasure. We鈥檙e not looking to climb things just because they鈥檙e the hardest鈥攖hat doesn鈥檛 come into it at all.

Saunders: You grow up, you get less arrogant with age.

Fowler: I do?

Saunders: Yes, everyone does. Even Mick. You get the hard edges knocked off of you as you go through life. And you start to prioritize enjoyment, and the people you鈥檙e climbing with.

Fowler: I would also say that I don鈥檛 think this partnership is going to end anytime soon. We already have more plans.

Editor鈥檚 Note: The interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.

The post After 50 Years of Friendship, These Alpinists Just Bagged (Another) Unclimbed Peak appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Caroline Gleich is a renowned climber and skier, a climate activist, and now the Utah democratic party鈥檚 candidate for US Senate. But what would she actually do in Washington? And does she have a chance of getting elected? Gleich joined author and conservationist Luis Benitez onstage at the 国产吃瓜黑料 Festival in Denver in early June to talk about how life in the mountains has prepared her for life in the political jungle.

The post Caroline Gleich’s Biggest 国产吃瓜黑料 Yet appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Woniya Thibeault, the first female winner of the History Channel鈥檚 reality competition show Alone, always wanted to be a mother. But after she turned 46, having already experienced a miscarriage in her late thirties, she accepted聽the possibility that she may never have children. In June of last year, Thibeault spoke about this difficult realization during a storytelling event . Her period was three days late, and she felt absolutely exhausted. She assumed the聽excitement of promoting her new book, , was simply sapping her energy. Days later, Thibeault learned that she was pregnant. Her son, Hawthorn, was born in February.

As a longtime fan of Alone, I became enthralled by Thibeault after she tapped out from the shores of Great Slave Lake during season six. Her ability to listen to her body and respect her limits resonated with me and many other viewers. When she announced her pregnancy鈥攐nly a year and half after she left the wilderness as the winner of Alone: Frozen鈥擨 knew that as a nature-lover and foraging enthusiast, there was a discussion to be had about the connection between pregnancy, motherhood, and surviving in the wilderness. I recently interviewed Thibeault on a video chat while she breastfed Hawthorn and then let him sleep on her shoulder. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

OUTSIDE: From two seasons of Alone to pregnancy and childbirth at 47, your body has endured a lot. Can you talk about this?
THIBEAULT: We had a traumatic birth. I had a C-section which was not remotely what I expected. I was angry with the doctor. Honestly, it felt like his fault. And then I learned from my midwife, who鈥檇 been out of town for the birth because Hawthorn came early, that the baby and I probably would have died without the C-section. Feeling like my body wasn鈥檛 capable was really hard. I had a lot of grief around that. It was harder emotionally recovering from birth because of that sense of my body betraying me. Childbirth is one critical defining thing about being a woman, and I was unable to do it without surgical assistance. My body didn鈥檛 recover until I was able to better process and face the emotional parts. I was just stuck in it for a while because of that grief, anger, shame, and guilt.

How did Alone prepare you for pregnancy and childbirth?
Having experienced what I did on Alone, I do feel that I was better equipped to handle all physical challenges. The birth was absolutely a near-death experience and very traumatic. But I also wasn鈥檛 really freaking out, even when the baby鈥檚 heart rate was going way down, and it was looking dicey. I had a sense of inner-calm through it because I survived really intense stuff already. In the hospital I had support, and so I think that I had less fear than I would have, had I not done Alone.聽The hunger and depletion of pregnancy felt very much like survival. I would say it鈥檚 the same kind of deep physiological need.

During season six, you tapped out because you listened to your body. How did you apply this lesson to pregnancy?
It鈥檚 interesting because the show pushes you to give it everything and you get into that mindset. I hit this point during season six where I realized I didn鈥檛 believe in this, and聽if I continue, I鈥檓 modeling this for millions of people. How could I do that?

Pregnancy and birth change your body. But on Alone I went through losing 50 pounds and then gaining it back. I鈥檇 already seen my body endure insane changes, and I think that helped me know that I could go through childbirth聽and recover and find normalcy again. If I had known that pregnancy was coming, I would have prepared for it differently, but I was actively recovering from starvation on Alone when I got pregnant. Nutrition was definitely something I concentrated on. I鈥檓 an advocate of what I call primal- or paleo-nutrition鈥攅ating more of the foods that our ancestors ate, like organ meats. The first couple of weeks after giving birth, I felt like I was dying. But I also think I recovered better and quicker than most people partly because of good nutrition, and because I鈥檝e been so in touch with my body. To me, eating something wild every day feels really important.

Would you compete on Alone 补驳补颈苍?听
During season six, I never wanted to leave. But on Frozen, I had to convince myself to stay every single day. It was so hard and there were a lot of factors involved, like having a partner waiting for me at home. There was PTSD in my body. I didn鈥檛 think of my first season as traumatic, but then you get back out in the wilderness and you realize it was actually really hard. My body was remembering that trauma. With all that said, both times were the most amazing experiences of my life. When am I ever going to be able to live in pristine Canadian wilderness by myself and use a trap line that would usually be illegal? I long for those experiences again, but I don鈥檛 know that I could step away from my son.

You built a strong skillset of self-sufficiency and adaptability during your time in the wilderness.聽How has this translated to motherhood?聽
In Labrador, the weather was so terrible that even if I was able to get a rare satellite signal for my rescue radio, they would need to wait for hurricane-force winds to calm so they could fly a helicopter. There wasn鈥檛 a guaranteed immediate rescue. Just like motherhood, you don鈥檛 have an immediate tap-out option. And you鈥檙e just in it聽from the time you鈥檙e pregnant. We鈥檙e so entitled in our normal world because we can have anything we want with the click of a button, and that is unprecedented in history. We鈥檙e not adaptable. We鈥檙e not healthy. We鈥檙e not emotionally grounded and stable. Having whatever you want, whenever you want is really bad for you. Mothering is often about sacrificing what you want and need. I thought it was impossible to survive postpartum. It was so hard, but I had no choice. I couldn鈥檛 not feed my baby when he was hungry. I couldn鈥檛 just fall asleep when my baby was screaming and I felt like throwing up from exhaustion. Survival, pregnancy, and motherhood are the things you have to do because it needs to get done鈥攁nd that鈥檚 beautiful.

The post How the Perils of 鈥楢lone: Frozen鈥� Prepared Woniya Thibeault for Motherhood appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I am not that curious about how to get faster as a trail runner, but I am curious about how fast people鈥檚 brains work. My friend Mike Foote and I have a lot in common (we鈥檙e dads of toddlers, we both like early Metallica albums, we both live in Missoula, we both grew up in small towns in the Midwest, etc.) but running velocity is not one of them (he’s on the podium when he races; I am proud to finish without injuring myself). So when we decided to travel to South Africa together in November, I thought it might be a good chance to pick his brain a little bit. He came over and sat down for an interview before we left, and then I kept asking him questions throughout our trip. Which was fun for me, and tolerable for Mike, who was a good sport about the whole thing.

of our very extended interview鈥擨 hope you get a kick out of it (and maybe some useful insight):

Here’s the full, lightly-edited transcript if you’d rather read it:

Brendan: This is my friend Mike. He’s been a professional trail and ultra runner for 11 years. He’s sponsored by a really big outdoor apparel company. During his career, he’s podiumed at a bunch of the world’s top mountain ultra marathons. A while back he invited me to go to South Africa with him for the Ultra Trail Cape Town. I thought it’d be fun to ask him some questions since he’s a world class athlete and I’m not a world class athlete. OK. Are you comfortable?

Mike: I am.

Brendan: OK. So do you run first thing in the morning to get it out of the way or because it’s your favorite thing to do every day?

Mike: Yes, both. I do it because that’s when I have energy and because I’m looking forward to doing it and I enjoy it most in the morning.

Brendan: Do you drink coffee first?

Mike: 100 percent of the time.

Brendan: Have you ever entered a race and said, “I think I might just take it easy for this one? Not like go hard.”

Mike: Not really.

Brendan: That’s good. In your experience and opinion, is it more fun to try hard?

Mike: I don’t know if trying hard is the only thing that matters. I think committing to something can bring more purpose to it. Sometimes that’s trying hard, sometimes that’s just, you know, embracing the moment, whatever that looks like. For a race, I think trying hard definitely puts you in the moment a lot more.

Brendan: Are you ever out there during a race and you just lose track of stuff and you’re like thinking about some other things and you’re like, “Oh, I should be running faster?”

Mike: Yeah, I have. I mean, if you’re running a 100-miler and it’s all day or it’s the middle of the night, you tend to get a little loopy and your mind starts to drift. That can definitely happen.

Brendan: What’s the best advice anybody has ever given you about running a very long distance?

Mike: It was actually advice for climbing, but it was a climbing guide out in the Tetons and he said, “Perfection is in the process.” To me it was like a lightning bolt of like, “Oh, it’s less about, you know, the outcome and more about the journey”, which is cliche and we’ve all heard it, but I just felt like perfection is in the process is such a succinct way of putting it. I really enjoyed it. I try to approach my running that way. I break down an ultra marathon into moments and I try and just keep on top of those moments, versus the whole thing. That’s perfection in the process. If it’s 2:00 AM and I’m 70 miles into a 100-mile race and it’s raining really hard and all I really want is to be done, instead of just thinking about the finish line, I’m gonna think about all the things I can do in that moment to stay warm, stay fed, stay moving forward as fast as I can. I’ll think about efficiencies in the moment and focus on that very acutely versus what’s at the end. That way your brain is staying present and you are working through it versus just trying to be done with it.

Brendan: Have you ever vomited from exertion?

Mike: I have never vomited from exertion.

Brendan: What about the other end?

Mike: Yes.

Brendan: What’s the longest you’ve ever spent in a porta-potty during a race? Like just guess.

Mike: No more than a minute.

Brendan: Whoa.

Mike: Yeah. OK.

Mike: Yeah, I’m a lucky guy.

Brendan: Do you enjoy pain?

Mike: No. Do I accept pain? Yes.

Brendan: Do you experience a lot of pain in your daily life?

Mike: It’s all relative, but yeah, I’m uncomfortable almost every day at some point. But the pain, it’s like a one out of 10, you know?

Brendan: How do you deal with pain during a race?

Mike: I don’t try to ignore it. I accept it for what it is, I acknowledge that there’s a very big difference between discomfort and pain and being injured and unsafe. So as long as I’m just really uncomfortable and in pain from running really hard or just having a really big day, that’s OK, and then as soon as it feels like I’m unsafe or injured, then I pay attention to it. Sometimes when things are just really, really hard, I’m not thinking about the pain, I’m just thinking about how hard it is and I remind myself, this is what you came for, this is the moment that you were working towards.

Brendan: The pain.

Mike: Sure, you can call it the pain. I call it the challenge and discomfort. But yeah, it’s painful.

Brendan: Why do you run a 100 miles or 100 kilometers or 31 miles instead of 26 or 13?

Mike: Those are the distances that mean I can go a little bit slower and be out a little bit longer, and that’s the type of stuff I enjoy. And when I do adventures, they’re similar to that, all-day, relatively slow adventures. Running 100 miles or 100 kilometers in the mountains is pretty slow. It’s a lot of power hiking up and running down and that’s the gear I enjoy the most.

Brendan: Do you eat aid station food? You’re a pro athlete, you have nutrition dialed. Do you ever get up to an aid station and you’re like, “Oh my god, they got Double Stuf Oreos” and you just house like four of ’em and then keep running?

Mike: Yes.

Brendan: You do?

Mike: Oh yeah.

Brendan: OK.

Mike: Yeah, you gotta enjoy the aid station fare.

Brendan: I don’t know, sometimes I picture people being like, oh, I can’t mess with my delicately balanced nutrition. Like if I’m gonna win this thing or whatever. I kind of assume they’re not like, ooh, you got quesadillas.

Mike: I mean, to be honest, if I’m running 55 kilometers, I’ll probably just eat the calories I’m carrying because it’s gonna go pretty fast. Hopefully five or six hours. But if it’s a 100-miler, I’ll peruse, I’ll have a full meal, I’ll ask what they’ve got, sometimes they’ll cook for you if you’ve got time.

Brendan: What would make you stop and grab food from an aid station in this upcoming race? What would be so good you would have to? You’d be like, “Nah, yeah, I’m hitting this.” Like a bear claw.

Mike: I think it’s gonna be hot, so probably like watermelon or an orange or something, like some sort of like hydrating fruit. I probably won’t eat a bear claw.

Brendan: Well, what if they had it like cut up into smaller pieces?

Mike: OK, yeah, that’s fair. Still no.

Brendan: What is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with someone at an aid station during an ultramarathon you’re competing in?

Mike: Hmm. I go into every aid station and I’m convinced that the nicer I am, the better things are gonna go and that’s what volunteers deserve. So I think I’m really nice, but I’m not very curious.

Brendan: When do you go fast?

Mike: What do you mean?

Brendan: When do you think like, “OK, now I’m gonna go fast the whole time.”

Mike: You know, I don’t, not the whole time. My worst races are the ones where I get overconfident. I’m like, “I’m gonna go out hard today.” That has rarely worked out for me, especially in longer distances. It just depends鈥攐n the terrain, on the distance. But if I’m feeling good, I’ll just slowly press on the gas pedal throughout the day without any major big shifts. I’m not the kind of person who just sits and sits and then is gonna sprint it in. I’d like to have smooth energy throughout. But if I’m feeling good and I can close down the race hard, then I’ll do that. But I don’t really have like a, the last 20 percent or anything like that. Do you need more prescriptive?

Brendan: No.

Mike: Do need me to lie?

Brendan: Nope. No. Just be honest. Do you start at the front of the pack or a couple rows back or like…middle of the pack.

Mike: I start at the back of the front of the pack.

Brendan: Back of the front of the pack.

Mike: That’s my spot.

Brendan: So like 300 people in the race, how many people are in front of you at the start?

Mike:聽Twenty to thirty.

Brendan: Is that because you’re a polite Midwesterner or you’re like legit this is where I feel the most comfortable?

Mike: Probably a little bit of both. Yeah, I don’t wanna get in people’s way. I just really, really don’t like being in people’s way. I’d much rather they’re in my way. And that feels good when you pass them later if that happens.

Brendan: What is advice you would give someone about running an ultramarathon but you would never apply to your own race?

Mike: I mean, the only thing that comes to mind is I always tell people that nobody in the history of running 100-milers has ever said I went out too slow. But I think it’s possible. I think people probably have said it. So like sometimes I’m like, I wouldn’t want to test that theory. It’s good to go out conservative, but I would not want to end a race and be like, “Oh man, I waited way, way, way too long.”

Brendan: During a race, do you ever ask yourself why you’re doing it? Like why don’t you just golf?

Mike: I mean, only all the time. The whole time, like why am I doing this? I don’t know. I think it’s a good thing, I think it’s a good question. Like, I mean, I think it’s in vogue to ask, you know, to have a why when you’re doing something like this and I think that your reasons for running shift, like it’s important to have like a good purpose behind it. My answer at the beginning of my career, I probably told myself I was following my curiosity, but I really was competitive and I wanted to prove myself in something ’cause I’d never really had much success athletically. When I started to in running, I was like, “Oh, this feels good.”

Brendan: OK, and then what about now? When you get to that point in next week’s race, what’s your why of doing it? Like “this is my job”?

Mike: My why now?

Brendan: Like “I clocked in”?

Mike: “I gotta collect my paycheck?” My why now is that I truly do love it. And for me, we’re going to South Africa, I love experiencing new places, I like experiencing new communities and cultures. I also have one child and another on the way and I want to be able to show my kids that they can do hard things, they can do extraordinary things and that it’s OK to swing big. And so when I’m out there now I think about that.

Brendan: What’s worse, overtraining or undertraining?

Mike: Overtraining.

Brendan: Are you undertrained right now?

Mike: I’m hoping I’m right on the edge. Yesterday I felt overtrained, but the week before I felt undertrained, so.

Brendan: How many miles have you run this year? Approximate.

Mike: I don’t know, I don’t pay attention.

Brendan: How many miles do you run a week?

Mike: I mean, it’s a lot less than it used to be. I’d say when I’m actually training, 60 to 80.

Brendan: How many miles did you run per week when you were like top of your game?

Mike: Like 100 to 130.

Brendan: Do you ever stick around and watch the last place person cross the finish line?

Mike: I do, yeah, it’s the best.

Brendan: Why is it the best?

Mike: It’s really cool to see somebody chasing cutoffs like that. And often you’re also surrounded by other people that may have finished sooner, but also came out and hobbled to a finish line to watch that last finisher, and there’s this collective effervescence that happens and this communal feel that kind of transcends the event. It’s this celebration, it’s like the exclamation point on the end of a really cool experience. And it’s always emotional, people are chasing this thing and it’s incredibly hard. Yeah, it’s pretty special.

Brendan: Do you think the cheers are louder for the first place finisher or the last place finisher at most ultramarathons?

Mike: Definitely louder for the last place. Perhaps more people for the first place, but it’s a more moderate decibel. The last place person, you’re like losing your mind for ’em because they may or may not get this arbitrary time and therefore will have finished or not finished and it’s very exciting.

Brendan: How many toenails do you have right now?

Mike: Nine.

Brendan: What’s the lowest number of toenails you’ve had in your career?

Mike: I mean, I actually take pride in not having awful feet. I don’t know, maybe five. But usually I don’t lose ’em, so.

Brendan: What do you attribute that to?

Mike: Wearing shoes that fit. This is a pet peeve about ultrarunning. I think that we’re a little too proud of our awful toenails. I think that people just need better footwear.

Brendan: What do you eat during a race?

Mike: How long is the race?

Brendan: Let’s say 50 miles maximum. What do you eat during that?

Mike: 50 miles maximum, I eat sugar. I eat a lot of chews, just like whatever, like chewy gummy stuff I can eat and I probably eat a few 100 calories an hour.

Brendan: Why not gels?

Mike: I’m just kinda over ’em. I ate only gels for like a decade.

Brendan: Just running, not just like you ate ’em all the time? For 10 years. How many calories do you think you eat per hour?

Mike: 300 on average.

Brendan: Do you drink calories or do you just drink straight water?

Mike: I’m not dogmatic about it, but I usually drink mostly water.

Brendan: What have we not touched on that you had thought about?

Mike: I used to like get on the start line and just like size people up and be like, “Oh, that person looks fit, that person looks fast, like, hmm.” And now I just imagine that everybody at one point was a toddler because I have a toddler. And I’m just imagining them being two years old, toddling around, being tyrants to their parents. And I’m like, this is ridiculous. It’s just incredible that we got here. I sincerely did that this year at a race and it was such a pressure release for me.

Brendan: Do you practice positive self-talk during races, in your head, or literally talk to yourself?

Mike: I do, and it’s benign stuff like you got this, stay strong, stay in the moment. And sometimes some expletives if I’m really digging deep. I don’t know if those are positive or not. Actually maybe that’s the one thing that I would tell somebody else to do is positive self-talk whereas sometimes I can fuel myself with some strong language and it seems to help in the moment.

Brendan: But it’s not negative strong language like, “You’re a piece of shit, Mike”?

Mike: Well, it’s like, don’t be a piece of shit. So it’s like right on the edge. I try and stay action-oriented and solutions-oriented, that’s my positive self-talk. I’m like, “OK, what can I do now to make sure that I’m feeling good ten minutes from now? How much liquid do I need? How much food do I need? That solutions-oriented curiosity and mindset is my positive self-talk.

Brendan: Do you have a mantra? Like would you say there’s things that you or some mantras that you repeat?

Mike: When my mind is getting super distracted, sometimes I’ll just repeat the phrase, “Now, here, this.”

Brendan: Have you ever shut off your headlamp when you’re way behind somebody who’s ahead of you in a race and then passed them and then turned it on?

Mike: Oh yeah. I’ve done headlamp warfare for sure. Either I’ll keep it off as long as possible so somebody doesn’t know I’m near or I will turn it off as I’m approaching somebody so they don’t get motivated to run any faster away from me.

Brendan: Do you ever say anything nasty to them as you pass by or like try to, like [imitates “ch-ch-ch-ah-ah-ah” sound from Friday the 13th]

Mike: No. I do not do that. I’m overly nice and just act like I’m not in any sort of pain or discomfort at that moment. I’m just overly jolly, and it’s just like psychological warfare.

Brendan: Do you like getting up early?

Mike: Yeah, I do

Brendan: How much coffee do you drink per day??

Mike: A cup.

Brendan: One cup?

Mike: Mmm hmm.

Brendan: What your policy on moving walkways?

Mike: I don’t take them.

Brendan: You want a donut?

Mike: No.

Brendan: Do you listen to music or anything when you run?

Mike: Yeah. Mostly podcasts.

Brendan: Are you gonna listen to podcasts during your race?

Mike: I don’t listen to anything when I race.

Brendan: Do you stretch?

Mike: I do the couch stretch. It’s to keep my knees happy. So that’s only recent, but normally not really.

Brendan: Can you sleep on planes?

Mike: Just a little bit.

Brendan: Do you enjoy being famous in a very niche environment? Like you don’t get recognized walking down the street in New York, but at trail running things you get recognized? Do you enjoy that?

Mike: Oh yeah. That’s the only reason I’m still here.

Brendan: Have you ever gotten lost during a race?

Mike: All the time, yeah.

Brendan: Really?

Mike: Oh man, yeah, I’ve got a bad record.

Brendan: Have you tried going slower? Because I’ve never gotten lost.

Mike: You haven’t?

Brendan: I don’t think so.

Mike: Really?

Brendan: I don’t even think I’ve had to turn around.

Mike: Oh my gosh. Yeah. Like sometimes I’ll get there before the volunteer and so there’ll be like flags going in two directions and they’re the same color but ones for a 25K and one’s for the 50K.

Brendan: Not a problem a lot of us have. I can see you having it though. So you have a cold?

Mike: Yeah.

Brendan: And you’re gonna race anyway. You think I’m gonna get your cold before my race?

Mike: Probably the morning of. Right when you wake up you’ll feel it

Brendan: Do you do speed work?

Mike: I do intensity. So most of my like hard efforts are up the hill so it’s not that fast actually. But I’m doing it at a high effort. So I’ll just do five by three minutes up a steep hill to build strength and aerobic capacity. And then, you know, I’ll switch that up, sometimes I’ll just do a hard 30-minute effort up a hill. So it’s just rare that I’m doing speed, something really fast and flat. For the goals I have, I don’t really need a whole lot of flat speed work.

Brendan: Can I offer you an ass-wipe?

Mike: Yeah, sure, thanks.

Brendan: Have you ever had a nickname that stuck? When do you use poles in a race?

Mike: When it’s too steep to run.

Brendan: Have you ever worn the race T-shirt in the race?

Mike: It’s like wearing like a band T-shirt when you’re going to their concert, I just can’t do it.

Brendan: So no.

Mike: No.

Brendan: What’s your goal for today?

Mike: What’s my goal?

Brendan: Yeah.

Mike: Stay hydrated. Run fast. Make a friend.

Brendan: Do you get nervous?

Mike: Yeah.

Brendan: What about constipated?

Mike: No.

Brendan: What do you get nervous about?

Mike: The pain that will happen, the fear of expectations versus reality sometimes. I’m actually usually the most nervous like two days before and then by the time I get to the start line, I’m not very nervous.

Brendan: What’s your ratio of liquid calories to solid calories?

Mike: Probably 75 percent solid calories, 25 percent liquid.

Brendan: Do you have any advice for yourself before you start this race?

Mike: I think because I just don’t know the race course that well, it would probably be good for me to be judicious in the first hour so that I set myself up for the second half.

Brendan: And then if you’re feeling good, you’ll push it a little bit?

Mike: Yeah. Vision quest has begun.

Brendan: How you feeling?

Mike: I’m not good at all. I just don’t have any energy. I mean, it might come back and I’m trying, but.

Brendan: How far am I behind the leader?

Mike: You’re really far behind the leaders. You’re like five hours, six hours.

Brendan: OK.

Brendan: Mike, what do you when a race takes longer than you thought it would?

Mike: Well, you just, you work with what you got and you keep taking care of yourself. The strategy doesn’t really change, you just kind of acknowledge that maybe it’s not going as fast as you want. That’s OK, you still have the same goals: getting to the finish as fast as you can and taking care of yourself along the way.

Brendan: You ever get a rock in your shoe during a race?

Mike: Yeah.

Brendan: What do you do?

Mike: Well, if it’s not that big and it’s not slowing me down, I just leave it in there. But if it’s bothering me, I’ll take my shoe off and get the rock out.

Brendan: What about like an invisible poky plant piece?

Mike: I have a high tolerance to discomfort in my feet and usually I’m way too lazy to do anything about it.

Brendan: Have you ever read this book?

Mike: Yes.

Brendan: Have you ever bonked during a race?

Mike: Many times.

Brendan: What happens?

Mike: Well, sometimes I’m smart and eat a lot of food and take care of myself and turn things around, and sometimes I don’t or I don’t finish.

Brendan: Do you double knot your running shoes?

Mike: Depends on how long the shoelace is, if they’re longer, I’ll triple knot, but I at least double knot them.

Brendan: You think you’ll be able to get a selfie with a lion?

Mike: It’s possible.

Brendan: How long do you usually wait after a race to start running again?

Mike: You know, I like to listen to my body. It could be a few days, could be a few weeks.

Brendan: Was it worth it?

The post Do You Enjoy Pain? And 86 Other Questions for a Professional Ultrarunner. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Before she became famous for her lawsuits against former President Trump, the writer took a road trip for an 国产吃瓜黑料 story that had her asking total strangers if they had sex outdoors. Her destination: the many American towns named Eden. Were Americans copulating in the gardens of Eden? She was in a car that she had hand-painted with blue polka dots and green frogs, her snacks consisted of cakes and pies, and her copilot was a giant poodle. In this gem of an episode from our archives, producer Paddy O鈥機onnell hangs on for dear life.

The post A Wild Conversation with E. Jean Carroll appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.