We met at Bobolink at the usual time Saturday morning. 7 AM in January is tough, because the sun hasn’t crested the horizon and the chill in the air is palpable. The forecast called for 48 degrees, but we were at least 20 degrees shy of that mark when I pulled into the parking lot.
Jacqueline snapped a picture of us before we headed out.
I’m the one in the pink jacket on the left. Marcia is the one in the middle, obviously shivering. I don’t know why we didn’t all look like that, now that I think about it.
I took my camera on the run, hoping for some new photos of the new year. I regretted having a camera immediately, because my clutched hand froze in that position and I couldn’t flex my fingers for warmth. The Smartwool gloves did nothing to ward off the chill that rose from the creek only 10 yards to the right. I have no idea why I didn’t think to put the camera in my pocket. Maybe the cold was messing with my brain synapses as well.
Everyone’s said what a cold, snowy winter we’ve had this year. I’ll agree, based on the fact that the trails are still snow packed and icy. The meager sun we’ve had these last few weeks hasn’t put a dent in the inches of snow, and the warmth of the day only melts the top of the snow enough so that sheens of ice appear the next day. The constant thaw and freeze has made the trails even more treacherous for the dedicated runner.
Bobolink is an out-and-back in east Boulder that is moderately open and un-shaded. Kathy, our faithful ‘cruise director’, thought this trail might be the best bet for the week. I have a feeling we’ll be visiting this trail, or the open roads, for the next month unless we get a spate of unseasonable spring-like weather.
All that being said, Bobolink was every bit as icy and snow packed as every other trail around town I’ve been on lately. This is to say nothing of the mountain trails, which I’m sure are even worse. I’m going through trail withdrawal; I haven’t been up in over a month, maybe since November, due to the ice and snow. Writing this, I’m suddenly aware of how much I’ve missed the mountains. The YakTrax and I are going up later this week for a hike at the very least. I can’t stand it any more.
We crossed over South Boulder Road instead of going through the underpass due to the glass-like sheen of ice. No one was willing to risk a fall on the skating rink that has developed in the low-lying areas.
I snapped a blurry picture of the cute cows that lined our path.
They were feeling friendly and appeared to not notice us as we ran by (This is amazing, since we’re 8 noisy women who make more noise than a migrating gaggle of geese.) Sometimes we’ll literally have to stop and wait for a Momma cow to mosey off the path to her baby. Death to the person who gets between a Momma and her baby. A few years ago I heard a story of a neighbor who was running on this very trail. She was lost in thought and didn’t notice that a Mom and baby were on either side of the trail. When she passed between them, Mom Cow charged the lightweight human and tossed her in the air. I’m sure this wasn’t difficult, as the neighbor was on the small side of 100 pounds, and she ended up with a few broken ribs, a broken vertebrae and a lot of bruising. So now, whenever we’re running with the livestock, I carry on a one-sided conversation with the cows by telling them all about the weather, praising them for their beauty, and admiring their babies. This way they know I’m harmless.
By mile 3 my hands were warm, and we turned around a half mile later to head back. Sarah, Jacqueline and I were deep in conversation the entire time (no big shock here) and I was literally surprised when the run was over. How can 7 miles go by so fast? I still don’t know.
I was wishing for a change of clothes when I got in the car; my soaking wet sports bra and fleece-lined wicking shirt got chilly as soon as my body temperature returned to normal. The hot Florentine coffee from Ozo’s helped put some pep back into my step, and the awesome company and conversation at the coffee shop got my weekend off to a fabulous start.