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Prescott isn't everyone's 'hometown'.

  Not too long ago I lived in the Puget Sound Region.  My wife and I bought our first house in Bremerton, WA intending to make that our community for the foreseeable future.  After 13 of my own moves, some after I got married, I didn’t want to move again.  But the wintertime depression was crushing, killing, unsustainable.   No amount of running or pharmacology or use of natural supports was going to be enough to endure them, much less than thrive in them.   My wife, myself, and one toddler decided to leave liberal Western Washington to try our hand at living cheaply, in the sun, surrounded by a white Christian nationalist supermajority county in central Arizona.  More than one of our friends objected to the idea.  But the Seattle area was done with us so we fled for the sun anyway.   We visited Arizona frequently before and during the pandemic.  We researched it as a geographical solution to our vitamin D deficiencies.  We had family in Prescott, found that housing was affordable and
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who isn't on masteson?


Adios Chino Valley.

 Please enjoy my picture of Dry Wash domination in Chino Valley AZ.  


I'm new to living in Arizona.  I've recently closed on purchasing a home.  My home in Chino Valley has beautiful sunsets and deck with extensive dry rot.  I'm dodging rusty nails that are backing out of the deck boards. I place my folding nylon chair down to enjoy the sunset. I still haven't started my new job since moving here a few weeks ago.  I've arranged my  new job to start the Monday after I'm to run this R2R2R thing.  My wife is on onboard for one final camping trip. ... But everything is new.  I've been ripping up carpet and finishing new floors.  My toddler, Kylan has been constantly adjusting to new surroundings.  We've driven across the country back and forth twice this summer.  We've lived with my aunt and uncle for a month while our new home was closing.  We've moved into a new place and just started meeting new friends.  Needless to say change is hard on my toddler.  He's doing great mostly...but this week he's been having


Understanding the reasons behind a Helgeson can sometimes include stories with a flare for the dramatic.  Andrew Tibert would call the Helgeson, "full of pathos."  This, my friends, is a friendly blog post so you the reader can catch up to what the fuck has happened to the Helge in the past 19 or so years pathos and all:  We, the Helgeson's plural, now we live on 2 acres smack dab in the middle of blood red Arizona Americana. Yeah like why the fuck would anyone go that?  Why would two liberal progressives move to rural MAGA country in Arizona?  Well we helped turn the state blue, so there's that.  But let me take you back a few years to provide some additional context.  Now that I reflect on it I suppose there are some general clues in the following collection of observed Helgeson behaviors: Following my original Spokane homestead way back in 2001, known as "The Ranch", I moved to Sandpoint, Idaho for a year. I played as a ski instructor, part time demolitio

100 miles.

I sit in the dark. For me it is the darkest time of the year. It's dark outside. The days are short and what little daylight peaks over the horizon is shrouded in mist and cloud, under one of those atmospheric rivers. Add to that my depression. Some days the best I can manage is a day of Netflix. Most days a cocktail of Wellbutrin and Lexapro prop up my emotional gas tank enough to survive a day of work in the big city. I now add to that 3-5 capsules of Gabapentin to shroud my bone numbing fear.  It's working, but it's not enough. The boat ride home, usually quite the looker, is now pitch black this close to the Winter Solstice. I need a hundred. I need to run. I need a hundred so that I have more reasons to run. I sign up for a hundred mile race so that I will force myself to train. I get a coach. I look up coach Roache. He's full. He recommends coach Maxx who is currently using the Team RunRun Platform. So I train. I run farther and faster and fitter tha

Fat Dog 70

There were a lot of mountains I had to climb to complete this one. The biggest ones occurred before the race even started. Lately I've been dealing with a lot of mental health issues. During the work week I'll be sitting next to an upper level manager and start to feel lightheaded, disassociated, and sometimes I'll come down with symptoms that mimic influenza: I'll vomit, have diarrhea, get achy, and otherwise be unable to stay at work. Sometimes it's a day or two stuck at home, sometimes I overcome it and get on with my day. On the drive up to Fat Dog 70 race in British Columbia these symptoms were brought on by the perception that I was stuck in traffic with no way out. Soon after the border crossing I became increasingly anxious. Unfamiliar with the roads in the region I didn't know where I could go to feel safe. As these feelings set in I increasingly felt I'd need to go to the bathroom to unload a major bowel movement. I suddenly became sen