November 26, 2011

Thanksgiving week

The sun was almost over the horizon when I headed out the door.  My plan was to run an easy eight mile loop up to Davidson Mesa and back again.  To hit eight miles I would run three miles on the bike path to the Mesa, three miles on the flat overlooking the Boulder Valley, and two miles along Via Appia back to my front door.  My kids were excited about hanging Christmas lights and we had a full day planned… but first I needed to run.

I wore my speedy blue Saucany’s that have a grand total of 26 miles on them.  I bought them back in the late summer before I had the brilliant plan to run an Ultra; they haven’t had much road time because I had to train for distance, not speed.  Now however, the Ultra is over and I’m dying to run fast again.  I want my fast legs, I crave speed, I want to fly.

The first three miles of running uphill were warm-up.  I’m a slow-going girl; I have to get the blood moving before I can possibly do anything.  My first miles are always a plod-fest.  Today, my legs felt tight and I noticed a twinge in my knee due to a tight IT Band and quad.  I focused on form and did a mental check to see where the extra Thanksgiving calories were sitting (my waist, as always).

This past week I got two trail runs in on consecutive days.  My friend @pigtailsflying (TK) flew in Monday night to spend the holiday with her family, and we organized a trail run with @runnermatt (Matt) for the following morning.  I took them up Doudy Draw and we looped through Eldorado Canyon.  TK loved the trail so much that when I said “we should run again before you leave” she requested the same run again the next day!  This time she took her camera and we stopped several times to take pics.  You can see them on her blog, Pigtails Flying.

TK and I talked about a lot of stuff over the course of driving to and from the trailhead, and she made me do all the talking on the uphills (I did my part to help her with the lack of oxygen in Colorado).  We found out our birthdays are 6 days apart, we’re the same age, and we both got divorced this year.  We talked about our jobs and the real reasons we adore running.  We compared notes on races, paces, getting older, buying and selling property, and learning to be single women.  In short, we bonded.

This being Thanksgiving week, I thought a lot about friendships, family and especially my kids as I cruised through the hardest part of the run up to the Mesa.  I’m thankful for a whole lot of things in this world, and the people in my life are at the top of the list.  I’m also completely thrilled and grateful that my body is built to move across the ground.  I love love love running, and being able to do this singular activity almost any day I choose brings me a fount of joy.

At the top of the hill I pounded across McCaslin to the trailhead and took a deep breath.  The sun was cresting the horizon and my shadow was long in front of me.  The snowcapped mountains spread up and down the western edge of the world, as far as my eye could see.  My feet were tucked nicely into my blue Saucany’s, my knee had loosened up, and I was the only person on this end of the mesa.

Without any effort I dropped a minute off my pace, by virtue of not climbing any more hills (I need to work on that deficit, I know…).  Some happy song was playing softly from my iPod and I cruised along for a few minutes through the rocky minefield on the north side of the loop.  When I hit the main trail though, a thought tickled my mind and told me to pick up the pace.  “You’re never going to get any faster if you don’t practice running fast.”  I’ve heard that many times before.  And I want to get fast.  I’m tired of being the slow girl in a world of fast men that I hang out with.  Whenever I log onto Dailymile.com I see my local buddies running races and winning age-group awards.  I’ve never placed in my age group… maybe 6th or 7th, but nothing higher.  This is a whole ton of competitive b.s., and yet, I’ve always wondered what I could do if I actually trained to run fast?

So I kicked it up a notch, dropped pace to 6:30/mile and held it there for 100 yards, then eased back to a comfortable pace.  After my heart rate returned to normal I did it again.  And again.  And again.  By the fifth time my quads were starting to complain and I figured I had one or two more sprints in me before I was toast.

At the end of the mesa loop I glanced at the Garmin and was pleased by the time; 6 miles in 51 minutes.  Not an outstanding effort by any means, especially considering the first three 9-minute/miles, but now my lungs were open and the legs felt good and I had two beautiful miles of downhill left on this perfect November morning.  I missed the usual Saturday Morning Run with the girls on a trail in the foothills due to time constraints, but I was running.  Can’t beat that.

I pounded across McCaslin Avenue and jumped onto the sidewalk, concentrating on keeping my arms loose, shoulders down and legs lifted for each step.  When my posture got sloppy the glutes were the first to feel the effects, and lifting each leg got harder.  When I kept things loose and breezy, my pace naturally picked up and I easily glided over the concrete streets of suburbia.

As I ran down the hill my pace quickened to 6:58/mile before I opened the hip flexors and let it fly.  My first 100 yards on this stretch clocked in at 6:05/mile, and the second at 6:07.  When I got a half mile from my house I locked in the easy pace of 7:30/mile and cruised down the path, letting my heart rate drop.  I peeled the hat and gloves off and let my hot sweaty skin feel the rush of cool morning air.

Today, I needed everything about that run.  Every sense joined me on this hour’s ride as the world woke up.  I walked into my house alive and pulsing with blood and sweat, ready to rehydrate, refuel, and face the world of holiday decorating with my kids.

 

Filed Under: Fall 2011, Trails Tagged: , ,
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 12, 2011

Return to Morning Running

I took a hiatus from my early-morning running for about a month and let my new world-order settle around me.  With two kids to get motivated in the morning and no partner to lean on, it’s hard to run early and then rush around getting them ready for school.

Last night, I decided that I was ready for re-entry into the zone of sunrise worshipping.  I played around on Twitter for a few hours, re-connected with some running friends and learned about a great trail north of Boulder that I’ve never been on.  The genuine “welcome back” from my virtual peeps was a salve to my heart and reminded me of the safety net that even virtual friends provide.

I had to be home by 7am at the latest, and counted backwards.  If I wanted to run for an hour I had to leave by 6am, which realistically meant that I should set the alarm for 5:30 because in all likelihood I would hit Snooze at least once… maybe twice.

The morning went without a hitch, and at 6am my feet hit the pavement.  Sixty minutes of running, sixty minutes of breathing in the chilly morning air and saying hello to a new day.  Dawn holds a promise of hope and dreams that are not yet realized.  Potential.

The light was grey and still under a cloudless sky.  As I made my way south on Via Appia to the Rec Center my heart rate elevated slightly and settled into an even tempo that provided a quiet through-line to my rhythmic breathing.  Two miles of gentle incline ended on the flat mesa of Davidson, the only place I know of in Boulder County that boasts 360-degree views of the Front Range to the west, and plains to the east.

I’ve been adding new music to my iPod this spring, and today I got to hear a totally new mix of songs that rock my brain.  My shoes found sure footing on the crushed gravel trail as I bounced along to Matt Nathanson, Tab Benoit, Janis Joplin and the Barenaked Ladies.

A mile into the 3-mile Davidson loop, magic happened.  The glowing light to the east turned gold, and the sun slipped effortlessly over the horizon.  I turned my face to greet the star that I worship, and thanked the Sun God for showing up each and every morning and being the constant in my life.

I adore dawn for many reasons, and running when the sun comes up makes me extremely happy.  I don’t run every day, but the days when I do are special.  I’m reminded that there’s always hope, and when I witness a new day, I am renewed.

 

Filed Under: Seasons, Spring 2011 Tagged: , ,
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