I couldn’t braid my hair this morning; it took four tries to get all the hair in there. I was a little worried at first that my braiding fiasco was going to be a precursor to bad things happening later, but apparently not.

When I arrived at the trailhead it was NOT 25 degrees and sunny; it was 12 degrees and cloudy. Thankfully I was dressed moderately well and after the first mile my hands warmed up inside my SmartWool liner gloves. My running friend Jo joined us this morning and we chatted about the state of our worlds, up until we got to mile two and a big hill.

I was in the middle of some explanation about a book we had just read for book club called “The City of Thieves”. I was yakking away about the plot and the time frame when we came up behind a few other runner friends. Adriana heard me coming and said, “You have breath for talking and running up a hill, you go first!” so we passed her and Marcia.  A minute later I was still talking and we came up behind two more friends. I passed them and turned around to talk to Jo some more… she had disappeared.

The trail wasn’t muddy at all today. The little snow we received yesterday didn’t do any damage to the single-track, and it was easy to find footing on the soft dirt. I didn’t have my sunglasses with me and was grateful that the blazing sunshine didn’t come out to ruin my eyeballs.

Another hill and I kept pushing pace. Fragments of a conversation I had with a friend a few days ago kept rolling through my head. I had been telling him about a time back in April when I was so numb from emotion that I ran hard just to feel the pounding of my heart that told me I was still alive. I said that I could never do that again but he heartily disagreed. He opined that maybe I wouldn’t TRY to do it again, but I had the ability. It’s always with me. I thought about that as I looked ahead and saw the leaders of our pack. I was gaining on them.

I cleared my mind, breathed deeply and concentrated on the slight chill of my legs, my rhythmic breath and the uneven terrain in front of me. I rolled my ankle last week and there was no pain. I was 100% again.

The hill kept going, I pushed pace and suddenly I had caught up to the leaders. I carefully put my hand on my friend’s back to let her know I was there; she jumped a mile high and I grabbed her arm to steady her. Guess I should have told them I was coming up behind them. We said Hi and I kept going up the hill, grinding out my own pace.

Two minutes later I was at the water tower, on the top of the hill overlooking all of Boulder Valley. Snowcapped mountains and swaths of brown, bare trees dotted the landscape. A dormant, cold January morning that pulsed with a thread of possibility.
I pushed pause on the Garmin and walked for a minute to keep my muscles warm as I waited for my two friends to crest the hill. Behind them, about a half-mile away, another group of women were making their way towards us. I couldn’t see the tail end of the gang; they were still somewhere farther behind, hidden from view by a rolling hill.

Alison and I decided to do the 8-mile loop. Immediately my small friend in the red jacket that had jumped out of her skin decided to turn back with the group. The cold was hurting her lungs and she described it as “breathing through charcoal”. Alison and I headed to the bottom of the hill where we took a sharp turn to the south and circled the base of the neighborhood that butted up against the open space. Frost clung to the hair that peeked out from under her cap. Our legs got a slight reprieve on the flat on the meadow, and then we headed uphill again and elevated our heart rates on the soft dirt trail.

We rounded out the lollipop loop and headed back. It was mostly down hill from here and since everything still felt good (but cold) we picked up the pace. Chatting all the way, the miles melted away and suddenly we came up behind the caboose of the group that had turned around early. They scooted over for us and let us pass. Alison was getting tired.

Another big descent and suddenly she wasn’t there anymore. I had a brief moment of déjà vu on a sharp turn that catapulted me back into reality and the present. My mind had drifted and it returned with a jolt. I tucked in my arms, navigated a tight hairpin turn, said Hello to a runner heading the opposite direction and added a bit of speed. A quick glance at the Garmin told me I had dropped into the 7-minute/mile range.

Two minutes later I passed another runner from our group and cranked up the speed just a little bit more. Could I catch the next group before the trailhead? Alison had cheered for me as I pulled away from her, calling out “Go catch them all!”. Could I do it?

Three runners were in sight now; I added a little more juice to the legs and dropped to a 7:30/mile pace. Reel them in. A quarter of a mile later I passed them, and plowed up the last 200 yards to the trailhead, hitting Stop on the Garmin.

The gang assembled at the trailhead and we laughed to see the frost covering everyone’s hair. Apparently only one side of my braids were white; maybe my exhale was caught in the breeze and froze only the right side? No matter. It was time to get out of the cold and head to the warm coffee shop where piping hot beverage awaited us, our reward for a job well done.

In my car I caught a glimpse of my face in the rear view mirror. My eyes were bright and my skin was red with cold. A smile floated over my features and the crinkles around my eyes were loud and happy. This day felt good. The run felt great. The friendship and laughter of the women was warmth that filled my belly with happiness. Each piece of the puzzle melded together to create a huge canvas that held the message “This day is a gift. You are loved. – the Universe”.

I tucked that love in my back pocket and headed to the Brewing Market where I placed my order for a Mint Mocha, a decadent little coffee treat to celebrate the gift of the day.

The Boulder Trail Running Breakfast Club met at Dowdy Draw at 8am. I didn’t know anyone that was going to be there, and figured this would be a good way to meet some new people and see some new territory.

I pulled into the parking lot and saw a lot of people and several dogs. Everyone was super-friendly and it was easy to strike up a conversation. The first person I talked with was a guy named Matt that lives in the North Boulder area. He’s relatively new to the area and has attended a few of these meet-ups.

And then, my friend J pulled into the parking lot! We made eye contact through the windshield and hugged hard when she jumped out of the car. What a great surprise!

It was windy at the trailhead and about 30 degrees, though everyone was aware that the temp was supposed to hit a high of 60 by early afternoon. As we stood around the sun crested the hill behind us and flooded our little valley in golden light; immediately the air felt a good 10 degrees warmer. I thought about stashing my jacket in the car then decided to keep it on. I’ve run one too many times this winter under-dressed, and I’ll be damned if I do it again. Besides, I had the Nathan hydration pack on my back and could easily slip the jacket through the loops and carry it once I needed to strip off a layer.

We headed out and there was a collective beep as everyone hit the Start button on their Garmin. I was curious about the elevation gain/loss on this run, and wanted to be able to upload the info after the run.

This run starts with a steady uphill climb. A few hardy guys took off ahead of me, and the rest of the pack was behind me. I ran for a few minutes with Scott, the group organizer. We chatted briefly before someone else passed us and he dropped back to socialize with someone else.

Then we were on single-track and the ground got muddy and wet in sections. Ice layered other pieces of trail and there was no looking up at the pretty; I had to keep my eyes focused on the ground. If there was any conversation behind me I didn’t hear it. The metronome of my breath and the wind in my ears was all the music there was.

At the trail junction we paused and waited for everyone to catch up. J and I chatted about the status of our lives and then laughed really hard when a gust of wind came from the west and pushed us both backwards. She said, “We need rocks for our pockets!” and I thought that was a good way of saying that two skinny runner girls are no match for Boulder winds.

We wove through the fairy forest on our way to the fire road that eventually leads to Eldorado Canyon and pulled over for another runner group that was headed our way. Scott apparently knew these guys and told us they were running a 50k today; looping through the forest a few times to get in the miles. These guys all wore shorts, doo-rags and had hydration packs on their backs. As we made a hole and they turned left to hit the next junction they smiled at us. Just a walk in the park, Kazanski.

At this point the people with dogs took another route and those of us without 4-legged friends headed up the single-track of Goshawk Ridge. This is a beautiful loop in the summer, full of wild flowers and popping with color. Today though ice littered the trail and I found myself speed-hiking through some sections, picking foot placement and trying to stay upright by missing the slick ice that hadn’t seen sunlight in days. I could hear someone breathing behind me but since they didn’t ask to pass I didn’t turn my attention from my feet. We continued this way for what felt like about 10 minutes, until we popped off the single-track onto the main Mesa Trail.

The woman behind me finally spoke and said, “Thanks for leading the way. I wasn’t sure how to get through that so I just attached myself to you and followed your feet.” I laughed because there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to my meandering; I had zenned it the whole way down.

We paused again and waited for the group. Scott talked about some different runs that he’s led, most on sections that I haven’t tried before. In the summer time he heads up elevation and hits the Continental Divide; these runs in the Foothills in the winter are just training runs for the good stuff later in the year.

A few minutes later everyone was gathered and we ran a few minutes down to Fowler Trail. Imagine 20 trail runners all bunched together on a one-lane dirt road that sits in the shade on a steep hill. Now imagine that there are some big guys and small women. Now imagine that you’re one of the small women and two big guys are in front of you and you can’t see more than 5 feet ahead of you and suddenly Big Guy Number One slips and careens into Big Guy Number Two. He bounced off Number Two and we all kept going, never breaking stride. When we stopped again I told Number One that I was really happy he didn’t hip-check me; I would have gone flying.

We ran through Eldorado Canyon and down into the town, where we crossed to the north side of town and headed onto the Old Mesa Trail. This was new territory for me; I had never jumped onto this trail and connected the two sides of the mountain like this. Scott told us, “Hope you’re warmed up. The first six miles were fun and all, but the real running starts now.”

He was right. Immediately we headed up again. My pace fell to a whopping 17:51/mile, as I was mostly hiking now. We gained about 2000 feet over the next two miles and my right glute started complaining about the climbing. I didn’t care too much; as long as my heart held out, my butt was along for the ride.

Finally the trail leveled out, we dipped down for a minute, did one last ascent and then we were on Big Bluestem, heading down. Scott stood at the junction, made sure those of us heading back to the parking lot took the right trail and waved to the folks who were extending.

A minute later heavy breathing alerted me to someone coming up on my six and I moved over to let him pass. It was Scott; he didn’t want to pass so we ran together down the remainder of the trail. This part was soft on the shoes but not icy, a welcome relief from the protected sections of trail on the higher elevations. As we made our way down the pace picked up and we coasted along. My foot rolled suddenly and I made a noise; Scott checked in and chatted with me to keep my mind off it for a minute until the owie went away.

Big Bluestem dumped us onto the Mesa Trail, and we were home free.  The air was warmer now, probably sitting pretty at 50 degrees. My pink jacket bounced along in my hydration pack and my legs were sticky with sweat in the black running pants. I pulled off my SmartWool hat and carried it the rest of the way in my hand, hoping the breeze would cool my head a little.

Back at the parking lot I stripped off my gear and hit Stop on the Garmin. 9.88 miles in 1 hr 59 minutes and 15 seconds. I considered doing a quick tenth of a mile around the parking lot to round out the mileage and then decided that I was okay with what I had run. Time to stretch and head to breakfast.

Later at home I checked the stats of the run. Ascent: 17,631 feet. Descent: 22,180 feet. Overall pace: 12:04/mile. 9.88 miles total in approximately 2 hours. This was a sweet trail run and a good start to my marathon training!

There’s a saying about Colorado that sums up a lot of what I love about this state: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes, it’ll change.” I love that you have to be prepared for anything, you have to roll with the punches, and after a blizzard there’s always a few hardy souls on my twitter feed that have taken to the trails or roads to see what the world looks like after a white-out. In the heat of the summer or the frozen cold of the winter, you can drive three hours into the mountains and find a place that’s 30 degrees colder than where you just were, and maybe you’ll get caught in a sudden downpour or snowstorm on a mountain pass. You just never know. Colorado weather is a crapshoot; it’s changing, dynamic, exciting, and completely alive. It takes a certain kind of crazy to love Colorado.

My ex-husband is from Ohio, and it took me years to realize that you can take an Ohio boy and put him in Colorado, but you can’t put the Colorado in an Ohio boy. He lived his life in the crazy of Colorado as though he were in Ohio, constantly surprised by the changes and unable to keep up. He spent his life as a hamster in a wheel, running in place and never getting anywhere. He liked his life to be completely status quo, and I was a drain on his energy because I was anything but status quo. He adapted to the changes in the weather by staying indoors, not joining me in my mountain adventures, watching sports from the safety of his TV in the basement and generally burying his head in the sand.

I kept running my Saturday morning trail runs, tried to keep the family together, organized their lives and got the kids to soccer games, school functions and playdates. After years of trying to incorporate an Ohio boy who hates the changing seasons of Colorado into my life, I woke up one day and realized that I had begun to watch the nuanced variations of the place that I love from the safety of my house. I had ceased to be a part of the changes in Colorado.

I was competent at being a mother and wife, and my insecurities about my geekiness took a backseat to the daily machinations of my world. They were still there in the background though, the unlovable pieces of me that had somehow been overlooked in the molding of Lara into adulthood.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life trying to suppress my inner quirky geek. I didn’t want anyone to notice that her eyebrows are three shades darker than her hair, her sense of fashion would make a gay man weep, and her smile is the brightest thing on her face.

I didn’t want people to notice that my moods change frequently, I have no capacity for small talk when I’m in sensory overload, and I may not run fast but I have an enormous capacity for endurance in all aspects of my world.

I’ve been embarrassed about being multi-faceted, multi-talented, and unable to tell anyone that I’m a complete workaholic because I most certainly am not. I’m passionate about the things that I do and apathetic about the things that I don’t do because I simply don’t have time or interest in adding them to my life.

Last summer I dated a guy that gave me one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. He said, “You’re like Colorado. You’re so changeable, there are so many aspects of you. You’re a fast runner that’s a deer on the trails, sure-footed and quiet. You live in your body and experience emotions through a cellular filter, and then when you need to put away your tears you’re a Mama-Bear to your kids, competent and loving and capable. You’re a savvy businesswoman and an intuitive listener, and then you change again to a sexy seductress that made me notice how special a sundress can actually be.”

I was thunder-struck when he told me this, and obviously I’ve been rolling it around in my brain ever since. Something about being compared to the changeability of Colorado, the place that I adore, was different and more intuitive than anything anyone has ever said about me.

He saw the real me, and loved me for it. He loved that I don’t live life on a surface level, but that I dive deep into all areas and weave them together in a way that is purely instinctual, creative and 100% mine. He loved my faded jeans, scuffed Danskos and purple nail polish in the winter, and when the weather turned warm he sucked in his breath when he saw me in a sundress and orange wedge sandals. I appreciated the way he appreciated my quirkiness, and how special I felt BECAUSE of it, not in spite of it.

I had an epiphany moment the other day when I realized the gift I have in that memory. He showed me that my inner geek is actually the one that needs to be loved. Yeah I’m smart, I’m a mom, I’m physically fit. But it’s all the other stuff in the package that makes the boring stuff more interesting. I’m thankful that someone finally loved me for all the aspects of me instead of the fact that I can do the laundry and balance the checkbook while carrying on a conversation with the kids and sending school-related emails while dinner simmers on the stove. I guess it took another person to show me my real worth; I couldn’t see it for myself.

Now, in the cold days of a Colorado January, I realize that I want to be loved and seen for my unique brand of crazy, not the masks that I wear in public. I will always be a competent woman, but I want to be adored for the other stuff, just like Colorado. No one moves to Colorado for the consistent weather patterns or the fact that you can swim in the Reservoir every day of the year. People move here because they love the variety, the seasonality, and how every few months you let go of the old, dust off the next season’s clothes, and get outside to see what the world has to offer.

Colorado is alive, changing and completely fluid. Just like me.

And then the snow came. And the cold.

On Friday December 23 I ran with a few friends at the Boulder Res in 2 degree temps. My top half was warm, my bottom half went numb from the cold. The next day I ran at the Res again, this time with my Saturday Morning gang. Wary about being cold, I checked the temp in two places before getting dressed. Unfortunately I was fooled again by the extreme fluctuation between Louisville and the Boulder Reservoir, and I ran in 6-degree cold even more under-dressed than I was the previous day.

All this is to say that by Saturday night my body was feeling the effects of the cold. My core still had not regulated back to normal, my legs were heavy with the lactic acid that had built up and not moved out, and I was tired. Bone tired. The tired that comes when your body finally stops working to keep you warm, and relaxes.

On Christmas morning I could barely move. I slept wrong and there was a pinch in my back somewhere. I felt like I had gotten two hours of sleep even though I slept soundly for six. My brain was foggy.

That afternoon I crashed for three hours. I said goodbye to the light of day at 2pm and woke to complete darkness at 5:00. Still hoping to run on Monday, I ate an egg sandwich and drove over to pick up my sister; we wanted to see the 6:45pm showing of Sherlock Holmes. Unfortunately it was sold out, so we waited an hour to catch it again. We walked around the outside mall for 10 minutes, looking to see if any place was open where we could get a drink while we waited. As we walked the cold hit my legs and I was instantly shivering. Everything was closed, so we went back to the theater where I treated my sister to a $3 cup of coffee at the over-priced concession stand. I sat with my down coat over my legs, trying to warm them up.

I enjoyed the movie and even laughed out loud in one place. I drove my sister home and headed back to my own warm bed, where I set my alarm for 6:30. We had a start time of 8am on Monday.

The alarm went off at 6:30 and I hit the snooze button. I groaned. This wasn’t really happening. I didn’t even have to get up to know that I didn’t have an epic run in me. Not today.

And yet, I had to try. Maybe I would go and just do one loop. Maybe I had 10 miles in me. Maybe it would be really great to see my friends and get on the mountain and move my body.

But first I had to go to the store. I was out of milk so couldn’t have my cereal. No bananas, my favorite pre-run food. My stash of LaraBars and ClifChews was gone, which meant no nutrition for the run.

I quickly dressed and headed to the store, luxuriating in the fact that I was the only shopper there. What a fabulous change from the break-neck consumerism of the past few weeks. I found my items and was home by 7:28.

The moment of truth had arrived. Was I ready to pull this off? The answer was a resounding NO. I didn’t have a trail run in me today. I didn’t have the energy. I was hungry and dehydrated, my legs were heavy, and even the brief walk from the car to the store chilled my legs. Running up a mountain was not in the cards for me. Not today.

I logged onto DailyMile and sent Nico a note, hoping he would see it before he left his house at 7:55 to meet the gang at the trailhead. It was my only way of getting in touch with him, as I didn’t have his or AJ’s phone number to call or text them.

I decided to make a little lemonade out of my situation and called a friend. He had just put a pot of coffee on so I headed over to partake in the hot beverage. We each drank three huge mugs of coffee and eventually ate some breakfast to sop up the acid in our stomachs.

Upon returning home I decided to vacuum my bedroom. One thing led to another, and I ended up rearranging the furniture and deep-cleaning the room, getting into all the corners, moving pictures and emptying out some clutter.

At 12:30, as my lunch was cooking on the stove, I checked DailyMile to see what people were up to. As luck would have it AJ had just posted about the run. His stats said he ran 11 miles in 3:45. Three hours and forty five miles to run 11 miles. I blinked in surprise and read the post. 30 mph winds in some places. Waist-high snow between miles 5-8. Post-holing in places. Trudging. Didn’t have enough nutrition. Wasn’t expecting the level of difficulty.

And then I was glad that I listened to my gut instinct. If it was that hard for three big guys that have more muscle mass than me, it would have been brutal for this tired runner girl. Instead of running trail on a mountain that would surely have beat me down, I had coffee with a friend and puttered around my bedroom, rearranging and cleaning in the warmth of my house.

This concludes my run report for the Christmas weekend. Here’s hoping for some more rest and recovery. I didn’t run (yet) today, and might just give it another day or two. I might just wait until I’m itching to go.

I knew it was cold, and was almost prepared. Just not quite. I wore a fleece-lined wicking shirt, another wind layer, and my lined running jacket. Smartwool liner gloves (no top layer gloves). Orange hat with the fleece lining around the ears. Unlined running pants. Smartwool ankle socks and trail shoes.

Can you picture it? Warm head, warm torso, freezing cold legs and hands. Yup. That was me.

I wasn’t too worried about the hands because my jacket sleeves are long enough to pull over the backs of my hands, and then when I curl my fingers in the hands are mostly protected. What I noticed was that my butt, thighs and quads were just exposed and cold. Numb, actually. The cold was hard but once my legs got numb things felt a lot better.

We ran at a good, easy 8:30 pace along the roads, never trying to get onto the snow-pack around the Res. None of us wore YakTrax or screw shoes, so the roads were our best bet. Dave and Jo’s Garmins synced right away; mine was having a hard time finding the satellites so I said “screw it” and just went.

The sky was just beginning to brighten when we started off, giving us just a taste of the clear sky that would be the focal point when the sun came up. I had sunglasses in my pocket for when the sun crested the horizon and gave me snow-blindness; Dave and Jo were just barely concerned, as we would finish the run just minutes after the sun showed its beautiful face. They would be okay.

We chatted about our upcoming Colorado Marathon in May. Dave asked me where I planned on staying that night, and I had to honestly say that lodging hadn’t even crossed my mind. That gave us another good laugh, as a few of our Type A friends had taken care of that detail the moment after they registered for the race and we were still discussing possibilities and roommate situations. (We can safely say that I’m not Type A.)

At mile 3 we turned around and headed back. It wasn’t any warmer, but the blood had warmed and my hands were toasty. Jo unzipped the pit zippers of her jacket, and they commented on the frost coating my braids. Dave and Jo both said their toes were a little cold; I didn’t seem to have that problem.

Back at the car Dave snapped a picture of my frosty braids, and another one of me and Jo.

Frosty braids

We had bonded over our mutual love of Mumford and Sons when she told me about creating a Christmas card using the cover art of their album, Sigh No More. I invited her to join the Saturday Morning Run group some time, and the coffee social hour afterwards! She was totally game and we coordinated the time/place via email later that afternoon.

This morning I woke up to a purring cat snuggled against my back as I lay warm and toasty in my bed. I lingered there for a few minutes, knowing that this warmth would be the last heat I would enjoy for the next 4 hours. Giving a little c’est la vie sigh and steeling myself for the hardest part of the morning, I made myself sit up and put feet on the floor.

Once in motion the rest came easier. Since I didn’t get laundry done from yesterday I pulled yesterday’s running tights from the hamper and found a longsleeve fleece-lined wicking shirt in the shirt pile. I layered my red Las Vegas Rock N’ Roll Half Marathon t-shirt over the black shirt so I didn’t look like Ninja Runner Girl. Smartwool ankle socks. Smartwool hat and the liner gloves again. Trail shoes.

The thermometer outside my window read 20 degrees and I was banking on this to be true. Did I wear a jacket? Nope. A second layer on my legs, as I had learned my lesson from yesterday? Nope. Another pair of gloves? Of course not.

Foolish me. It was warmer than yesterday, a whopping 6 degrees at the Boulder Res.

I did another c’est la vie sigh when I realized the error of my ways and decided to deal with my problem by running and raising my heart rate. The only other option was missing the run, and that wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime.

We had a smaller group this week, probably due to the cold and the fact that it’s Christmas Eve. Jo made it and was welcomed to the group by the uber-friendly ladies that I hang with. After a few minutes we hit the trail and checked out the powder around the Res. The going was moderate, as we ran in parallel tire tracks which saved our legs from breaking trail. My face was so much colder today than yesterday, and I realized just how much protection my orange hunter’s hat had provided. After 2 miles my fingers were warm but my wrists were frozen. My jacket yesterday had shielded so much, and today I was exposed. Oops.

After the freezing cold run we headed over to Tod’s Coffee shop, where I marched into the warmth of the building, ordered myself a 20-ounce dirty chai and wrapped my frozen hands around the cup.  The heavenly beverage warmed me, and I luxuriated in the yummy hitting my belly and the fabulous conversation and company of my friends.

It’s Christmas Eve.  Happy holidays all!

“Yeah!” she said.  Kirby the dog jumped up from her nap and started prancing around.  She wanted to go too.  It was set; we had a quorum. S and I changed into cold-weather running gear, I pulled out a few hats and gloves for us, and we were off.

We headed up the street and side-stepped icy patches and frozen snow. I figured we’d loop around Community Park and do a little 5k; that would be plenty of exercise for the doggy and probably my daughter too.  Last time I ran with her was in the spring, when it was still hard for her to manage a full mile without stopping. No expectations on pace today; I was just glad to be outside with my daughter.

I held Kirby’s leash and let her run on the inside of the sidewalk where she could take a squat anytime she chose.  S ran close by, and as we headed up the first hill I was astonished to see how strong she’s gotten in the past few months.  She didn’t breathe hard, didn’t ask to walk, and in fact had a smile on her face the entire time.  Was this my daughter???  The same kid who used to run 50 yards and then had to walk because it was “so hard, Mom”?

You know how sometimes you have to get your kids outside to get them to talk?  Well, S was outside and she was on a roll. I chugged along with Kirby and made sure my sweet dog wasn’t exhausted (she is 13, after all, a very old lady in dog years) by the pace, and listened to the words flow out of my girl. She’s getting so tall now… Just a few inches shorter than me.  The other night her grandfather commented that her hair is just like mine, and that she’s turning into a beauty like her mom as well (some parents are so biased. Sheesh.). S just smiled; at the age of 12, she doesn’t mind being like me.  Maybe someday that will change, but right now it’s pretty nice knowing that she thinks it’s cool to be like her mom.

At the end of the first kilometer the road flattened out and we cruised along the dry asphalt.  She wanted to race and took off sprinting to the end of the second block, two football field- lengths away.  When she turned around Kirby and I were planted on the sidewalk at a standstill, answering nature’s call (Kirby, not me).  She put her hands on her hips and called out “I beat you!!”, so completely pleased by herself that I laughed happily with her.

Doggy and I caught up to her a minute later and we continued the circuit to Community Park where we were going to turn around and head back home.  The thing was, I didn’t want to go home.  I wanted to keep being outside with the sweet girl and floppy-eared girl, where the sun was shining and faces were smiling and hearts were beating.  So we extended to the path where I run my easy 4.5 mile loop, and kept on a truckin’.

We took a walk break and the conversation kept flowing.  She wanted to know about me.  Seriously.  My girl wanted to know about how I thought about things and what was floating through my mind.  Like real people having real conversations, I eased out of the parent/child dynamic and let her into my world. She asked questions, extrapolated information and offered advice, suggestions and compassion.  Wow.

A runner came into view.  She wore capris tights, earphones and sweat glistened on her face.  I recognized the gait and called out a greeting to my friend.  She paused for a few while we chatted and I introduced her to my daughter.  We talked about a 5k race I’m thinking about doing this weekend and how we might race the 5k then do a little extension together. After a minute she continued on her way (she didn’t want to dump her heart rate in the middle of a run) and my posse kept walking west.

Kirby was slowing down by this point and our walk breaks we’re longer than the running spurts. No matter. The sun was warm and the company was the best I’ve had in a long time.

We returned home happy and hungry. I made warm tuna melt sandwiches for the people and Kirby got an unexpected afternoon snack before crashing for the rest of the night.

As far as runs go, this one wasn’t much.  As far as time worth spending with someone I adore, this was an afternoon for the record books. I am constantly amazed and in utter awe of the insightful, compassionate and beautiful soul my daughter possesses.  To know that I was honored with the blessing of being her mother fills me with gratitude to the most infinite degree.

I dressed in my running gear and did the kid-shuffle, though we had to run back home again for a forgotten baggie of collector coins that C wanted to share with his 3^rd grade class.  On the drive to school we talked about today being the 70^th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and what the bombing meant to America back in 1941.

After dropping them off at their respective schools I headed to North Boulder where I planned to run around the Boulder Reservoir.  The roads are still pretty icy in my neck of town, but usually the back roads are runnable, even days after a storm because of all the sun they get.

The parking lot in front of the main gates was pretty well packed at 9am.  Several runners were standing around sweating when I got out of my car, and we chatted briefly.  One guy checked out my layers and gave me a thumb’s up; he and his friends all wore three layers and were dying of sweat.  I had two layers and he thought I would be much more comfortable than he and his group had been.  Good to know.

I headed out onto 55^th and went north at a comfortable pace.  I wore my Garmin and iPod, though promptly forgot about the watch and didn’t hear any of the beeps from the splits due to the happy music playing in my ears.  From time to time I stopped to take a picture, mostly because the sky was SO clear, the sun was SO bright, and the world was so WHITE.

I ran out to Niwot road, turned around when I had gone about 3 miles and headed back.  I was making up a running plan as I ran along, and decided at that moment to run back and loop around the Res, figuring that would be somewhere around 8 miles total.  That was good enough for today.

Here are a few pics taken with the iPhone:

Looking south from Niwot Road

Fair warning...

view from the north side of the reservoir

pretty mountains in the distance

straight shot of the road going over the dam. during races this is the time to open up and let it fly.

happy runner girl

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.

I needn’t have worried.  After the race I popped 2 huge blisters that had formed on the sides of each big toe.  The arches of my feet were a little swollen and my legs were tired, but that was about it.  After sitting in a booth for an hour at the Moab Brewery my left hip flexor got tight, and I limped to the bathroom.  That night I stretched out on my sleeping bag inside my tent, out of the desert wind, before crawling into the warmth of the bag and snoozing for 12 hours.

The next morning I got up, packed my gear and drove home.  My legs were a little sore, but mostly it felt like I had just run a 2-hour trail run in the foothills of Boulder.  No big deal.  The 6.5 hour drive home wasn’t bad, and by Monday I was ready to run again.

I gave myself another rest day and hit the Bobolink trail Tuesday morning for a little shakeout to see how the muscles were firing.  All was well and during my 60 minute run I hit an easy 9:10/mile pace.

I returned to the streets Thursday morning for a quick 5k run around the neighborhood.  The 8:23/mile pace felt speedy compared to anything I’ve done recently, and left me itching to incorporate more speed into my workouts.

Friday morning I ran with a few other local runners (Dave, Leo and Joanna) at the Boulder Reservoir.  I wanted to run longer than they were going to run, so I arrived a few minutes before 6am and took my headlamp for a little 4-mile spin around the Res.  I met up with the rest of the group at 6:30 and we pulled in another 6 miles, for a total of 10 miles in 90 minutes.

Saturday morning I met at the girls at Mesa Trailhead in Eldo Canyon for our weekly trail run.  I hooked in with 4 other women and we powered up Big Bluestem on our way to South Fork.  We extended a bit past North Fork and then backtracked and did the North Fork/ South Fork butt-kicking loop, before lollipopping back to the Mesa Trailhead for a total of 8 miles in 90 minutes.

I’m surprised by the fact that I’m actually fine.  I lost a few pounds between Friday (pre-race) and Tuesday, when my appetite finally kicked in again, but I’ve regained the weight and all muscles seem to be working.

People keep asking me “what’s next?”  I don’t have another race on the books.  It feels good to have accomplished the Ultra, and I absolutely want to do another one, but I’m really happy to not have something on the calendar.  Right now, I just want to run for the enjoyment of it.

The race was amazing, and the people were incredible.  It’s a special breed of person that runs Ultra Marathons.  These people are there because they can’t stand to be indoors, and they want to see what the world looks like away from the road.  They go out slow and pace themselves accordingly.  They’re friendly, and as soon as you start moving you notice that there are no masks.  Not anywhere.  Every person you talk to is 100%, totally real.  They let you in and tell you how they got there, and what makes them move.

October 8 was the inaugural Slickrock 50k, 50M and 100M.  Being a complete novice to Ultras, I signed up to run the “baby”, the 50k.  Due to unseasonable rain in the last two weeks the race directors changed the course for the 50M and 100M less than 24 hours before the race.  The 50k people were still on the same course… mostly.  They knew it was going to be a little long, but kept that piece of information tucked up their sleeves until after the 50k’ers came through the finish line.  My Garmin clocked a total of 35.3 miles, making this the 50k that wasn’t.

I pulled into the campground at 4pm Friday afternoon after poking around Moab trying to figure out where the heck I was going.  I left my house with no map, no directions… just a general idea of how to get to Moab.  I figured the rest would take care of itself.

There were a dozen or so tents already set up when I pulled into a large turn-around with a horse corral off in the distance.  This was base camp; the Start and Finish line would be in front of the large RV parked dead center.  After checking in, signing a waiver and getting my bib number, I meandered off to pitch my tent.  A few minutes later a guy in a Subaru pulled up.  “Will it crowd you if I set up next to you?” he asked.

“Nope.  Go right ahead,” I said.

As we worked we exchanged names and pleasantries, and found out that we’re both from Boulder.  We compared notes about the trails and talked about our favorite loops.  He’s mostly a climber though, and this was his first running race in seven years.  He was supposed to have a few friends with him at the race, but they bailed.  I was supposed to have a friend at the race, and he bailed.  What a funny coincidence.

At 5pm the race directors called a meeting, and everyone circled up to hear what they had to say.  They talked about the change of course due to washout and quicksand, and how the 100-mile runners would now have 8000 feet of elevation gain instead of 4000, and how the last 4000 feet would be in the last 25 miles of the race.  Uh-hunh… that sounded like a special kind of hell to me, and I said a little hallelujah that I was just doing the 50k instead of something harder.

After a turkey-and-cheese sandwich dinner, my new friend Jesse offered to share a movie on his iPhone.  Since it was only 7pm and already dark, I agreed and settled in to watch “Hanna” on a 3-inch screen.

A layer of clouds moved in and the night stayed relatively warm.  I slept soundly until 3am, when I woke up to pee.  After climbing back into my sleeping bag I heard the pitter-pat of rain on the tent, and listened to it for almost an hour before falling into a light, dream-filled sleep.  When my iPhone alarm went off at 6am I hit the snooze and lay cozy in my bed.  What sort of crazy had I signed up for?  It was raining, dark, and I was about to run 31 miles.  This was nuts.

I sat up, strapped on my headlamp and dumped all my running gear out of the bag.  I needed to rethink my clothing.  Running through the desert in the rain for hours on end means that the temperature might dip, and I needed to be smart about staying warm.  I could always take clothes off and leave them in my drop bag at the 11-mile Aid Station that already contained a dry pair of socks, arm warmers and a dry wicking t-shirt.

Finally I decided to skip the shorts and wear my black running pants.  If the sun came out and the temperature rose, I would just deal with it.  Pants would ensure that my muscles didn’t get cold, a good thing when you’re trying to bust up a big hill in 40-degree weather that’s questionable.

For the top, I decided on a light long sleeve wicking shirt with my light blue windbreaker.  After pinning the race bib to the windbreaker I added a blue raincoat to the mix.  The windbreaker would be soaked through in about a minute; if I ever got warm enough I would carry the raincoat or drop it at the Aid Station.

Jesse and I meandered over to the start area and then somehow when I looked up again, he was gone.  Two girls with pink tu-tu’s stood next to me.  The air horn went off, a cheer went up and the race began.

We started back up the road.  The first (and last) 10k would be on this red dirt road with rolling hills.  The morning’s rain had turned certain areas into soggy mud, and all the runners avoided the puddles.  We came to the first section of the road that had been washed out, making the road a one-lane instead of two.  The night’s rain had increased the size of the washout from yesterday, when I drove in.

The pace was easy, nothing to it.  10-11 minute miles, loose and breezy.  Runner’s quickly sorted themselves out, but I wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere fast.  This being my first Ultra, I had no intention of going out too fast.  I didn’t know what lay in front of me and conserving energy was the name of the game.

A few guys talked behind me, chatting about the Leadville 100 and the inclines on the Colorado mountains.  I listened to the deep voices that flowed along behind my right shoulder, and got quiet.  This race has been on my calendar for 9 weeks, and I’m here doing something bigger than I’ve ever done before.  Don’t let the energy out to run amok; keep some reserves, listen close and rein in the legs.

At the top of the 6 miles a few cars sat parked.  A handful of people cheered for us as we made the first turn to run on the only stretch of concrete the 50k’ers would encounter.  “Yay, Pink Hat!” someone called to me.  The name stuck; several other spectators would eventually call out the same encouraging words to me, in honor of the pink hat I wore that set me apart from the other runners.

At 7 miles I pulled over to pee behind a bush, then cruised down a little hill and entered a meadow.  This was a flat 1.5 miles before we started climbing slickrock.  The desert has some amazing rock that looks completely slick in certain light.  A few days before the race a friend who has mountain biked through the Moab desert told me a little secret; slickrock is actually tacky.  It’s sandstone, which means that your shoes (or mountain bike tires) will stick to the rock.  Traction.

Pre-race instructions told us to watch for the pink ribbons hanging from random bushes; they were our guides to staying on-course in the Utah desert.  I wasn’t too worried about getting lost since there were at least a few dozen people in front of me.  As long as I kept someone in sight, I would be fine.

I chatted with a few people as we headed up the mountain.  Megan was from Park City, Utah, and was running the 50M. I asked her why she ran Ultra’s.

“After 50 miles all masks come off.  Everyone’s emotions are completely real and honest.  There’s absolute happiness and absolute pain.  It’s all in there and no one judges anyone.”

Vladimir was running the 100M and had recently done Leadville.  He liked doing these races because it got him out of the busy travel schedule that kept him airport-hopping around the world.  This was his connection to the ground, his down-time, his time to get his thoughts in order.  He told me about the book “The Happiness Project”.

“You have to find what you’re passionate about.  I’m reading Chapter 2, about appreciation.  The author is in a good relationship with her husband but doesn’t feel appreciated for making dinner, or doing the housework, or whatever.  So she starts to appreciate the fact that she made a good dinner, and does it for herself instead of for validation from him.  She stops living for someone else and finds value in the way she spends her time.  I’m only on Chapter 2, so next year when we run this again I’ll tell you how the book ends.”

The course took a sharp upwards turn and Vlad dropped behind me as I powered my way up the rocks.  For the next 15 minutes I turned all my thoughts inward, considering why I’m out here and who I am.  I would have continued ruminating on this existential cocktail had a loud, booming bass voice not interrupted me.  “OFF TRAIL… OFF TRAIL… OFF TRAIL.”

I looked behind me and saw the man who had been talking behind my right shoulder on the first 10k pointing to the east.  We were off trail, had missed the pink ribbons, and he was calling us back.  I turned upwards and called to the next person; she telephoned the message up the trail.  All in all we probably got 7 or 8 people to turn around.  Everyone else was too far ahead.

Megan and I went back to the turn and got on the correct trail.  We didn’t go more than a quarter mile off course.  No big loss.

And up we went, climbing the slickrock.  I ran slowly, efficiently, and listened to my steady breath.  The mist was still coming down and the front of my raincoat was wet but not soaked.  I was warm and content.

At the Aid Station I checked my Garmin; 13 miles.  I had run a Half Marathon through the desert of Moab and was ready for more.  Grabbing a few handfuls of potato chips, I considered the items in my drop bag and decided there was nothing I needed.  Onward to the turn-around point at mile 15.

The road flattened and the salty chips gave me a little boost.  My pace dropped into the 9-minute range and cruising got stupid-easy.  After a mile I came upon a guy standing there, looking backwards.  He was worried we had missed the turnoff, but I was sure we hadn’t.  We were still following pink ribbons.

“What mile are we at?” he asked.

“14.”

“I think Gemini Road was back there,” he pointed.

“Nah.  We’re still going straight.  Come on.”

So Matt-from-Moab and I ran together. We talked easily for the next three miles, because the turnaround point didn’t come until mile 17.6.  And now we knew… the course was long.  I had been running for 3 hours and 15 minutes.

At the turn-around point I opened my CamelBak to get a refill of water.  “Oh no!” I said, “I’ve only drunk 10 ounces of water!”

The guy pouring the water topped off the water in my bladder, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t worry.  It’s cool out and it’s been raining.  Yeah, you’re a little dehydrated but nothing to worry about.  Just drink your 70 ounces on the way back.  You’ll be okay.”

A woman standing nearby poured some Heed into my bladder.  I ate a few crackers and a slice of cheese, peed in the bushes and started the push back up the hill that I had just descended.  Part two of the race had begun.

I quickly found that I couldn’t run up the big hills anymore and power-walked until my legs were ready for more.  A mile from the turn-around point my friend Jesse passed me on his way to the turn-around.  “Hey!” I exclaimed, “I thought you were in front of me!”

“We went off trail and went 5 miles out of our way before we got back on track.”

That explained a lot about why there were so few people in front of me now.  All the people that went out fast got lost and added miles to their route.

Back at the Aid Station I hung out for a few minutes munching on another handful of chips and some M&M’s.  When I was ready to go a woman in a white long-sleeve wicking shirt and a visor said, “Do you want to go together for a while?”

“Sure!”

We took off, power-walking down the slickrock.  Her mouth was off and running, and suddenly I saw first-hand what Megan meant.  Melinda, my new blonde friend, told me about every important event in her life that has made her into the person she is today, including being widowed at the age of 26, her daughter being born disabled, and her degenerative eye disease.

“They diagnosed me 12 years ago and said I had 2-3 years before I went totally blind.  Well, they were wrong about that, but it’s starting to go fast.  I’m running every Ultra I can find because I want to remember what the world looks like in the middle of nowhere.  I’m not going to have a second chance to put images into my mind, so I need to store them up as fast as I can.  I’ll probably lose my sight in a year or so.”

We power-walked and ran together for the next 7 miles and discovered that I’m older than her by 10 days.

We split up when we got to the road; I stopped at the one and only porto-potty while Melinda kept going.  I never caught up to her; my reserves were taxed and I didn’t have any speed left in me.

I ran 35.3 miles in 7 hours, and crossed the finish line to a handful of people clapping while standing in the red mud of the campground.  The race director put a coffee mug in my hand, and that was the end of the race.  No one was there for the glory of it… just for the experience of moving through the Utah desert, mostly because we’re alive and we can.