B and I flew back from Quito to Panama City on Saturday afternoon, did a quick stop at her apartment to collect her running gear, and car, and we were off to El Valle de Anton, a beautiful town nestled in a valley of steep green mountains. We'd signed up for a 24K trail run with the El Valle Running group – a fun bunch of trail locos.

The drive got a smidge more interesting as darkness fell. Here near the equator, length of the days don't vary much, and when the curtain falls at the end, it falls quickly. 6:30 pm or so, and boom, darkness. Usually not a terrible thing, even on narrow, curvy, steep mountain roads, but the weather thought to make it a bit more challenging. As soon as we turned off the Pan American Highway for the 24 or so kilometers to El Valle, the cloud spigots opened, and let loose with Noachian levels of rain. It wasn't hairy, because any hair would have washed away. B did an amazing job keeping us both moving forward and remaining on the sometimes barely visible road. We got to the place about 8-ish, and had a nice pre-run pasta dinner before hitting the sack. The run had a 6:00 am start, and a 5:00 am meetup for fresh baked bread and outstanding Panamanian coffee. 

The day dawned misty and wet. It was going to be a damp run. It's not like I'd be cold or anything. Or dry, even if it wasn't drizzling. I'd soak my gear through in an hour anyway, and this way, I'm constantly on the rinse cycle, washing off the salt. 

The first 8K or so were a blast. Through the dense forest, crossing the Rio Indio time and time again, and even simply down the streambed. We climbed out of the river canyon, crawling through the mud under a fence, and started down a road. Yeah, a road. That's where it happened. I rolled my ankle. Not the worst one, but the snapping sound is never fun to hear. I didn't fall, but did the multi-hop until I wasn't moving forward. I checked, and it still flexed, though it hurt a bit. Forward or back, solo on the road? Forward it is, without hesitation or doubt. 

Fast forward another 5 minutes or so. Boom, again, though I wasn't on the road anymore. I'd taken, oh, I don't know, six? steps on the trail. And yep, same ankle. When I did it this time I chanted the injury mantra in syncopation with my one-foot hops until I came to a stop: Fuck, fuck fuck.

Well, now. two rolls on the same joint. Movement? Check. Pain? Manageable. It's uphill anyway, which is easier. Press on. The next 5K or so were challenging. Waist high steps in mud? check. Rocks and unstable footing? Check. Hidden trail due to overhanging vegetation? Check. Pain? Still manageable. Movement? Who cares, at this point.

I got to the aid station (a truck with a cooler and water - the cooler housing Powerade y cerveca). Since I was starting to get cramps in my adductors in addition to my baby cows, I figured the Powerade would be the wise choice over the beer. I can get beer at the end, and it's only another 8-10 K away. Wash down a couple of Oreos, and I'm off with a group of others that had congregated at the truck. We spent probably 20 or more minutes hanging, eating, drinking and getting photos, and that was probably my mistake.

I got about 1/2 K or maybe a bit more, and the ankle said, "What the fuck, dude?" It was a gentle downhill, and even that was really uncomfortable. I realized the route was going to hit significantly steep, unstable, narrow, muddy, rocky portions for the majority of the distance back. I reluctantly, but probably smartly, stopped, and threw in the proverbial towel. I trudged like the defeated piece of shit I felt I was back to the truck to get a fucking ride to the finish. 

In a valiant attempt to put a positive spin on a situation where there really isn't any, I am claiming three consolations to being a worthless quitter yesterday:
​

1. I got several early beers
   
2. I saw a cool flower that I otherwise would not have
   
3. The colorful reds, and burgeoning blues and purples of the skin around the swelling on my ankle

Yeah, fucking great.

It's been a while since I've posted anything. I thought with the events of the weekend, it would be a good time to combine a few events into a single - mostly incoherent and rambling - blog post.

The weekend was rather eventful, the most important was saying goodbye to Subaru, our puppy. You see, we didn't ever get to keep him, as he was a Guide Dogs For The Blind puppy that we were raising. The whole of the last 13 months, we always knew we'd have to give him up, but that knowledge was always the can we kicked a bit further down the road for another day, and another day, and another day. Well, we finally ran out of days. My son and wife took him back to the campus this weekend. It was difficult to say goodbye, but we are consoled (not immediately, but with time it will happen) with the knowledge he will be making someone's life immeasurably better. Who knows, we may yet meet again, Sube - you'll be someone else's best friend and constant companion. You rock, LBD*

*Little Black Dog

The rest of the weekend was dedicated to exercise. Two days of running and one of riding. The first day was an exploration run on a new trail in Carson Valley. Great trail with vegetation from sage to towering pines. Great views too. Oh, and there was a little bit of uphill to contend with. I personally prefer the ups to the downs. 

Day two was semi-exploration, as it was on trails in Reno I'd never traversed. But, since I had a guide, it wasn't so scary. :)
Very similar in terms of total elevation gain and distance, but far less scenic. Peavine Peak has little vegetation taller than a mid-sized sagebrush, and the view of Reno - usually good - was marred by the inversion and lack of winds. I was glad to be above the schmutz in the air. So, no pics, just an elevation profile and route to share.

Monday was a bicycling day. I tried to take it easy, but I'm not sure I'm capable. I did a route from Carson City, to Reno, to Virginia City and back to Carson City. It was quite chilly at the start, but the climb up Geiger grade was warming, to say the least. I was surprised that I didn't see any other cyclists out there. I guess I'm the only nutjob. I saw a herd of motorcyclists in Washoe Valley that I met again in VC. We smiled and waved at each other. Wimps with their internal combustion motors. 

The final 2-mile climb back to the start damn near killed me.

It was a busy active weekend for me. Starting before dawn on Saturday, I finally grabbed a shot of a view I've always loved. It was dang chilly though, well below freezing. After getting the shot to the left, there, I gloved and layered up, and headed out for the Saturday run.

 I was able to go for a run on Saturday and follow it up with a bicycle ride on Sunday because I have an understanding spouse and kids who'd rather sit inside all day on a beautiful October weekend watching TV/playing computer games. (I know, WTF is up with that?)

Saturday was a reprise of a jaunt I did last year about this time. The leaf colors that year completely overshadowed my recovery from my bicycle crash. As I recall, that run was my first real trail run. It was beautiful, and thought I would share it with others this time around.

The run isn't bad, about 9 miles round trip, and a good, runnable uphill grade without a lot of trip-stacles once you get past the first 1/2 mile.

The colors weren't as vibrant as they were when I went last year, but still very pretty. I'd guess the two week difference in timing of the trip had a lot to do with it. The company on the trail made up for the color though. Great people!

At dinner at a friend's house on Saturday night, I somehow agreed to cycle from Markleeville to the top of Ebbets Pass and back. I blame alcohol. Actually, Chuck was a great riding partner, patient with my fear of downhill speed, and gracious enough to allow me to lead parts on the uphill grind.

And a grind it was. 18 miles of it. The road was really in good shape for an alpine road, and the dearth of cars really made for an enjoyable ride. I think that's what I kept telling my quads as they whined and complained the whole way. Wankers.

The downhill was slow for me, especially on the steeper sections. I've never been fearless on the downs, and since my spill, I'm even more cautious and tight. I'd imagine some of you regular riders would easily hit 45 mph or more, whereas I was happy with my sub 30 mph. I dogged it so much my hands hurt from squeaking the brakes. Hate if you must; I finished in one piece.

I was fortunate enough to get to run both on Thursday afternoon and again on Sunday morning. Given the ages and activity levels of my kids, and the other extracurricular activities typically part of the my home life, this is a Good Thing.

While I was on the back portion of the out-n-back of Sunday's run, I thought about the two primary differences in my running style. Though consistent throughout is a stumbling, lurching, ham-footed physical component, the philosophy of how I ran was quite different between the two. 

Thursday was a SLOE run. That's an acronym I just made up for Same Level Of Effort. When I say I had a SLOE run on Thursday, I mean it was the type of run where I don't ease up on downhills. (Flats? Ha. Not to be found anywhere I run.) Whatever effort I am putting into the climbs I try to maintain on the downs. While going downhill, I try to keep my breathing extended, and heart rate up. Typically, I try this for runs less than 10 miles. It fits with the "do every run like a race, and every race becomes just another run" psychosis I've read about. It worked on Thursday, as I "blazed" the afternoon run.

I partook (partaked?) of the other run type on Sunday: The SUDS run. I also claim creation-credit for this as a running philosophy acronym. A SUDS run is a Same Up Down Speed run. I typically do SUDS runs on longer, or more relaxed runs. How I do it is thus: Since nearly all my runs start uphill, I set an uphill pace that I can maintain for mile after mile. For me, that's an 11--14 minute mile depending on the expected slope. I "set my gear" and go.  When I hit a downhill (or on the downhill part of an out-n-back), I don't increase the speed, I use it as a "breath catcher" and to ease the strain on the legs. This methodology has served me well: my longest climb doing this was 12 miles (Sierra Canyon to The Bench on the TRT), and it worked yesterday on the steeper 7 mile 4500' climb up the Ophir Creek trail.

Oh, and a SUDS run is one where I have beer at the end. So a SLOE run can still have a SUDS finish. Some imagery from Sunday:

I lied. It was a busy weekend.

Saturday kicked off with a 16-mile trail run split into a 2-mile out and back to see Cascade Falls (there at left with Cascade Lake in the distance), then a 14 mile out and back from Eagle Pt. Campground to D.L. Bliss State Park and back. Then it was off to a fundraiser for the kids school at probably the largest single-family dwelling I have ever been in. 

Sunday, I worked as a volunteer for a local charity race in the morning, and still had to take care of the normal weekend activities (marshaling homework, laundry, shopping, cooking). For the race, I had agreed to do the timing, and course marking for a 5K, so there wasn't a lot of rest involved from the activities of the day before, and it was an early morning (on site at 0600) after a late night of festivities. But first, Saturday!

I had never visited Cascade Falls, and the runoff was near peak this weekend, so I thought it would be a good time to look. As it turns out, the trail is extremely rocky, and a lot of it wasn't runnable. But the parts that were runnable, were fun:

After that quick out and back we popped down the road a few miles and followed the entire Bay to Bliss race route. Once again, the scenery was spectabulous, though I didn't see a single Sasquatch. I was nearly as disappointed in that as I was with my legs. 

Legs weren't feeling it this weekend, and I was happy to simply finish vertically, with only a one trip and near shin-bash on a rock.I was significantly behind the other runners. I guess DFL is better than DFD*. As the saying goes, "good days and bad days..." 

The gala event in the evening was a fund raiser for my kids' school. The home was absolutely beautiful as were the grounds. Unfortunately, the weather didn't hold up well, and we had to do the dinner inside rather than outside. At my house, that would be a significant issue, as I am not sure my entire house could hold 150 people standing up, let alone sitting down to a dinner. 

However, this home accommodated all of us at tables in the great space area. Solely. I figured when the space wasn't filled with people and tables, they host roller hockey games. It was that big. There was an auction to raise money and I participated up to the $100 level. Unfortunately for me, I was unsuccessful at the winning bid on several items; they went for $10,000 or more. 

I was successful in bidding on one item, though. I'll post about it and my grand plan for it another time.

The race was a nice 5K on a flat course by the Carson River. Although marking it was going to be painful enough with my feet and legs as unhappy as they were from the previous day's running, added to it was the alcohol- fueled late night with little sleep and even less restful sleep. 

I woke at 0430 to the sound of pounding rain. Really? Really?! It's the stinking high desert! We are supposed to only get snow in winter! 

I dragged my ass to the venue, and - with the rain falling - marked the course. By the time the race itself started, the sun had finally broken through, so the competitors had really good conditions, as the rain packed the often-sandy route. I heard many comment as they finished that they had a beautiful, and peaceful run. 

I was happy to have been a part of their positive experience. :-) Hearing that made the rain and cold of marking the course inconsequential.

The desert peach was still in strong bloom this weekend when I was volunteered to work a local race. My volunteering consisted primarily of directing traffic at registration (e.g. yakking with the runners while they were in queue to get bibs and register), and unload stuff at the end of the race. Pretty simple and easy work to score some race swag and food!

Sandwiched between those two activities, I got to run the route and clean up any trash along the route, remove any trail markers, and roll any leftover runners down the hill and off the trail. Can't have bodies cluttering up the place, you know.

Okay, so I didn't really do the last one. but the others were actual assigned activities. I doubt I'd have rolled them over anyway. That's not a nice thing to do, and above all, trail runners are nice to each other. Seriously.

Take a closer look at that photo on the left. See those stilettos cleverly disguised as innocent thorns? I was a bit bloodied when I got done removing ribbon trail markers. That made me think: removing markers should be a prerequisite for anyone who wants to mark a trail. A couple of biggie issues:

1. Don't tie ribbon on thorny things - unless there is no other option;
2. Don't chalkpaint on rocks - it doesn't come off easily.

What made running sweep so special is I got to run the course with absolutely no expectations of performing well and pressure of beating any arbitrary time. In fact, I was expected to be DFL*. That is the best way to go!

I ran the North Loop and as I was headed back around to do the west traverse I came across the guy in the next photo. I could just imagine what was going through his atavistic, reptillian mind at the time:

"Nobody can see me, nobody can see me! I can't see anyone, so nobody can seeeeee meeee!"

I don't have a fear of snakes, but that isn't the case for all people, so I skritched the little guy (4' or so) into the bushes and off the trail. I didn't want anyone to hurt him, or themselves in a panic!

After completing North Loop, I heard from the exchange point coordinator that another runner was sweeping and was about a mile or so ahead of me. Since he was passing through, the aid stations would be folding up before I got there. That was fine with me; I had all I needed to do the entire distance unsupported, and the solitude was wonderful. I thought I'd catch the other runner, since I could go "all out" (insert laugh track here) and he would be having to stop regularly to remove ribbon and rub out arrows. 

I did catch him. It was Peter Fain. He had already done the route that day: He won the race. Apparently it wasn't enough, he swapped shoes and shirt and headed out to sweep. Great guy. We had a great time chatting and cleaning the course for the last 6 miles together.

For any Twitterati reading this, the race has a Twitter handle now (@Escape_Race) and a Flickr photo page. It'd be great if y'all would follow and/or look at the pics. More photos will be added from this year and previous ones.

Below are the route (looking north) and elevation profile.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to revisit a stretch of terrain I hadn't seen in just over a year. Originally, I was going to use the time to lead a different group going longer back to where they could reach their starting point as a long loop, but they opted to do a point to point type run instead. 

I decided I would go ahead and do the run I planned, despite the necessity of four wheeling into the starting point. Since I was going solo, and the start point was quite a bit from a paved road, I took it pretty easy, especially over the rocky stretches. I certainly didn't want a turned ankle - or worse - several miles from the truck, and that being 10-12 miles from a paved road.

The day started beautifully, and as I left my side of town to go run on the other, this is what was greeting me. The sun was just about to rise, and I was on my way. 

I had extended an open invitation to any to join me, so I went to the meetup location to see if any would bite. None did. Their loss. The ones that were doing the point to point were excited and ready to go. I was facetiously asked if I was going to provide any food at my truck, which would be along their route.

After thinking a second, I realized I should have. So I popped to the store and bought some Ruffles: the perfect run food.

I dropped the chips at the top of Sullivan Canyon - where the group would climb after winding about 10 miles up Eldorado Canyon. That was about 1 km shy of where I parked (view at right). I didn't know that they wouldn't follow the path I expected and had I been waiting to guide them from this point ("guide" being loosely defined, as I would have been doing so from the rear), I would have waited forever; they never saw the chips, nor where I parked.

Things worked out well; I got a beautiful run, they got a great run too, and some wild critter got a great snack of Ruffles.

I sallied forth on my own and did a nice out and back. At one point, the rocks were, shall we say, challenging? I was moving very slowly at this point, since I was about 6 km from the truck. No fun to hobble that far on a bum ankle. Also, there is no cell service there, so getting out would have been my only recourse. Or wait for someone to find me.

When I do solo runs, I have a planned route and I stick with it. That way, if something happens, someone knows my route, so I should be found. At least my carcass would be. Funny thing, it was the last time I did this route that I screwed up about as many times as one can, and come back out. If you want to read that go here.

Below are photos and the elevation profile. It was a different profile than I typically run, in that the overall descent was in the first half of the run and the climb on the second. It didn't matter much as I classify myself as a SUDS runner: 

• I like beer after a run;
  
• It's an acronym for Same Up Down Speed
  

In my case, that speed is slow.

I was out for a couple of hours, and during that whole time, I heard not a single engine of any kind, nor saw another person. It was a total "S" run: Slow, Short, Solo, Scenic,  and Silent. Well, except for my harsh breathing and occasional admonishment to keep my eyes on the terrain, and not the scenery.

This weekend, when not working, I played some Texas Hold-Em poker for *puts pinky to corner of mouth* One hundred trillion dollars! (Yes, that is a real bit of currency. No, I didn't win, and when in circulation, I understand was worth about $1. Inflation's a bitch, eh?) 

Seems yours truly does not have the magic touch when it comes to gambling. I guess the adage "Unlucky at cards... sorry, got nothin'" fits in this case. During my time at the table, my best hand was two (low) pair. The only time I even stayed to the bitter end was during a bluff run, where my awesome pair of fives was bested by my neighbor's overpowering pair of sixes. I'm not saying the decision to go bluff (rather than go buff) was fueled by the presence and ready availability of free Glenmorangie 18, but I wouldn't rule it out, either. 


It didn't matter anyway. The game was a fund-raiser for my kids' school athletic program. Since my daughter is currently playing volleyball, my son played basketball and will be wrestling, and they both will be playing soccer later this spring, I think having the opportunity to toss a few (real) dollars down for the program was a Good Thing. Though for efficiency's sake, walking in, handing over the buy-in and immediately leaving would have been optimal, but then I wouldn't have had the chance to taste the Glenmorangie, and the chance to let all the others laugh at my ineptitude. Ah, the sacrifices we make for our kids!

Earlier in the day, I was able to escape for a bit of a jaunt. The weather forecast was for highs around 10C/50F, and sunny, but it didn't quite pan out that way. It wasn't cold, but with the thin cloud layer, and a slight breeze, only having two sweaty layers on top made things a bit nipply when I had to stop and check where I was going which I needed to do a couple of times.

The route was new to me, I wanted to stay low to avoid crusty snow, but wanted to see some new terrain. I planned a route south east of Mexican Dam on the east side of the Carson River to go out straight on the power line track and wind my way back up higher on the hills. 

The route was pretty sandy; especially on the power line track. A lot of truck, ATV and motorcycle traffic will do that. To make it just that much more fun, the way was - as I call them - loaded with dipsy-dos; those sine-wave crests and troughs created by uneven accelerations of powered vehicles on soft dirt. Two steps up, one stride down, leap the deepest part of the trough, and repeat. For about 5 miles / 8 km. The grade was steadily climbing, but didn't seem like it. I guess fighting the sand distracted my calves from noticing I was climbing.

The views were really rather nice, though with a sunny day, it would have been even better:

Saturday was a run day for me. I planned to revisit a route I hadn't done in a while, going solo this time. The plan was to drive up the along the east side of McTarnahan from Brunswick Canyon and do 16 - 20K from there. I should have known, what with all the authors I twitterfy these days, that the conditions of my access route should have provided some foreshadowing of what was to come.

Once there, the routes in the area looked... reasonable. Snow is to be expected in the area in January, despite temperatures finally breaking through to the positive side of average, and shorts being the de rigueur attire for the day.

In the photo to the left (click here to see location on map), I was going to make an immediate left, head south for a bit then wind my way via trail back to the road heading straight ahead, then follow the ridge line to the peak to the right and the high point in the run: McTarnahan Hill (route shown at the bottom of the post).

I figured the snow would either be significantly melt-compressed on the trail parts and provide decent footing. On the roads, I'd run the middles with the same conditions or in the drive-ruts for even more compression. Not the best, but not bad either. Wrong.

After tiptoeing along the smoothly polished ice ruts, I finally got to where I turned off onto the trail and headed southwest toward the trees. I stopped to snap the shot there on the right. It was a beautiful day, and an untracked trail beckoned. Then I got to the trees.

Under the trees, the snow conditions were... challenging. Due to shadows, it hadn't compressed down. It simply had formed a crust. Not just any crust, but a Jesus Fucking Crust. Or so I thought after what seemed hours of it. The crust was just thick enough that it would support my walking weight. Approximately 15% of the time. The rest of the time, it would support me momentarily, then I'd break through. Since I was trying to run (ha!) I'd consistently break through and the front edge would then grab my foot in a really good try at tripping me. Every. Single. Time. Needless to say, it was difficult and demoralizing. I was looking forward to hitting the tracked dirt road again. Even the ice in the ruts was better than this. 

When I finally did (not telling how long it took to get there, neener neener!) I opened my stride for about a minute. Then I hit some mud and slowed. Not bad, doable. Carry on. A few strides further, and it's looking suspicious. Hmm. Snow, but discolored like dirty snow. Could be ice under there, go easy. 

I move out of the rut to the middle, and hit the snow. Foot goes easily through the top crust, and submerges in the water underneath. Swell. Now I have a soaked foot. Try to leap out of the danger zone. Fail. Other foot hits the disguised puddle and also goes ankle deep. Now I have two soaked feet, conditions are NOT improving and 16K yet to go. Really?

I kept slogging and hit the ridge. Nobody had been there, so it was melt-compressed snow on the south faces, deeper crusted powder on the north. Ugh. This SUCKS!

I finally made the top. It was difficult, my feet were numb and the wind had picked up. No surprise there, it's usually breezy on top. I decided to snap a couple pics, and head back by the most direct route, cutting the run nearly in half to 11K. 

I'm not sure for how long my Inov8s and Dirty Girl Gaiters had been planning the photo bomb above, but it worked out well for them. What was going to be a stellar view shot became a color-riot. Oh well. I shot a couple others while keeping a close eye on the photobombers.

About that foreshadowing? Yeah, well driving to the river, I had noticed the road was mostly mud with ice interspersed. At the time, I thought it might be a bit of a challenge to come back out. Even with the 4Runner's hubs locked and in 4-Low, I was sashaying all over the place climbing back out. Truck is a mess now. It's OK, though. I use it mostly for getting to places like this. :-)

I think I'll stay low this weekend. I'm not positive I'll feel the same next week, but right now, I think I'd prefer an overly sandy route.

This weekend was less an adventure in adrenaline-pumping activity than a smorgasbord of activities both solo and with others. Starting Friday night, the weather played a big role in the weekend, as the temperature dropped into the single digits Fahrenheit and promised to stay below freezing for the duration.

Saturday was originally going to be a race morning for me. I had signed up for a race series of which my second event was to be Saturday. I don’t know what came over me (OK, I do, but don’t want to talk about it), but the thought of racing didn’t appeal. Instead of running with a bunch of others, I headed out for a solo jaunt out east at the Iron Mountain area. If you’re keeping geographic track, I started here.

The run was really rather good overall. Cold (started at -17° C) but sunny, so the thermometer wasn’t a factor, really, especially as there was no wind and the dew point was low. The only creature I saw spotted me first and kept his distance. He was probably wondering "WTF are you doing out here, moron? At least I have a thick fur coat!"

I hit the low energy wall at 12 K, but I finished up the planned 16 K distance, and headed home both as victor and DFL in my own personal race. 

I tried another short 5 K jaunt on Sunday closer to home. It was a tricky footing challenge with lumpy ground and ice covered over with a 4 cm skin of snow. The wind was up a bit, as well as the humidity, making it feel a LOT colder than Saturday, even though the temperature was higher.

The definite highlight was watching the two golden eagles soaring and stooping overhead. Awesome.

The rest of the weekend was taken up with playing with Subaru (the Guide Dog puppy we are raising) and forcing exercise on my son, who seems to play online games 20 hours a day. I know the games are very social (and that’s good) but they do nothing for him physically. I made him a deal though: he now has to crank out 50 push-ups and 100 sit-ups before playing.

I am going to amend that to be on a per-time basis, though. Each set of exercises will buy him a few hours of game time. To keep playing, he needs to crank out another set. He’ll be less pleased, but stronger in the long run. Just wait until I start tossing in the cardio as well. :-)

Did some kitchen time as well, whipping up a batch of no-cook protein bars and enough Green Chile for the week’s lunches. I altered the chile recipe a bit to make it with beef instead of pork. I was tagged as having low ferritin levels a month or so ago (< 8), and have been working to get it back up. I figured substituting beef for pork in a recipe would be an easy assist. Oh, and if anyone wants either recipe, let me know. If I can accomplish it, you know it's easy. 

Between cooking, monitoring exercise, dog play and my jaunts, I did get a bit of reading in. I was able to finish Pat Conroy's South of Broad. I enjoyed it and gave it 4 of 5 stars on goodreads.com.

Oh, and my nephew was on the television during the Broncos vs. Ravens football game. I didn't do the capture, but that's the goofball in the sunglasses and dork-hat on the TV.

Weekend report complete. Carry on with your week.