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 6^th or 7^th, 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.

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.

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.

Some days I’m spiraling out of my mind, and can’t harness energy to save my life.  This is the wild feminine energy that yanks me out of my body and spins me into orbit if there’s nothing to pull me back.  Other days I’m absolutely grounded and present, and can harness the natural energy of the world as though I’m a conduit for unseen forces.

Today is one of those days.  It’s a day of being fully present and grounded, and holding lots of space.  As I started my run up to Davidson Mesa this morning I could feel the gentleness of the energy around me.  Nothing was pulling me out of my head.  There was a diffused quality to the light, and even the birds chirped softly.

There’s a Goddess called Kali (pronounced Kah-lie) that I first learned about in a women’s yogic retreat several years ago.  She is massively powerful because she is the divine embodiment of feminine energy. She throws energy at her lover when he does not meet her spiritually or energetically, she can rage and scream and then submit to the masculine when she’s met on a spiritual level.  She is youth, mother, wisdom and hag.  She is young and beautiful, and as ancient as the stars.  During the retreat, several women commented on my “Kali energy”.  It wasn’t until I was home and able to look up the Goddess that I understood the reference.

Sometimes when I run, I ground into this yogic energy and channel my inner Kali.  I tap into her light, rage, passion and love, and carry that with me.  My brain stops churning at lightning speed and I move seamlessly into the intuitive part of my being.  Every cell opens, and it feels like electricity is coursing through me.  Sometimes I have to shake my arms and hands, throwing off negative energy that has stagnated and is now coming to life again.  Everything aches and hurts and sadness wells up and threatens to overcome me until the old stuff moves out; then the positive energy pours forth and lightens my body until I’m almost flying.

Today, my Kali energy flowed strong, deep and wide.  The mountains to the west were silent and strong, sending gentle rays to the mesa where I ran.  I drew strength from the ground on which I stood, the air that I breathed and the sun that warmed my bare shoulders and head.  I thought about the people in my life that I love, and held them gently in my heart.  I wrapped them in compassion and grounded them deep into the center of the earth, tethering them to the ancient wisdom of the universe.  And I ran.

Running is my moving meditation.  I run to feel, to heal, to live and tap into the energy of nature.  I run to move energy and lighten my load.  I run to remind myself that I am part of something so large, so universal, so deep and wide that my little soul is a mere grain of sand in the grand scale of life.  I run to experience the wisdom of the earth, and to draw strength from the ancient energy that resides deep within the folds of the earth.  I run to live.

Regardless, I did it.  For the second consecutive Wednesday I ran in shorts and a t-shirt.  Again, the wind was blowing.  Again, my hat blew off.  C’est la vie.

As I walked through the grass I noticed a few green blades of grass creeping through the dead stuff.  And because my ears weren’t plugged with earphones, I heard a village of birds sorting out a few complaints high in a cottonwood along the greenbelt.

My foot has felt great this past week, and (knock on wood) I think the Plantar Fasciitis is about gone.  I tested this theory by wearing the Scott minimalist shoes I bought at the Expo in Sacramento back in December.

For today’s run I headed to my safe haven; Davidson Mesa.  The Mesa and I are intimate friends, but I haven’t gone visiting in over a month.  This run was long past due.

The snow has all melted, the ground is bare.  Buds haven’t pushed out from the naked branches yet, though it feels like it’s only a matter of days.  The geese are out in force, though strangely enough, were completely calm as I ran through their midst.  Not a single one looked up to acknowledge my intrusion.

My heart rate climbed to runner’s pace within a few seconds of moving before leveling out. Whenever I head to the Mesa I get a good warm-up because I travel uphill for 2-3 miles, depending on the route.  Today was a 2-mile warm-up; I felt slow and contemplative, not fast and frenzied.

There are several ways of working the three-mile Davidson Mesa loop into my run, and today I chose the shortest distance.  Seven miles was the farthest I wanted to go.  This was to be a relaxed, enjoyable visit, nothing else.

As I coasted across McCaslin into the parking lot the wind gusted and made my hat bob a little.  I pulled the brim lower on my forehead and tucked my chin.  The hat is mine, Mr. Wind, you can’t have it!

The die was cast.  I headed west on the northern-most path, parallel to the dog park.  From time to time a gust blew from the south across my left shoulder, but it was no match for this 120-pound brute.  Even though the sun shone and not a cloud dotted the sky, my skin felt cold.

I got to my favorite part of the run, where the footing becomes slightly more technical and I have to pay attention to each foot strike.  I’m missing the mountain trails something fierce right now, but this was as close as I could get today.  My heart raced at the thought of flying down Bluestem but I quickly shut it out of my mind.  Don’t get out of your head.  Stay right here and plant each foot.  Can’t risk a turned foot, not now, not after coming back from injury.

Back on the main trail that looks like a well-maintained one-lane dirt road, I settled into my pace again.  Every once in a while I looked up from the ground in front of me, but then the wind would get its long skinny fingers on the brim of my hat and give it a tug.  Eyes on the trail, lost in thought, the miles ticked by.

On the most westerly side of the Mesa I swear there’s an energy vortex.  The trail turns south and there’s a slight incline. A prairie dog village lies to the east of the trail and is usually a hub of activity, but it was strangely silent today.  As I entered the energy vortex my emotions started swirling around and there was a complete release as my legs churned their metronomic rhythm.

By the time the trail hairpinned west and then cut directly east, the swirl of energy had dissipated.  I was free again.  The trail dipped and turned and I ran and moved and interspersed intervals into my joyous appreciation of the moment.

The sun now shone behind me and my shadow stretched out ahead.  My shadow-arms swung and my rib cage expanded and contracted.  Twice I inhaled big breaths and let them out to see the rise and fall of my shoulders.  With my ponytail sticking out of the hole in the back of my hat, my shadow-neck looked long and lean as it flowed along the ground in front of me.

Mr. Wind assaulted me from the front, snaked his long fingers onto my hat and caught it, flipping the hat effortlessly from my head.  It toppled backwards and slipped down my ponytail.  Backtracking, I picked it up and secured it onto my head again while wishing for a dab of superglue to hold it in place.

Two ladies and their furry companions came into sight.  They saw me and looked surprised.  I knew immediately what they were thinking; they were dressed in pants, coats and winter hats… what’s this fool of a girl doing in a t-shirt and shorts?

Yeah, well… I got nothin’ but hope.  Hope for warm weather, hope for the kiss of the sun on my bare arms, hope for a breath of spring’s promise.

At the parking lot I looked both ways and gauged my chances of beating the on-coming cars; I sprinted across two lanes and coasted to the other side.  Ah, that felt GOOD.

The last two miles home were an easy downhill.  I gave myself a few pick-ups to test the hamstring, and daydreamed about doing speed work and track workouts.

I needed this today.  I needed to get outside and breathe the fresh air, feel my heart pound sure and strong inside my chest, and feel the possibility that Spring holds.

Her iPod cord was tucked under her shirt.  An early-model Garmin adorned her wrist and a white headband trapped stray hairs that pulled out of her short ponytail.  She wore sunglasses, shorts and a tank top in obvious hopes that the sun had more staying power than the wind. 

She started off stiffly, as though it had been a hard night or maybe she had over-done it at the gym yesterday.  Shaking her wrists a few times, she shrugged her shoulders, rotated her head and jiggled her hips.  A little loosening was all she needed to bring her back to full form.

She headed up the trail and the wind hit her hard when she crested the hill to the pond.  Head ducked against the wind, she gasped; a drop of spittle appeared on her lower lip as she struggled for breath.  Warrior that she was, she kept going.

Circling the lake, she crossed the empty street and kept trudging up the hill.  Her legs were pistons, never slowing their steady grind up the long incline.  Her face was closed in the blowing wind; mouth slightly open, downcast eyes sheltered behind sunglasses, torso leaning forward with steady opposition to the headwind.  This hill was stomping grounds for her and even in the wind, her lithe body owned it.  Once or twice the wind lessened and she looked around at the deserted open space as though hearing a rustle and trying to locate the culprit.

At the top of the hill she paused for no more than a millisecond, but in that time a war waged inside her head.  She was deciding how far to go and the likelihood of wind on the Mesa.   The decision would be made shortly, as there was another half mile to go before entering the open space.

She crossed one more street and headed into the nature preserve of Harper Lake.  The wind was even worse; now that she was off the lee side of the hill she was fully exposed.  She turned to the north and stumbled with the force of the wind.  Her running muscles were nothing compared to wind speeds that equaled a weak hurricane.  Crossing a bridge, her headband flew off and stuck like glue to the iron railings of the bridge.  She pried it loose, wrapped it twice around her wrist, and added the rubber band from her hair.  She gave up trying to hold things back and suddenly looked young.  A smile floated across her face and softened her features; if the wind and dust weren’t flying, she would have laughed.

By now she was running in the hardest wind yet, and somehow she picked up her pace.  Gusts buffeted her and from time to time she drifted from her intended trajectory.  She didn’t seem to mind.  After circling the lake, she glanced once at Davidson Mesa and turned away.

Instead of running a “lollipop” –running back the way she had come after a full circle around the lake– she headed out onto the street and ran along the sidewalk.  She wanted to pound pavement on the return trip.  Her shoulder-length hair whipped her face and she stumbled forward as though goosed from behind.  Her strides lengthened with every step until she fairly flew down the hill.  Her torso was long instead of hunched into the wind, and rotated freely with the force of her pumping arms.

She hugged each turn tightly, a seasoned racer used to making the most out of each step.  Descending the hill, the wind lessened and her hair stopped whipping straight up, as though it were being blown from below.  A smile played on her face as she pulled a stray hair from where it stuck to her mouth and suddenly she laughed, tilting her face to the sun.  In that moment she slowed her pace and stretched her arms wide.  Was she receiving the sunshine into her body, or giving the world a sampling of her intense pleasure that came from this early morning run?  A few cars passed as she ran against traffic, their drivers huddled in their metal boxes, safe from the elements.  She didn’t belong in a car; she was of the elements herself, ecstasy flowing from her windblown hair down to her muscular legs like supple young trees; lithe, strong, and able to withstand the many forces of nature.

I woke up ready for a Church of the Long Run and decided to mix up my usual route.  As I dressed, I could feel myself wavering already on the distance… maybe I wasn’t up for 10 miles, maybe I should only do 6 and call it good?  Maybe I should stick to the lower elevations and not do the big hill up to Davidson Mesa?

I always fumble with my clothes when the season changes, and today was no different.  How many layers should I wear, and what skin needs to be covered so I don’t freeze?  I had already decided on shorts, and knew I needed a long sleeve.  But did I need a fleece, or could I get away with a long sleeve wicking shirt, with maybe a short-sleeve wicking shirt on top for wind protection?

I decided on the latter and was tickled to pull my red wicking t-shirt from the Las Vegas half (back in December) out of the pile!  It really didn’t match my purple running shorts, but hey.  I layered it with a black long-sleeve and the entire outfit was more an expression of my supreme individuality than my ability to coordinate, so I wore it proudly.

Lastly, I pulled my Nike hat and gloves from the pile in front of the washing machine (I wore them yesterday and we haven’t made it through the weekend mountain of laundry).  I strapped on the Garmin, threaded my iPod cord between the two shirts, and headed out to see what the day looked like.

Instead of trekking the three mile up to Davidson Mesa, looping another three miles and then trying to talk myself into an additional four miles when I could just as easily knock off the Mesa and log two more miles on a direct route home, I headed down Main Street to Community Park where I proceeded to do the entire route, backwards.

I turned the iPod down low so I could hear the music of spring over the strains of my new running mix.  Birdies were chirping everywhere, and squirrels were out chasing each other up and down trees and over the tops of fences.

I sucked wind for the first four miles, and stopped on the path to stretch my calves.  A lady with a reddish retriever walked by and asked “You okay?”  I nodded, she kept walking, but the sweet dog kept turning around as if to say “Are you coming?  It’s so much fun to keep going, don’t stop now!”  The dog’s infection enthusiasm made me smile, and when I started running again she wagged her tail so hard she made that precious semi-circle where face and tail meet.  I laughed as I passed the dog and woman, and told the woman what a sweet companion she has.

My thighs had a tinge of red from the cold, but nothing debilitating.  After 4.5 miles I reached Davidson Mesa and headed out on the flat 3-mile loop.  The wind was stronger up there and I was glad I wasn’t talking to anyone, otherwise my throat would be pretty dry from sucking all that air into my lungs.  The trail was moderately dry with footprints and bike tire marks frozen in place.  No one was out, not even the prairie dogs or coyotes.  I had the entire place to myself, and I said a prayer of thanks to the Earth for holding birds, sun, mountains, air, and me, all in one place.

I floated off the Mesa and settled into the steady downhill that would take me home.  With two miles left, I easily picked up the pace and knocked another 40 seconds off my pace, finishing the 9.5 miles in 1:17:48.

Garmin read-out 3-28-10: 1:17:48, 9.53 miles

My right calf was still tight, so I’ll work on stretching it out today and tomorrow.  My hips felt really good, as though I had put them through the paces and they were remembering how all the muscles like to work together in this ol’ body we inhabit.  The pounding actually felt good on my joints; nothing like a good run to get some proprioceptor stimuli.  I walked into the house flush with exercise, warm, happy, and ready for some home-baked oatmeal and a steaming cup of coffee.

Happy Shorts Day, everyone!

Tomorrow’s temps are supposed to be in the teens, with a 10-15 degree wind chill factor. With that nugget of knowledge I decided to do a long run while I still could; tomorrow I’ll be at the YMCA, exercising indoors and trying not to die of boredom.

I waved goodbye to the kids as they ran for their carpool. School is (finally) back in session after a two and a half week Winter Break, made even longer at my house because Connor was out sick the entire week before that. Three and a half weeks of having noisy short people around all the time is a lot, especially when I’m used to having uninterrupted hours of complete silence in which to work. But, I digress.

By 8:15 I was out the door with Kirby. We did a slow loop up the Greenbelt to the pond, then came back home again. This is a mile loop at best, just long enough for her to get in 4-5 pee breaks and a load drop. I dropped her back at the house, stopped for a nose blow, and headed out again with my Garmin. The plan was to go up to Davidson Mesa, loop around, and come home again. This loop can take anywhere from 7-10 miles, depending on the paths leading up to and back from the Mesa. I figured I’d head up and see how the weather was. At the very least, I was going to do 7 miles. After that, it was up in the air.

There’s still a lot of ice on the sidewalks. It hasn’t snowed in a few weeks, but the temps have stayed pretty low and there hasn’t been much melt. Last week I got so cranked at the pool of ice and water in the intersection near our house that I took the kids and a bunch of spades and shovels down there to break apart the three-inch deep sheet of ice and get the water moving. One guy in a truck stopped to thank us, a few other cars looked at us with pleasant expressions on their faces, and the rest just waited for us to get out of the road. Where’s the community spirit of helping your fellow neighbor? Of making the streets and sidewalks passable for ALL community members? How about the elderly people that live just up the block that walk the paths and sidewalks around town? They’re stuck in their little 600 Square Foot apartments in weather like this. The guy in the truck complained about the lack of city services to clear the roads (can you say ‘budget cuts’, anyone?), but he didn’t come down to help break ice either. Again, I digress.

Where was I? Right, the ice on the sidewalks. I did a lot of dancing around the ice, moving from one part of the sidewalk to the other. I fell last April on a patch of ice and chipped my elbow. Really not interested in doing that again, so in my advanced age with this tidbit of information, I’m more cautious.

I got on to the Mesa and fervently wished for my sunglasses. Not that it was sunny, because it wasn’t, but because the sunglasses would have given the snow/ice more definition. It would have been easier to see the patches of ice if the entire world wasn’t totally white. It’s been cloudy and cold all day, with fine little pebbles of snow falling. Once I was on the Mesa the wind picked up a little. There was not another soul up there. Maybe I was the stupid one.

Things were fine while I was heading west, but as soon as the trail turned east the wind blew into my face and took any shred of body heat I had cultivated thus far. I checked my Garmin; I had run 5.5 miles so far and had another 1.5 on the Mesa. I turned up the music, kept my eyes on the ground so they wouldn’t tear up in the wind, and went right on truckin’. I couldn’t go any faster (for safety’s sake) so I tuned out the wind and tried to forget how cold I was getting. I knew I had to get off the Mesa quick though, so I took the fork that would cut the 3-mile loop into about 2.75 miles. Not a big difference, but I was feeling like every minute counted.

Once I was off the snow-packed trail I picked up a little speed, especially since I was heading downhill and the wind died down a little. I decided to keep the run at the short distance and headed home along Via Appia instead of running the extra 1.5 miles along the greenbelt paths. With the mile that I did with Kirby, and the miles on the Mesa, this morning’s run would end up being almost exactly 9 miles. Not bad for a cold, crappy morning in January.

Had Saturday fallen on a day other than November 21, I would have run at 7 AM with the ladies.  However, November 21 happens to be my daughter’s birthday, and this year it was her 10^th.  No way, no how, could I miss seeing her jump out of bed and attack her presents while Bill, Connor and I watched, bleary-eyed.  (She is currently obsessed with American Girl dolls, and her birthday list consisted entirely of items from the catalogue.  Bill and I bought her the main item, a Just Like Me doll, and parsed out the rest to relatives.  Thus, she received almost everything on the list and we didn’t go broke.)

The alarm was set for 5:30 so I could sneak in a short, 30 minute run before the birthday festivities.  As it happened though, Sophie couldn’t sleep; she snuck into the closet as I was pulling on my running tights and almost scared the pee out of me when I turned around.  I whispered that I was going out for a QUICK run, it was still too early to wake everyone else up, and to hang out in her room until I got back.  Being newly 10 years old, her shoulders drooped but she nodded anyway.

 It was just after 6:00 when I headed out.  I headed up the little hill of Lincoln to Hutchinson where I went left, circled Community Park twice, then returned home via Main Street, Lafayette Avenue and Griffith.  The Garmin had weak signal for a good ten minutes (that I was aware of), though the timer kept going.  Luckily I knew the mileage of the route and after plugging in the distance (3.6 miles) and the time (25 minutes), DailyMile.com (find me @smzrunner) figured out the pace (6:56/mile).  I was surprised by the pace, as I felt sluggish the entire run, but pleased just the same.

Sunday was my last long run before the Las Vegas Half on December 6.  I was concerned about the route because the recent snow hadn’t melted fully from the trails and I wanted to run the Coal Creek Trail for the last 3.5-4 miles of the run.  After unsuccessfully mapping my route on RunningMap.com, I decided to wing it, figuring that after 10 miles I would see where I was and decide on the fly how to finish the last 3-4 miles.

With that much of a plan, I headed out Sunday morning at 7:20 AM, already feeling rushed.  I was meeting a friend at 10 AM in Boulder for brunch and knew that I was pushing the clock if I wanted to get 13-15 miles in AND enjoy a shower, too.

I started from the house and headed up to Davidson Mesa, totaling 3 miles in the first leg.  According to the Garmin, the splits for the first three miles were 8:30, 8:01 and 8:19. 

Davidson Mesa is a flat loop on open space.  Unfortunately the ground was frozen in ridges from the recent snow and melt, so some sections were a little dicey.  Since it was flatter than the route UP to the Mesa, miles 4-6 were a little faster:  8:08, 7:48, 7:30.

From here I headed down the hill into Louisville.  I cut across the greenbelts to Cherry Street, jumped onto the Coal Creek Trail and hoped that the trail across Highway 42 would be manageable.  For these 4 miles the splits were relatively even: 7:34, 7:41, 7:23, 7:25.

At this point it was apparent that I couldn’t run on the Coal Creek Trail after it crossed over Hwy 42.  There was still ice on the frozen ridges of the trail, and I wasn’t interested in turning an ankle or slowing pace to finish the run with a loop.  I decided to turn back, retrace my steps around the large greenbelt, and return home via Lincoln Avenue near the Louisville Elementary School.  The last three miles looked like this:  7:47, 7:34, 7:41.

The Garmin says the average pace was 7:41/mile.

Here’s a map of the route.  You’ll notice some retracing of steps (off the Davidson Mesa on the left of the map, and at the bottom, where I had to come back from the Coal Creek Trail. 

 I really tried to maintain a fast pace, though I was confused when I looked at my Garmin because on Saturday I accidentally hit a button so that instead of showing minute-per-mile pace, I saw a mile-per-hour pace.  Not being able to quickly translate the new numbers in my head or fix the read-out, I instead tried to keep the miles-per-hour pace between 7.5 and 8.0, always trying for the upper number but acknowledging that on the hills, I might creep down to the 7.5 mark.  After I got home and Bill fixed my read-out I was totally surprised to see that I did this training run a full 5 minutes faster than my race pace for the Colorado Half Marathon in May (where I finished in 1:45:47, a pace of 8:04/mile).

I didn’t take water on this run because a) I hate carrying a bottle in my hand and b) I was worried water would freeze in the line of my camelbak, rendering it useless.  I completely forgot that I own a water bottle holder that clips around my waist.  Duh.  I was a little thirsty on the run, but the lower temps kept me from falling apart.  I drank two large glasses of water when I got home, and then drank tons for the rest of the day.  My face was pretty red for about an hour afterwards, though my muscles felt alright and I never sank into utter exhaustion.

When I was gearing up for the Colorado Half Marathon I kept track of my average paces and figured that I could probably hold an 8:00 pace for the duration.  I was so excited that I had read my fitness level correctly.  For this race, my second Half-Marathon, I originally wanted to finish in a sub- 1:40.  Given that I just did 1:40 on a training run in Louisville (at altitude and on hills), it’s probably feasible that on a flat course at a lower altitude I can shave another 0:15 seconds from my per-mile pace.

My long run was Sunday instead of Saturday, due to tech rehearsals and the like.  I thought I’d be wiped out on Sunday but surprisingly, I woke up refreshed and excited about running the 10-miler I had planned the night before.  After piddling around in the kitchen for a bit, I headed out to see what the morning held.

 As I knew it would be, my brain was spinning.  It’s hard for me to turn off the noise sometimes, and leave the theatre where it belongs.  So many thoughts about the kids, the lights, notes I wanted to be sure to give, items that needed to be crossed off my check-list, things I wanted to address with my Stage Manager student… spinning, spinning.  The music helped give my brain something else to pay attention to while my body got warmed up and settled into the rhythmic motion of running.

 My route was easy; 3 miles up the bike path to the top of Davidson Mesa, then 3 miles around the Mesa and 4.3 miles that looped onto the Coal Creek Trail for a few minutes on the way home. 

 The first three miles were steady.  I wasn’t out to break any records or do any more than just enjoy the morning, the motion of running, and breath.  By the time I got to the top of Davidson Mesa I was warm in my running shorts and long sleeve.  The warm breeze kept sweat from pooling in my sports bra and was a welcome change from the cold temps as of late.

 As I started into the second segment of the run I eased up a bit, reminding myself that this run was just for the joy of the movement, so settle in and FEEL it.  Enjoy it.  My brain was releasing its grip on the constant chatter, and the music that had thus far been background noise started get interesting.  I found myself tuning in and listening to Tab Benoit sing about the moon comin’ up over the hill, and my facial muscles slid into a smile.  This was all right.

At some point during the 3-mile Mesa loop, I became aware that the brain noise was gone.  It had been quiet in my head for a bit and, like when sleep takes over, I hadn’t noticed the departure of bedlam.  I had been running in a kind of zen-daze for an unknown number of minutes and I “woke” feeling rested and energized.

 I wore the Garmin to track my mileage, though for once, I was completely uninterested in my pace.  At some point I glanced at it and realized that five and a half miles had coasted by, and I was nowhere near tired. 

 Michael Jackson’s “Will You Be There” started playing and I about melted.  I adore that song for the sheer gospel quality of it; plus, it gives me goosebumps every time.  The arc of the music and intensity is powerful, and every time I hear it I’m thankful to be on a run.  I don’t know, something about that song really does it for me.  Crazy, but I never heard it until it somehow got downloaded onto my iPod.  Serendipity?

 The Mesa loop behind me, I cruised down the hill into the valley of Louisville, and onto the Coal Creek Trail.  The sun was warm, the breeze felt good, and I had that incredible feeling that I was in the perfect place on the perfect day.  I hate to sound too corny, but the word that kept floating to the forefront of my brain was “bliss”.  By the time I finished my 10.3 miles I felt like I was floating.  I had a serious case of perma-grin.  My brain had shut up, I had come down to settle into my body, and I was absolutely present again.  For the first time in weeks, I was one with my body and in the moment.  Some people can find this by sitting still; I’m not that advanced.  I need to do a rhythmic motion (like RUNNING) so that my brain can let go of its self-important spinning and give me space for my soul to settle in and just BE.