The View from the Ground

I wasn’t meeting anyone this Sunday morning, and didn’t rush while I gathered my hat, gloves, iPod, and Garmin GPS.  Our regularly scheduled Saturday run was canceled due to a forecasted blizzard that never materialized. It was still cold at seven A.M., a cool twenty degrees even though the sun was shining.  My lined tights, fleece-lined wicking shirt and pink jacket would be sufficient.  Kirby starting yowling when she saw me pull on my hat, but stopped short when I told her she was staying home.  Dejectedly, she walked to the window and stared out.  I didn’t mind too much since I planned on taking her and Sophie out for a little two-mile loop when I was done with my training run.

As soon as my feet hit the icy path I thought about postponing for a few hours.  There was just a slight dusting of snow on the sidewalks and street, under which there was a very fine layer of slick ice that had frozen where the wind had deposited blowing snow the night before.  Listening to the first strains of “Bat Out of Hell”, I decided that if I kept my feet on the snow and took it easy, I should be okay.  I’ve never fallen on ice in the three years I’ve been running and was impatient to get up to Davidson Mesa to witness the first strains of dawn.

I did some quick calculations and decided that I would shoot for an easy 9:00/mile average, what with the snow and ice.  This would put me at finishing the ten mile run in about an hour and a half.  Realistically I would probably finish it closer to an hour and twenty minutes, but I wanted to add in some cushion for the unknown conditions up ahead.

I navigated the pockets of ice on the trail, and the first three miles melted away.  Just before crossing McCaslin to the Davidson Mesa trailhead I spotted the first runner of the morning coming toward me.  I gave him a wave and he pumped his fist in the air and grunted “Wooo, woooo, wooo” in greeting, clearly a sign of solidarity amongst us crazy runners who get up to run at the crack of dawn on icy mornings because of our faulty internal wiring.

Davidson Mesa was spectacular.  Only a few pairs of human feet had traversed the trails in the preceding days, and the snow was interspersed with rabbit and coyote tracks skittering off into the fields.  The sparkly snow was still dry enough to stay stuck to the trail instead of the treads of my shoes, and for that I was grateful.  The picturesque Foothills, the iconic backdrop of the Boulder Valley, were stunning with snow clinging to every surface and early morning rays of sun chasing the shadows from the crevices.  The landscape looked eerily false, like an ecological diorama that had powdered sugar ground through a sifter onto the landscape.  I felt about one inch tall and reeled from the sudden change in perspective.

It was so much easier to run on the Mesa.  My body relaxed and I realized how tense my muscles were from running on the icy sidewalks and streets.  Three more miles melted away.

As I headed off the Mesa and back onto the sidewalks I kept my eyes on the concrete in front of me and dodged around patches of ice.  Snow was disappearing from the ice patches and areas of dry sidewalk were beginning emerging.  Retracing my footsteps, I headed down behind the Louisville Rec Center and checked my watch; one hour exactly, with seven miles behind me and three to go.  I figured that with the rest of the run being pretty flat, I could expect to walk in my front door in approximately twenty two minutes, give or take a little on either end.

And then things went suddenly wrong.  I ran onto a patch of ice that had until that moment been completely hidden from view.  My right foot flew out from under me and I landed with a THUD on my right butt cheek.  A split second later my right elbow hit the pavement and my hat and sunglasses were airborne.  I lay there for a moment and took a few breaths. Gingerly I sat up and while I waited for my heart to stop pounding, I took stock.  Nothing broken… didn’t hit my head… might be a bit sore tomorrow… ouch.

Looking up from my vantage point on the ice I recognized a person walking with two dogs.  “Oh, hey Simon,” I called out. My Master’s swim coach was soaking in the fresh air, albeit from a standing position.  I felt better right away; nothing like a fellow athlete to see you in a spot of trouble, as we’ve all been there before.  He didn’t moan or get excited about seeing me sitting on the ice, just asked in a calm voice if I was okay and suggested that we walk on top of the crest above the trail to stay off the ice.

We walked a little way together and he told me about the dogs he was walking.  I in turn told him how I was supposed to take Sophie and Kirby running when I got home and how I was rethinking my plan.  I was grateful for the company of a friend after my little spill.  Any face is welcome after falling, but so see a friend show up at my exact time of need was a true gift.

We said goodbye and I resumed my run.  I needed to know if I COULD run, or if there was a deeper injury that would prevent me from bouncing my buns along.  I checked my watch a few times and saw that indeed, I was not only running but was running at my former pace.  My hiney was a little sore, but nothing that a few days’ rest wouldn’t cure.  The whole incident added about ten minutes to the total time; I walked in my front door ninety minutes after starting out. 

A few takeaways from this experience:

1.  Athletes don’t care how you look when you’re pushing yourself hard, or how you look when you fail.  They’ll still be there to help you along.

2.  I hit the ground REALLY HARD.  If I wasn’t an athlete I think the fall would have been worse.  Because I’m strong and flexible I could hold my head so it wouldn’t smack the ground.

2.  If I can run ten miles and waste ten minutes on a fall and recovery and STILL come in at my goal time, then I haven’t set the bar high enough.