Frosting

Colorado does not usually have much moisture in the air. Sure, we get snow and rain sometimes, and some areas of the state get more moisture than others. The Front Range however, does not as a rule generally hold onto wetness. I could count on one hand the mornings in any given year that I’ve woken up to see fog.

Today was one of those rare mornings. A misting of snow had fallen during the night and the clouds were low-lying. The dawn light struggled to reach the ground through the thick veil of clouds and fog that sat, quietly snuggled into the crevices of the valley.

We started our run at the Greenbelt Plateau Trailhead off of Hwy 93 and 128th Street. The plan was to run the ridge of Marshall Mesa over to Highway 93 and cross the road, then head through Community Ditch to Doudy Draw, climb Doudy Draw, circle the mesa, and descend back to Highway 93 to the trailhead. The run is almost eight miles and takes a little over an hour.

I was surprised by the size of our group when Susan and I pulled into the parking lot. Only a few responses had floated in by the time I went to bed Friday night, so I thought that we’d have a group of three for the weekly run; Susan and me, and Karley. Karley had emailed that she was flying home on Friday and, barring jet lag, would be running. Bernadette thought she’s be in Wyoming for her son’s wrestling match, so count her out. A.J. was still sick so she wouldn’t run, especially after last week’s adventure through the woods. Zina was fighting a cold and thought bed and warmth would be better than a run through twenty degree weather. Come Saturday though, Karley was there, along with A.J. and Bernadette, Mary, Caryn, Missy, Savannah, and Cherry, along with our newest member, June. Only Zina ended up missing the run.

We started out at a good clip. Karley regaled us with stories of the inauguration in D.C., where she and her family had been for the past eight days. After only a mile I was wishing I hadn’t dressed like a layer cake; two shirts and a jacket was a bit much. I was worried about the wind chill factor in the hills so had come over-prepared; the wicking shirt and windbreaker would have been enough. As it was, I let myself sweat, telling myself that sweat is an internal cleanser and it’s good for me.

Once we got into the forest I realized that the air was wet, a like still rain. We were four miles into the run and everyone was sweaty from the exertion. Hair that was poking out from underneath hats was turning white with frost. Eyebrows were white, and eyelashes had a small coating of nature’s mascara.

It was hard to look up from the trail. This section of Community Ditch and Doudy Draw is often used by mountain bikers. With the warm weather last week, the bikes were out in force, leaving criss-crossing tracks all over the trail. The sudden cold weather froze the tracks into ankle-wrenching spines that kept my eyes downcast and alert.

The trek up Doudy Draw into the forest was hard. I was breathing heavy and my legs felt like they were churning slower than usual, trying to break away from gravity’s iron grip. My four compatriots were trotting easily ahead. I accepted my position of caboose and kept chugging upward.

And then my brain recognized the beauty that surrounded me. I ascended the last quarter mile of Doudy Draw. The reddish-brown trail rose at a gentle angle, the multi-sized rocks that had peppered the trail for the past mile noticeably absent. Pine trees rose from the sides of the trail in a sweeping arc, winter wonderland trees that were frosted with sparkling ice on every branch and needle. No snow lay on the ground underneath this fairy-tale image, and no sound other than the gentle whishing of my breath broke the stillness.

I wished for a camera, mine or anyone else’s, to record the image. The lens would notice the transcendence of the light and the quietness of the forest. It would note the air temperature and the stark contrast of my breath with the sturdiness of the trees that began their lives decades before mine.

And then I was out of the fairy-land and at the gate with Cherry, A.J., Bernadette and Susan. We gasped in awe at the whiteness of each other’s hair, how we had suddenly “gone grey” in the course of half an hour. A.J.’s short brown hair stuck out from under her cap, making it hard for her to see her own frosting. Everyone laughed at my white braids hanging to my shoulders; they contrasted with my black hat and bright blue jacket in a comical way.

The last three miles were easy, a virtual walk in the park. Bernadette groaned when we showed her the new trail around the top of the mesa. “I always fall here!”

“You’ll be fine, they redid the trail here and it’s really nice now,” we assured her. She falls more than any adult I know. Just this past week, she went to an audition adorned with Hello Kitty band-aids from a fall two weeks earlier.

We coasted into the parking lot and saw Missy draped over the fence, camera in hand. She took the short-cut from the top of Doudy Draw back to the parking lot so she could grab her camera and photograph the runners as they returned, triumphant and frosted. She clicked and laughed as we came down the trail, and took close-ups of our white hair. Karley’s curly pony-tail was white and stiff, as though it had been sprayed with white paint and shellacked into position.

The forest was magical this morning, and the magic seemed to coat itself over the runners as we passed by. We were all sturdy and yummy in our own right, but the frosting that was bestowed upon us took years off our lives and made us giggle like children. That’s the magic of frosting though; it transforms what it is spread upon, making the ordinary just a little more noticeable and, well… extra-ordinary.