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.

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!

The word for this weekend was “energy”.  My energy was flowing and I ended both runs feeling absolutely high; so filled with endorphins and happiness that I could easily have run twice the distance on both days.

We ran Chautauqua on Saturday; an out-and-back to the old radio tower site.  Massive uphills from the second we picked up our feet until we turned around at the radio tower; then downhill most of the way back.  Have I mentioned that I love running downhill?  If you didn’t know that about me, then it’s high time I let you in on that tiny secret.  I adore downhills and how my hip flexors open and gravity carries me along like a current.  I don’t fight descents; I lean into them and breathe deeply, catching my breath after the exertion of an uphill push, marveling at the rhythmic proprioceptor pounding my body is taking until I’m finally sated.

For Monday’s run we met at Doudy Draw and looped through Eldorado Canyon.  This is my favorite run of all time.  It has everything a girl could want; trails, hills, rocks, canyon walls, forests, meadows, downhills, rushing water, and an almost-flat mile and a quarter road at the end that allows you to let it all out and push tempo pace back to the trailhead.  The only thing that would make this run even better would be if it were a mile or two longer.

When we left Chautauqua on Saturday I started feeling my glutes about two minutes into the run.  I haven’t run hills consistently for a while and lately, every time I do it, I’m starting over from scratch.  My base fitness level hasn’t peaked for the season, so I had to concentrate on breath and movement.  Keep it moving, stay consistent, was my motto.  Don’t go out so fast that you have to stop.  Watch the heart rate.  I kept my talking to a moderate level and when my heart rate felt too high, I slowed to a walk.  Can you believe it?  I’m getting smarter in my old age.

My dear friend Elorie ran with us for the first time on Saturday and pushed my sorry butt up the hill without getting winded in the least.  That girl has the most amazingly beautiful legs I’ve seen in a long, long time.  She rides mountain bikes on these trails and road-bikes all over Boulder; her legs are super strong, curvy, and powerful.  Cross-training has taken the sinew out of her form and given her a look of strength and suppleness that my own runner-body does not possess.  I mentioned earlier that after two minutes I was already felt the burn in my glutes; hers never burned because of the hill-work she’s done on her bike.  Hence, my butt looked like a soccer ball since she was kicking it all the way to the old radio tower site.

The weather this weekend was intermittent, as spring in Colorado can be, but the mornings were absolutely fine.  Saturday morning was warm and luscious and I was glad I remembered to bring my camelbak hydration pack.  The temp was in the low 60’s when we started and there was a magical burst of warm air that parted like a curtain when I started my Garmin.  At 7 AM there weren’t too many people out and about yet, but an hour later when we returned the trail was so packed it looked like a veritable crowd streaming into the gates at the amusement park, sans children.

The splits on this run were typical for Chautauqua:

Mile 1: 12:26

Mile 2: 11:11

Mile 3:12:08

Mile 4: 8:22

Mile 5: 11:05

Mile 6: 7:45

That being said, Elorie and I absolutely flew down the road when we hit the downhill.  We were talking easily, breathing like we were standing still, and striding in unison.  I knew we were haulin’ because of the way folks moved to the side of the service road when they saw us coming but I didn’t know how fast we were going until I pushed the stop button on the Garmin when we hit the bottom; apparently we were cruising at a 5:30 pace down the final stretch of that hill.  Did I mention I love hills?  What a fabulous way to end a run, with an all-out pounding at rejuvenates the body and soul.  Yummy!

Monday morning was our own nod to the Bolder Boulder.  As I drove parallel to Highway 36 along Marshall Road from Louisville I was extremely happy I wasn’t in that 10-mile-an-hour, bumper-to-bumper traffic trying to get into the heart of Boulder.

A friend and I went out for drinks and an amazing evening of conversation on Sunday night.  A couple of tea-infused mojitos and martinis later, coupled with a 4+ mile walk in the silky cover of darkness, I felt fabulous even though it was several hours past my regular bedtime.  That energy was still with me when I got up to run after 6 hours of sleep, and I marveled at how a brisk 4-mile walk with amazing company can boost the energy level of the soul so much that it has lasting effects.

Again, the day was a perfect early-summer morning with temps in the high 50’s.  The meadow flowers were in bloom, the trail was dry and the shadows in the valley of the canyon appeared to hold mystery in the early morning light.  Our little group of six was the only one on the trail at that hour, though later we would step aside to let two mountain bikers have the right-of-way coming down the trail.

Here are a few pictures I snapped of the morning:

Four of the five beauties that ran Eldo Canyon on Memorial Day

Wildflowers in bloom

I had a passing worry that my glutes and quads would give me trouble so soon after that epic Chautauqua run, but even though they were a little sore there was no lasting pain or twinges.  Somehow, my muscles felt even stronger than before… maybe the drinks and walk stretched everything that was being held tight?

Eldorado Creek was high, and the sound of rushing water grew louder and louder as we ran through the rock walls of the canyon, high above.  Snaking our way down the trail forced us to slow down, but once we were back on the open road the same thing happened that happened on Saturday.  My hip flexors opened up and I leaned back just enough to keep the momentum going and not have to work at it.  Jack, Beth and I ran along the Creek, until the angle of the hill forced Beth to drop back and watch her feet (she’s a strong hill runner, but doesn’t like descents).  Jack and I plowed forward until we hit the straightaway, when suddenly Beth appeared from behind and Jack fell back.  The last mile can be the longest, especially when you’ve upped the pace to a full-out tempo run.  I listened to my friend’s conversation, felt her energy propelling her along, and concentrated on my steady breath.  My shoulder felt a little tight and I consciously dropped it away from my ear.  The slight breeze caused my hat to bobble with the slightest movement and it felt divine to have the warm air gently dry the sweat on my forehead.

Energy was flowing through me, above and below, and in my veins.  We arrived at the trailhead and I had an urge to do another loop.  The day was so clear, the sky was so blue, and I was absolutely, pulsingly ALIVE.  I adore the movement my body creates so that my soul can fly, and I am so profoundly grateful that each and every day, I can get up and RUN.

“Here it is!  We meet at the Dowdy Draw trailhead inside Eldorado Canyon.  It’s on your LEFT as you’re driving into the canyon, about a mile??  after you turn off Hwy 93.  It’s about 100 feet past the Mesa Trailhead parking lot that’s on the right.

This is about 5.5 – 6 mile run.  The hills are on the first half, and then it’s downhill from there.  It’s absolutely beautiful, my favorite run (although a tad short for me).  We’ll be done by 8 (or shortly thereafter) and will head over to Caffé Sole for coffee from there.”

I didn’t want there to be ANY surprises for her.  I figured she would run slowly but steadily and that she would finish by 8:15 or 8:20 at the latest.  Given that it hasn’t snowed in a few weeks and the daytime temperatures have been in the mid 40’s and low 50’s, I thought the trails would be passable with occasional ice patches here and there; nothing serious.

I picked her up at 6:50 Thursday morning (so there was no possibility of her getting lost inside the canyon and believe me, this was a real possibility).  I gave her my Garmin so she could track distance and time, and told her that if she got too tired to continue, to TURN AROUND and go back to the car.  I gave her the key to the car so she wouldn’t have to stand outside in the cold without a water bottle.  I introduced her to all the ladies in the group, and especially Amy and Joy who would be picking up the rear.  I did not try to tell her the trails, as they are convoluted and can be confusing.

Dawn breaking on the Foothills

I realized I didn’t have a pocket to hold the clicker for my car.  Heidi put it in her pocket to carry it for me.  We started out.  I ran with Heidi, Siga and Beth at the front of the pack for about 15 minutes, looking back to see where everyone was.  After we crossed a little ravine and hit the switchback I paused, watching the figures come into view.  Kathy came first, then Amy a minute later, and then… nothing.  Kathy and I discussed it for a minute, then I decided to go back and look for Rachael, as there was a sinking feeling in my gut.  “I’ll see you at coffee,” I said, so that she wouldn’t wait for me at the Trailhead afterwards.

As I started running back I found Joy, who never even looked up as she huffed and puffed up the hill.  Shortly thereafter I ran across three men and called out to them “Have you seen a girl in a white jacket?” 

“Yeah,” the first guy said, “she’s right past the bend.”

Good, I thought, she’s close by.  I kept running though, wanting to find her quickly.  At one point I looked up from my footing and noticed a small movement in the trees about a mile off.  I kept retracing my steps though, hopeful I’d run into her momentarily.  After a half a mile I had passed the turn-off.  She can’t be back this far, I thought. And then I realized what had happened.  She hadn’t turned west onto the trail heading for Eldorado Canyon and had continued on the path up to the switchback of Doudy Draw. 

The short of the story is that I spun around and started booking it along the trail to the huge switchback that climbs up to the mesa.  I hoped that I was a lot faster than her, that she was pausing to take some walking breaks, and that she didn’t have her iPod on so she could hear me call.  A mile and a half later I caught sight of her heading up the switchback, walking.  She came back down and we headed back to the fork in the trail.

Rachael coming down the switchback after taking a slight detour.

She had been running for two miles so far, about what she ran every two or three days on the streets of Boulder.  She didn’t want to go back to the car yet though; she wanted to keep going.  So we did.  We jogged over the trails when we could, we picked our way over the ice when we had to, and slowly but surely we progressed.

A little ice on the trail, the sun coming up over the hill... beautiful.

Sisters! That's Rachael on the right.

I carried my camera in my hand, and took advantage of the slower pace to take lots of pictures.  As we walked, talked, and jogged, a kind of peace settled over me.  I’ve never been on a run with my sister.  She wasn’t having a LOT of fun (I don’t know if she had ANY fun, to be completely honest), but she wasn’t complaining.  She was determined to finish this run, come hell or high water.  She walked a lot and stretched out the cramp in her belly.  Her shoulders hurt from tensing up, so I showed her how to relax them and let her arms flop to reset her posture.  Her feet hurt but she didn’t say anything.  It wasn’t until I idly mentioned my trail running shoes and how they gripped the ice that we noticed she was wearing trail… shoes.  Not running shoes, but trail WALKING shoes.  This was a complete “A-HA” moment for her.  “No wonder my toes are going numb on my right food,” she said in utter comprehension.  I thought it was supposed to hurt!”

I got to show her the “Wind Tunnel” going into Eldorado Canyon, and the massive rock face that greets visitors as they come through the man-made, dynamited walkway.  “This is my favorite view of the entire run,” I told her.  “It’s incredible in the early dawn light, with the sun’s rays spilling onto the trees that grow in the crevices.”

Rock face in Eldorado Canyon. See the trees in the crevices?

It's a little dicey in Eldo right now.

We made our way across the ice field and jogged the last bit into town.  She gave me the car key, and I sprinted the last mile and a half down the road to the trailhead.  With the car, I went back and picked up my tired, tired sis.  It was 8:45 AM, and the Garmin said that she had covered 7.5 miles in all.

Kathy and Marcia were waiting at the trailhead.  Siga had run back up the trail to see if she could find us.  Heidi had put my clicker in Siga’s glove and left it in the handle of my car door.  The girls were worried that I didn’t have my key.  Heidi didn’t realize that I had TWO keys (well, technically a key and a clicker) and that Rachael had the other one.  So, the ladies waited.  I drove up the road to get Rachael, we met again at the Trailhead where Siga came back into view, and then the five of us drove to coffee at Caffé Sole. 

Rachael was surprised that they waited.  “No one gets left behind,” I explained, then launched into stories of people getting lost, turned around, or mis-directed on various runs.  “It happens to everyone,” I told her.  “Some runs are uneventful, the rest end well with a good story.  It’s all good.”

Hours later, Rachael was still on her feet, cooking stuffed mushrooms for Thanksgiving appetizers. 

My sweet sister, Rachael.

I know she’s planning on doing some shoes shopping on Friday and getting some real running shoes.  Three cheers for Rachael, she did it!

We started at Dowdy Draw and headed into Eldorado Canyon. This is my absolutely favorite run, period. I soaked in the scenery while we ran through the trees, regrouped at the bridge, and headed into the Canyon through a break in the rock walls.

The mile-long climb from the trailhead to the dirt path was, as always, invigorating. It gets the heart rate up and paves the way for the sheen of sweat that stays with you until thirty minutes after the run. As we hit the dirt trail and our various paces were straightened out, Juli and I started running together. She’s done four Ironmans and has raced steadily for the past twelve years. She’s one of the most petite as well as one of the strongest women I know. After some brief chit-chat she abruptly asked if I knew “what was going on”. She was opening the door to a very personal conversation about her sudden, impending divorce. I did a lot of listening, a lot of exclaiming, and asked a few questions.

As we ran and talked, the miles drifted away. Juli’s voice was strong and I noted a new undertone of expression that had previously been guarded. For the first time I heard her talk about what SHE wanted instead of justifying an upheaval that her husband wanted. She talked about her priorities, finding a job, being emotionally and physically available to her 1st grade daughter, and keeping up with her spiritual growth.

When she started talking about spirituality I had to comment, mostly because I was confused.

ME: I thought you were both really enjoying the mediation classes, the community you were finding at your church?

JULI: I thought so too. He did all those things but really, he’s just a Spiritual Poser. He doesn’t want to do the real work that’s required and when it gets hard, he runs away.

So what is a “Spiritual Poser” then? It’s someone who doesn’t walk the talk, make good on the promises, is only there for the season of lushness and then walks away when it gets hard. There can be any number of posers; athletic, intellectual, un-honest people who purport to be something they’re not.

As she was telling me this, we ran along Eldorado Drive and saw a big, beautiful meadow, alive with all the colors that autumn in the Rocky Mountains delivers. Two horses, one a deep brown and the other a pinto, were standing sedately near the fence. The colors of the horses complemented the nature’s autumnal pallet. I stopped to take a picture. I have always loved this run because it’s hard, beautiful, and the last mile and a half is a straight shot of running fast and easy. It’s a perfect balance for this runner.

Balance is all in the eye of the beholder. Athletes complain about being out of balance all the time. “Not enough speed workouts.” “Not enough hills.” “Not enough core training.” We feel it acutely when it’s not right and make adjustments. It seems to me that relationships are the exact same in that there is a constant search for balance. An athlete is always working to balance performance with ability and desire. In a relationship, the partners are externally trying to work on the same project; their relationship. If both partners aren’t striving for balance, consistency, truth, honesty and respect in that relationship, then the whole shebang is out of balance and you’re headed for a serious injury or divorce.

Juli stopped competing last year. I vividly remember the conversation she and I had on this very same trail, last autumn. She’s raced for twelve years and felt like she had gotten that bug out of her system. Competition didn’t hold the same joie de vive for her anymore. Instead of looking backward and clinging to that identity, she dropped it and kept right on going. She still runs and bikes, but only in a teaching or recreational capacity. Last week she gave away almost all her race t-shirts and she’s now getting ready to sell her tri bike. Watch out CHANGE, here comes Juli!

It’s autumn. The leaves are turning, the air is crisp, and we’re pulling out the long sleeved tech shirts. Fall is change, beauty, crispness, life, colors, breath, a sigh, and then it’s gone. I can think of about a dozen good metaphors for life, relationships and the autumnal season, and about another fifty bad ones. My synapses are firing, making connections. Women, beauty, change, life… we’re all that and whole lot more. I pity the man that throws away his marriage because he is too frightened to deepen the marriage bond in his relationship and take love to the next level. Honestly, who wants to always remain in the Summer of life? Not me, and not any of the powerful, intensely devoted and passionate women I know. Thank God.

I went to hear the men talk at the Boulder Bookstore two nights ago. The place was packed and people were lined up against the walls. Athletes of all abilities were there, a veritable “who’s who” in the Boulder Triathlete community.

Mark told a story of how he was striving to win his 6th (and last) Ironman title. He got off his bike to learn that someone was ahead of him by thirteen and a half minutes. He considered quitting, of walking back to his hotel and just giving up. The short of it is that he did NOT quit, that he overcame his opponent in mile twenty three of the twenty-six point two mile run, and ended up winning his last Ironman title. Was he more fit than his opponent? Did he want it more? Neither of these is true. The fact of the matter was that when he dug deep and allowed himself to clear his mind, silence the chatter, and focus on the task at hand, he was able to persevere and ultimately accomplish his goal. Every time he allowed the chatter, the inner monologue, to get too loud, he fell back and doubted his ability. Only with a still mind was he able to win his 6th Ironman at the ancient age of thirty seven.

I was still thinking about this when I woke Saturday morning to head out in the pre-dawn light. Daylight had been breaking earlier now that we’re past the winter solstice, and it’s plenty bright when I pulled into the parking lot. We’re a small group compared to last week; only nine of us are here to run Doudy Draw to Eldorado Canyon. Without Susan, Cherry and Bernadette to set a tempo pace, Greta, Clare and I settled into an easy clip. Greta is training for a half-Ironman in late May, with several races between now and then. Today’s run is supposed to be an easy two hours. My ears perk up at this; I don’t know if I could do a hard 1:40 tempo run like she was doing last week, but maybe an easy two hours… this is feasible. The pace is easy, the company is lovely, and my mind is calm. I mull the idea of extending my run with her today. I don’t need to be home until 9:30, I could skip coffee with the ladies… hmmm. Possible.

As we climb the hills toward Eldorado Canyon I consider the fact that when my mind is quiet, I can do more than I ever thought possible. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a STILL mind, per se, though I’ve had moments of utter peace and bliss. Many of these moments have occurred on hikes or runs through these very hills when I’m deeply connected to nature and not thinking about the to-do list of the day. Something Brant said the other night resonates with my own deep feelings about this beautiful place where I live; “Boulder is a beautiful place, and many people choose to live here because of their connection with nature.”

Movement and nature. Nature is ever-changing; that is the complexity of nature. On any given day I can go into the mountains and see something that will not be there again the next day, or a week later. Running is the same for me; my energy levels are extremely variable, as are my moods, the distances I can cover, the time at hand, and my state of mind. The state of nature and the state of mind and body when running are both things that are both a part of my being, and separate from my spirit at the same time.

On this particular day, the usual pace-setters are absent. Greta, Clare and I settle into an easy cadence and just… chat. My body knows these movements and I don’t have to think about the physicality of running. I can still the mind and not listen to my inner chatter of “how fast am I going”, or “uh-oh, here comes that huge hill”, or whatever it might be. There’s no hurry, and I am more peaceful.

Greta and I extend our run at the end and head up the Mesa Trail for another few miles. She’s running an easy two hours today, and I’m up for it.

Afterwards, I realized that I made a breakthrough. I found out that I’m capable of running a lot longer and farther than I thought, which also means, in the grand scheme of things, that I am stronger than I thought. This is good for my psyche in so many ways. It brings me contentment and a semblance of inner peace to know that I don’t have to struggle to be something I wish I could be, because I already… AM. Does that make sense? A physical breakthrough created a mental breakthrough. That’s what I like about running. I like where I’m going, literally, and along the way I start to discover that I like the company I keep (me).

We start at the Mesa Trailhead in Eldorado Canyon. From there we go uphill to Bluestem, connect to the Mesa Trail and go uphill to North Fork, enjoy the very slight downhill of North Fork, and then climb the unrelenting South Fork back to the Mesa Trail before finally relishing some reprieve on the downhill back to the parking lot.

We’ve run the North Fork/South Fork trails before, but I don’t remember ever doing it from the Mesa Trailhead parking lot. Usually we’ll start at Chautauqua or the South Boulder Creek Trailhead. This is a brutal way of starting a brutal hill workout. Nothing like beating the body senseless after a holiday run and extra holiday workouts on Friday. Whose idea was this anyway? And, why did I agree to this?

Mostly because I wouldn’t punish myself this hard if left to my own devices. A group is a perfect way for pushing the limits on endurance and lung capacity. I surely wouldn’t subject myself to this torture if I were the only one showing up. Or if I happened upon the trail, I would certainly give myself more of a break.

The run up Big Bluestem is one of my favorites, though today it seems shorter and a ton easier. My favorite landmarks look diminished somehow and lack their usual luster as seen through my rose-colored glasses. I’m disappointed that the beautiful reds on the sumac are gone and the magical clearing of the remains of the cabin mid-way up the hill aren’t hidden. My love affair with them seems diminished in the grayness of winter.

Susan isn’t here today; after Thursday’s run and then bootcamp at the YMCA on Friday her back is sore. I’m the leader of the pack today and am not enjoying myself. Two of the newer members are following me closely and grateful that I know where we’re going. They’re following me blindly, as I have followed leaders blindly in the past.

This trust they have placed in me makes me nervous. What if I got it wrong? What if we were going to continue up the Mesa Trail and not take a right on Big Bluestem? I was so sure when I turned, and now I doubt myself. I spend the next ten minutes wondering if I got it right or if we should wait for the others.
I’m not breathing too hard at the end of the climb up Bluestem. We pause at the juncture and wait for the others, as we always do. Our new friend Colleen is right behind me, as is A.J. and Bernadette. I’m pleased to see Karley just a minute behind; this means that I took the right turn and haven’t led a bunch of runners astray. Phew. Jaime shows up another minute later, panting hard. My heart rate has almost fully returned to normal now and the sweat is starting to cool my body temperature.

“I’ll wait for the other four,” Jaime says. “I know exactly where we’re going, you don’t have to wait for us.”

Taking my cue, I head up the Mesa Trail again. The stair-steps here are hard climbing, especially if the muscles have cooled too much from the first big climb. Bernadette usually has to slow down on this part because she doesn’t have the leg length to propel herself up the incline. I’ve got enough leg length; just have to work on the muscles in my gluteus maximus. Ouch.

North Fork is a breeze, and then comes South Fork. Colleen, Bernadette and I have been running together for a little while. Colleen is new to these trails and doesn’t know what to expect.

“This is the easy part,” we tell her. “You’ll know you’re on the hard part when your breathing gets hard. Stop talking, hunker down, and just get the job done.”

My pace slows to twelve minutes per mile. Bernadette falls back immediately, and Colleen is somewhere back there too. I shift my full focus to the inhale of oxygen and imagine it nourishing my body before letting the breath out again. There’s nothing like a mile-long sustained climb to let you know what you’re made of. I’ve done this hill in all seasons and I think this is my least favorite time of year. The ground is soft from the recent snow and mud is getting packed into the grooves of my shoes, making it feel like I’m running with a slight heel.

Finally it’s over. Colleen and Bernadette finish close behind, and other people start trickling in. We wait until everyone has arrived. Jaime shows us the hole in her pocket where her key was hanging. The only reason she knew it was there was because of the clinking sound of metal against the metal zipper of her jacket.

We cheer the finishers as they come around the bend. Anne turned around at Big Bluestem so our numbers are down to eight. Rita walks for a minute but resumes running when she hears us clapping and whistling at her. It’s one thing to know you’re tired, but when you have a crowd of people cheering you on to a finish, it’s easier to find the motivation to get the job done.

Colleen talks about her own running during the week. She lives near Chautauqua and runs an average of four to seven miles daily, but doesn’t know all the trails around Boulder. She also notes that when she runs by herself she doesn’t push herself, which means that ultimately she’s not growing as a runner. She gets stuck in the daily grind of running the same trails at the same speeds, thinking the same thoughts and seeing the same sights. She’s glad to have a running group to push her into new territory, both literally and spiritually. She mentions that she uses the time to think about her paintings and the directions they’re taking.

Bernadette grasps onto this information and a new friendship is borne. On the way back to the parking lot Colleen and Bernadette get better acquainted. They’re both artists, both painters, and I am content to listen to them discuss Denver’s conservative art scene and their current projects. They are pleased to have met each other and exchange numbers when we’re back at the cars. I’m tickled that another run has formed another friendship.

The friendships are the easy parts. Today’s run was hard on so many levels. I don’t like the loop we did from Mesa Trail to Bluestem to North Fork/South Fork. The mud on my shoes was irritating because it threw off my cadence and reminded me of the days when I won’t be able to run on these trails due to the mud factor. My lungs burned, my muscles screamed, and I wouldn’t have pushed myself this hard on a solitary run. So thanks, everyone, for getting me out of my comfort zone. I love you too.