Back from Camping

It’s been eight days since my last run.  The kids and I were on a camping trip in Wyoming and Montana, and it was just so incredibly relaxing to be there that I never had the urge to bust out and elevate the ol’ heart rate.  Now that I’m back though, I wanted to see what changes have occurred since I’ve been away.

A storm system settled over the entire Rocky Mountain region a few days ago, and now we’re in the tail end of it.  When I went out this morning the air smelled cool and damp but the sidewalks were mostly dry.  The long grasses in the greenbelt were heavy with moisture and bent with the weight of several days’ worth of incessant pounding rain.  The creek was down though, and no longer overflowed its banks.

I over-dressed this morning and wore my winter running pants, red long-sleeve and a rain jacket in case the rain came again.  Even though I checked the thermometer before I left the house, I forgot that 50 degrees means it’s warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt.  A camping trip will make you forget all the tricks you’ve ever known.  Okay, maybe it’s just me; I learn and re-learn things all the time.

The low music from my iPod was pleasant as I started up the greenbelt.  I sidestepped some wet clumps of grass, muck and worm remnants on the sidewalk and jogged steadily up the hill.  No dogs were out yet, most likely staying warm and dry in their houses.  The air was still.

Cresting the hill to the pond, I was surprised to see the high water level. My untrained eye estimated it was probably a good 8-10 inches higher than normal, though the banks weren’t anywhere near to flooding.  The trees were in full bloom and seemed wild with the early overgrowth of spring’s abundant moisture.

Following the path across the street, I settled into a meditative rhythm.  After eight days of no running, my muscles were as fresh as a baby and itching for some action.  I didn’t want to push it too hard though, knowing that I needed to move the muscles and get some flexibility back in joints that were a little stiff from road-tripping.

After ten minutes I pulled over and stopped.  I was burning up in my long-sleeve wicking fleece and rain coat.  I pulled both off, tied them around my waist, settled my hat again and set off wearing only my sports bra on the top half.  What freedom!  The sensation of air moving across my naked belly was heavenly; now that I didn’t feel like I would over-heat any second, my pace increased and I floated over the slight downhill near a flooded ravine.

An instrumental song started just as I headed into the underpass.  My mind floated away from the music and noticed the echo of my footsteps against the concrete tunnel walls.  It’s darker in the tunnel, and every time I round the corner to this tunnel my senses go into high alert.  A runner or cyclist can’t see into the tunnel until they’re right on top of it, which means they have to listen hard and watch for the whisper of shadow movement in the split second before you head under the street.  This time, as in most times I’ve run through this tunnel, I was alone.

A sign greeted me as I emerged from the tunnel:  “Caution: Rattlesnakes in the Area”.  Budget cuts in the city have eliminated the seasonal mowing which has had the wild effect of creating prime real estate for snakes.  Luckily, wet, cool mornings mean that the rattlers won’t be hanging out on the trail that I’m running.  I made a mental note to stay off the Coal Creek Trail in the heat of the day, as I have no interest in crossing paths with snakes.  Ever.

The music shifted again and Billy Pilgrim began crooning “Dixie Drug Store”.  I thought about New Orleans and considered what I’d do if I ever came across a voo-doo drug store run by the Widow of Paris.  The possibilities of a magic unlike anything I’ve ever seen is intriguing, to say the least, though realistically I’d be the unsuspecting boob that walked in and got duped.

Billy Pilgrim stayed with me as I turned the last corner in my loop.  Heading up the .6 mile hill to my house, I concentrated on staying strong and relaxing my shoulders.  A fine mist began to appear out of thin air and I busted through it as though it were paper, imagining that I was leaving a cut-out of myself along the sidewalks of Louisville that only rain Gods could perceive.

I arrived home cool, sweaty and utterly happy with my exertions.  The loop was just under five miles and I noted the time when I walked in the front door; just about forty minutes, on the nose.  I didn’t wear my Garmin this morning because I didn’t want an awareness of time to impede my enjoyment of the run (plus, if it started to rain again I didn’t want the thing to get wet).

It’s good to be back on my old stomping grounds.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll run a little longer and see what the Mesa’s been up to.