April 24, 2011

Weekend Double-Header

This weekend was a running double-header.  I wanted to do 16 miles in preparation for the 25-mile Collegiate Peaks trail race coming up in two weeks, but the stars were not in alignment for that plan on Saturday.  After seeing how short I was after Saturday’s run, I decided to run again on Sunday to make up the shortfall.

The alarm went off on Saturday, but there was zero motivation to get up and head out the door to meet my Saturday Morning gang.  Instead, I made a leisurely breakfast, sipped tea, and dozed in bed for another two hours.  Sleep and Rest are two of my best friends right now, and I wanted to spend more time visiting with the back of my eyelids.

By 9am I was ready to move to the shower.  The warm water and soap on my head felt like heaven and energized me.  After toweling off I decided that I really did want to run.  The clouds were heavy and spitting pellets of snow that immediately melted on the pavement.  I found some running clothes, braided my wet mass of hair, pulled the SmartWool hat down tight and pushed play on the iPod.  It was time to roll.

My dog, Kirby, saw the preparations and reminded me that she hasn’t been on a good walk in two days.  She’s been patient with my busy schedule, but even humans need verbal reminders that the fuzzy-butts in the household have needs, too.  With leash firmly attached, we headed up the Greenbelt for a Kirby-constitutional.

She had a great time trotting along, and in 15 minutes we covered 1.3 miles that included some stellar sniff-breaks and unloading.  We circled back to the house and she wagged a happy goodbye as I closed the door and headed out on my own run.

I headed up the Greenbelt trail and started the three-mile journey to Davidson Mesa.  The air was chilly on my bare face, and the SmartWool hat kept me warm in spite of my wet hair.  I hadn’t fully settled on a route or mileage at this point, and was doing the basic legwork that could get me to 8, 9 or 10 miles.  I would decide the full loop after mile 6 when I left the Mesa.

Because the morning had been so sleepy, I didn’t have any expectations for quick leg turnover or pace.  I knew I wasn’t running the full 16 miles, but didn’t know how many I would actually put in by the time the run was over.  This was the epitome of spontaneous running.  I didn’t have water or nutrition, so I was at the mercy of whatever calories were currently sitting in my gut.

I never try to push pace at the beginning of a run.  The first two miles, no matter where or when, are warm-up miles.  Because I had just run a little over a mile with Kirby, my pace dropped to an average 8:52/mile for the first 1.5 miles of my solo adventure.  On the last push up the hill to Davidson Mesa I slowed down a bit to 9:05/mile, but felt strong and steady.

The wind was stronger on the Mesa, and the pellets of snow flew from the west and tap-danced on my face.  I kept my eyes on the trail in front of me and wished for my sunglasses for eye protection, though realistically I wouldn’t have been able to wear them with all the moisture.

My muscles felt loose and easy, and on the flat surface of the trail the pace dropped into the 8:30 range where it stayed for the remainder of the run.  I wasn’t trying to do a tempo run, I wasn’t trying to create a set of parameters for this day; it just felt good to run at that pace, so I closed my eyes against the snow and ran by feel.

Circling around the Mesa the wind gusted and the pellets shifted direction, suddenly coming from the north as I headed east again.  The left side of my face was hammered by snow and the left eye wasn’t excited about being open anymore.  I wiped the moisture from my face with the dry palm of a SmartWool glove, and passed a walker who was huddled in her jacket with a muffler and earmuffs drawn tight around her head.  She barely acknowledged me, though her dog looked curious as I trotted by.

Coming off the Mesa was a blessing because I was protected from the wind.  An internal check told me that all systems were still Go… no hunger or thirst, and the legs were totally fine.  May as well run the full 10-mile loop.  I briefly considered another add-on that would put me at 16 miles, but decided that since I didn’t have water or fuel it was probably not a good idea to run 2+ hours on reserves alone.

By the end of the run I was still running steadily, and pulled up to my house finishing with a solid 8:25/mile pace.  This told me that the run the next day would be fine; no need to worry about injury or exhaustion.

Twenty-four hours later, I pulled into the Doudy Draw Trailhead parking lot.  I ran this loop on Wednesday with my friend Joe, and was excited to climb hills and fly fast in the same workout.  My energy was up after sleeping soundly, and my mini warm-up with Kirby around the Greenbelt had gotten my heart rate up.  It was time to go.

I held my camera and stopped to take pictures of the mountains.  The low-hanging clouds were moving swiftly on air currents, and patches of blue sky and bright sunlight filtered onto the craggy rocks and yellow grasses that still cover the meadows.

Clouds moving on the air currents reveal the mountains hidden close behind.

A huge black crow perched on a fence post next to the footbridge that spans a wide ditch with rapidly flowing water.  I pulled out my camera and pushed the “Power” button, but he flew away in the two seconds that the camera needed to be ready for action.  Hoping for a miracle, I held up the camera, focused quickly and caught him in flight.

A huge black crow, caught in flight.

The first two miles were an excellent uphill warm-up, and I easily navigated the rocks on the single-track trail, slowing briefly to snap pictures of the majestic Front Range Mountains that tug on my heart.

After running south on the trail that’s cut into the hillside I headed west on the next turn.  A biker was making his way through the rocky landmine of the trail, and we smiled and said Hi when he rode by.

The undulating trail felt so good under my feet, and my legs were so happy to be moving.  My arms swung easily in rhythm and breathing was effortless.  Coming up out of a gulch, I raised my eyes to the top of the mountain far above and something inside shifted.  I was running in the mountains that I love, alone, wild and free, capable and healthy.  This is Church.  This is Easter Sunday, and I felt the power and energy of the earth.

At the top of the hill the trail leveled out and my stomach growled.  So hungry, and three miles to go!  I didn’t push pace, just relaxed my form and let the body do what it does best.  Run faster.

The first rock wall of Eldorado Canyon

I paused a few times to snap pictures, then kept running.  As I came through the rock wall into Eldorado Canyon the sounds of rushing water far below mingled with voices from the scree field on the south side of the rock wall.  Siblings were climbing the rocks while protective parents watched, their postures alive with studied nonchalance while their eagle eyes recorded every move of the youngsters.

When Joe was here four days ago, we ran moderately on this section so that we could talk and he could see the sights.  Today, all my breath was channeled into movement.  Instead of the 8:34/mile pace we held on Wednesday, I dropped to a sustainable 8:05/mile and ran down through the canyon.

I hit the pavement and dropped another 70 seconds from my pace.  Like the crow, it was time to fly home.

 

Filed Under: Spring 2011, Trails Tagged: , ,
April 20, 2011

Eldo Canyon with the Texan

I was awake before the alarm went off and bounced out of bed at 5:30.  My good friend Joe from Austin is in town, and the plan was to meet at 6:30 at the Doudy Draw Trailhead for a quick 7-mile loop through Eldorado Canyon.

Joe and I know each other through our blogs; he writes Joe Still Runs for Dom, and he’s been a reader of Saturday Morning Zen for a while now.  I’ve interviewed him three separate times as he’s geared up for back-to-back marathons, raised money for Dom’s cancer treatment, and then run his fastest marathon to date.  We’re virtual friends, and we were both tickled to finally get to put a face to the words that we’re both so good at spewing.

I pulled into the parking lot at 6:25 to find him waiting in the warmth of his rental.  We greeted each other like old friends then headed onto the trail.  Each of us wore a Garmin, and we punched Start as we picked up the pace.

Joe commented a few days ago that he’s fighting a nasty head cold, courtesy of his daughter Landry’s daycare facility.  He didn’t sound too congested to me, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The trail leading out of the parking lot is an immediate, gradual incline.  It’s not too bad for the first two minutes, but then you begin to get warm and your heart rate rises and you realize that each sentence is punctuated with a little puff of air.  Joe is a total talker; he talked to me for two hours straight one afternoon on Skype a few months back, so I’m aware of his massive energy.  The strangest thing was happening during the first mile of the run; after five minutes, Joe was breathing, not talking.

The trail started to get more technical as we wound our way up, and he commented on the single-track with jutting rocks.  As we ran parallel to the Doudy Draw ridge we were forced to run single file and Joe fell in behind me.

The low-hanging clouds promised a muted sunrise.  There would be no show of color on the rock faces in Eldorado Canyon, or splashes of light on the yellow grasses and tall stands of pine trees that surround the trail.  The 34-degree morning was the perfect temperature for us and our hats and gloves kept the chill air off delicate extremities.

We stopped at the first marker post to snap a picture and give Joe a breather.  His breath was ragged due to his cold and the altitude, and this was a great place to admire the scenery before we started the next hill.

Joe at the end of the first hill, 1.5 miles into the run

Being the awesome runner and friend that he is, he gamely said he was enjoying the run.  My new Mizuno trail shoes provided a colorful rabbit and he followed the shoes through the landmine of rocks.

At the top of the next hill we paused to admire the Flatirons that were partially hidden by clouds.  I played tour guide at this point and explained our position in relation to the rest of the valley, and gave a verbal description of where other trails on the mountain were and how to access different sections.  He was polite and listened intently, absorbing who knows how much of the information I so casually imparted.

We hit the trail again and headed for the last little section of hill that winds through the woods.  The trees are close together in this part, and on mornings such as this, when the clouds hang low and mist sits motionless in the air, the woods have an ethereal quality.

At the top of the hill we jumped onto the service road that runs to the back of the open space property.  Joe smiled for the first time in a few miles, got his breath back, and we headed down the wide dirt trail the traverses the back of the canyon.

Joe on the service road after the woods... yay, it's flat again!!

We stayed on the dirt road for a mile or so, then took a sharp right into another gulch.  Single file, we jumped over smooth rocks that had been placed as a footbridge years ago, and ascended the culvert.  After the rest break running on a flat road provided, I don’t know that Joe the Flatlander even noticed this tiny ascent.  We pulled out of the culvert and once again were on high, flat trail, this time heading through two walls of rock that had been blown apart to create an eight-foot wide access path.  I pointed to the walls of rock and said, “Hey, look up, it’s getting pretty here.”

“Whoa…” he said.

We came through the next section of canyon and I would have forgotten to point it out but Joe noticed the pretty; we stopped to admire the view of the valley far below.  I pointed out the trail far below us, and using big gestures, described how we would run further west on our current trail, then hairpin at the road and descend sharply out of the canyon into the town of Eldorado Springs.

Rock face in Eldo Canyon.

We picked up the pace at this point and settled into a comfortable downhill zone.  He was happy to open up the quads and get some other muscles in on the action after our first three miles of climbing.

Coming through the town of Eldorado Springs I pointed out the sights; the Eldorado Spring Water building, the ruts in the road, and the river that bisects the two-lane town.  We pounded over the hard-packed dirt and hit pavement for the first time in the entire run.  We were at about 5.5 miles with about a mile and a quarter to go.

I checked in with Marathon Man; was he good, should we pick up the pace and get a little speed in?  The answer was a resounding YUP, so we dropped a minute off our pace and trotted along the blacktop, chatting easily now that Joe was out of the minefield of rocks.

As we came around a curve I pointed ahead and told him that that next bend was the one we were shooting for; the trailhead was literally just past it.  How about one more pick-up?  I didn’t want Joe to leave Colorado feeling like he didn’t get a good workout in, as so many of us who follow his blog or DailyMile posts know how this man deconstructs each and every footstep and mile.  I was feeling a little pressure to deliver a good, solid Colorado run for the Texan.

We picked up the pace one last time and held it for a few minutes, then backed down a few hundred yards before turning into the parking lot.  A quick cool down, then we headed to Vic’s for coffee and a nice long chat before we each had to get on with the day.

It was so much fun seeing the trail from Joe’s out-of-state eyes, and appreciating the rugged beauty of the jutting rocks, red dirt and the incredible trail system that Boulder has taken such pains to create.  Joe, whenever you’re back in town, let me know and we’ll do it again!

 

Filed Under: Spring 2011, Trails Tagged: , ,
April 18, 2011

Marshall Mesa in Spring

Heidi:  “I am planning on running with the group on Saturday and thinking I will go a little longer either starting before or adding some at the end…”

Me:  “I would love to do extra, what are you thinking?  10-12?  I’d be up for that, for sure.  Have to be done by 8:45 sharp…”

Heidi:  “I was thinking 12ish.  I am totally up for starting early.  It’s light by 6:30 and happy to meet early.”

It was set.  The group was meeting at our usual time of 7am at Marshall Mesa, but Heidi and I were going to extend on the front end.  This time of year it’s actually fun to get moving early, as there’s more opportunity to see the sunrise.

The parking lot was empty save for Heidi’s lone car when I pulled in at 6:35.  We were the first to hit the Marshall Mesa trail this morning, but the other fanatical outdoor-lovers of Boulder weren’t far behind.  Within two minutes we were running, headed for a quick three-mile loop that would bring us back to the trailhead where we would caboose onto the main group.

The air was warm and I dressed in shorts, a long sleeve wicking shirt and brim-cap.  My Adidas Supernova Trail shoes, purchased from Alan Culpepper’s flagship store Solepepper Sports over a year and a half ago, rounded out the well-worn outfit.  The faded and scuffed shoes have close to 500 miles on them but I love how they grip the trail, and I’ve been loath to admit they’re at the end of their running life.

The breeze fluttered my ponytail as we ran south out of the parking lot before taking a hairpin turn that shot us due east.  The sun had crested the horizon but there was no amazing show of color due to the high, cumulous clouds resting to the east.  After a mile we stopped briefly to admire the view of the valley and Front Range mountains, noting that it was still so early; barely 6:45.

View of the Front Range from Marshall Mesa

At the top of the hill we turned west and ran along the ditch that was sufficiently filled with flowing water.  These ditches are the life-blood of farmers in the area, and it’s always good to see them moving as the spring thaw comes to the higher elevations and allows the frozen waters to move down to the plains.

Ditch flowing at the top of Marshall Mesa

The dirt was dry and packed, though didn’t have the stench of baking dust that the trails have in mid to late summer.  The smell was still of new earth and damp wind, freshness and spring.

We looped around the final bend and headed north to the trailhead again.  This area of the trail was the most technical yet, and we dropped into single-file with me in the lead.  We picked our way easily through the rocky terrain; even tired, even fighting colds, this wasn’t hard.  Our conversation paused at this point and I could hear our athlete’s breaths, coming in short even spurts as we dropped to an 8-minute pace on the downhill.

The sun was higher in the sky and I noted our distance; three miles on the nose.  We could see the group congregating in the parking lot up ahead.  Heidi removed her jacket and stowed it by a trail marker; she would retrieve it on the way back.  It’s pretty common to see random gear along a trail; I have yet to hear a story of someone losing something that way.

We saw the girls leave the parking lot just up ahead, and caught up to the back of the pack a few minutes later.  Quick hellos were exchanged, and the pace continued.  A minute later we reached the next group and as I passed them I forced myself to slow down.  I wanted to try to stay with the group and be a part of the conversation.  I dialed in the speed and idled in second gear.

We were headed east on the Marshall Trail toward Superior.  The trail now connects all the way to the Coal Creek Trail, so you can feasibly do a sweet 20-30 mile loop if you’re so inclined.  We were headed to Superior just to get the feel of the add-on, and then backtracking our steps to the trailhead.

At 63rd Street we waited for the group and I snapped another shot of the mountains in the distance and our friends crossing the road:

The trail was easy and rolling and the tall dead grass swayed in the wind.  The gentle chatter of my friends rolled over me as we coasted down to the next stopping point.

At the gate we waited for the last friends to arrive, then turned back again.  The slight uphill felt good on my legs.  Two of the ladies went on ahead and I stuck with another girlfriend.  We chatted for a bit until she commented subtly that her natural pace was a little slower than mine.  I went on ahead and worked on finding my own rhythm, a rhythm that isn’t attached to anyone else’s.

At that moment I realized that I had become tired during the run; tired because I was holding back and had stopped being interested in the movement.  It was hard to run slowly, hard to be patient, hard to not be true to what my body needed from my own physical movement.  In the quietness of the space between my friends, I found my own pace and noticed that I was hungry and a little spacey.  Three Clif Chews brought my blood sugar level back up again, and I started paying closer attention to my body.

My big toes were rubbing inside my shoes, and both toes felt like there was a blister forming.  As thoughts turned to the age and wear of my shoes, I realized that if I am running a trail race in three weeks, I need to pony up and get some new trail shoes broken in before the race.  Time to hit the Boulder Running Store for some new kicks.

At the next stopping point I passed the two lead girls; they were waiting for the group and took the short cut back to the parking lot.  I chose the longer route and looped around the top of the mesa again in an effort to hit the planned 12-mile distance.

The wind picked up and sudden gusts slammed me as I ran close to the ditch.  My hat bobbled; I yanked it off and clutched it in my fist.  Stray hairs from my ponytail whipped around as I plowed toward the hairpin turn that would tuck me against the coal seam.

In a déjà vu moment I leapt over the same rocks and again navigated the one and only technical section of the trail.  The warm air was balmy on bare legs and dried the sweat from my forehead as I did some quick mental math:  since today’s run was 12 miles, I should shoot for a 16 miler next weekend and 20 miles the week afterward, which would get me close to the 25 mile mark for the May 7 Collegiate Peaks Trail Race in Buena Vista.  This means I’ll be extending for the next two weeks’ trail runs, and racing in 3 weeks.  That’s alright; these distances feel totally manageable, and since I’m not running for time everything should be okay in the end.

I said a quick goodbye to the gang back at the trailhead and drove over to the soccer field with a quick stop at the coffee shop for a cup of DazBog Hazelnut coffee.  The morning was in full swing when I arrived at the soccer field at 8:55, where I relaxed into a camping chair and soaked in the morning rays of warmth.  Saturday had begun, and Runner Girl was satiated.

 

 

Filed Under: Spring 2011, Trails Tagged: , ,
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