Cold air hit my lungs as soon as we started puffing up Chautauqua.  The goal was to run and out and back on the Mesa Trail from Chautauqua up to the old radio tower site.  This was a moderately short distance run at a mere 5.85 miles, but because of the sheer amount of hills, talking and picture-taking, it took us over an hour.

            My lungs burned from the second I tried to inhale deeply.  My head was cold even though I wore my Smart Wool hat and I couldn’t feel my fingers inside my Smart Wool glove liners.  My heart rate soared to 80% capacity within a minute.  I couldn’t talk, couldn’t feel the fingers on my right hand, and concentrated on my breathing.

            My lungs hurt and it was painful to try to gasp more air into my burning sacs.  I ran close to Susan, Shari, Juli, Sarah and Beth.  For the first sixteen minutes of the run, it was enough to be close to my friends and enjoy their company.

            I carried my camera with me.  The fall colors are in bloom and I’m making a concerted effort to take as many pictures as I can.  Because of my random clicking, I fell behind the group from time to time.

            During one of these moments I stopped in a vantage point and pointed my camera downwards.  This location has a lot of stairs built into the hill and is a veritable hair-pin turn fiesta.  With the gold and red leaves of the trees and bushes, I waited for the ladies to emerge from a hairpin turn so I could get the five of them together.  The valley echoed with their laughter and chatter.  It was a wall of happy noise that bubbled up from the brush.  No bear or wild animal in its right mind would be anywhere near the group.  I clicked my picture of their staggered white hats bobbing along, and ran downhill as fast as I could to catch up.  I wanted to be a part of the laughter and the camaraderie more than anything.

            And suddenly, their voices were gone.  I was almost at the bridge that crosses over a seasonal creek when the sound of their voices disappeared completely, as though the TV had been abruptly muted.

            My brief respite from the hills was over; the climb began again to the back side of NCAR.  I didn’t catch the group until we descended to the service road that leads to the radio tower.  By this time the chatter had ceased.  Everyone had their head down and was working on the mile-plus climb to the tower.  We usually break apart a little at this point; sometimes a few seconds’ walk is necessary to relieve the tension of the legs.  I clicked a few more pictures of scenery and when I heard Kathy’s chattering voice drifting over the wayside, I stopped to capture her ascent as well.

            When I reached the top Sarah climbed the rocks to the vantage point that overlooks the entire Boulder valley, and exclaimed at the sight.  We all climbed up and I did a group portrait in the early morning light.

            On the way back down I zipped past the ladies with my turbo-charged legs.  Juli turned around and said, “Who’s that barreling down on me?”

            “Sorry, I’ve only got one down-hill speed,” I said as I rolled around her.  At that angle, it’s super-hard to slow down.  Much easier to just let the legs turn over and control the trajectory.

            Pausing to take pictures at the next uphill climb, we played a little leapfrog again and I resumed my position at the back of the pile.  Susan, right behind me, was nursing a sore hamstring.  I matched her pace and we chatted for the first time since our car-ride to the trailhead.  She said something at one point that stood out and managed to pivot itself into the central point of today’s run.

            “My husband doesn’t know how we can talk during these runs.  He’s hung up on the physiology talking while running.”

            “We’re not running 6 minute miles during these runs,” I pointed out.  “We’re going at a decent clip but it’s still slow enough to carry on a conversation.”

            “Yeah, I try to tell him that.  He still doesn’t get it.  I mean, he knows that it’s important to me to be out here on Saturday mornings or to get out and run by myself during the week, but he doesn’t understand the talking part.”

            “It’s ‘connection’, pure and simple.  Sometimes these conversations are the most sustained conversations we have all week with ANYONE.  It’s soul food.  Why run any faster if you can’t chat with your friends?”

            “I try to tell him that.  He understands, but he doesn’t really understand.  That’s okay, as long as I can get out here!”

            The run was hard and my lungs burned for the first twenty minutes.  By the end I was breathing fine, could feel all my appendages, and the temperature had risen twelve degrees.  It was downright balmy, as illustrated by the high school cross-country team arriving in their shorts and t-shirts.  Now, it was time for resting at the coffee shop with a hot beverage and more talk and laughter.  I can not think of a better way to begin my weekend.

It’s twenty degrees in the pre-dawn light. I braid my hair and don my Smart Wool hat and gloves, along with two shirt layers and my pink Go-Lite jacket. The running tights aren’t lined, which is a sad thing for my legs.
I lost count of how many people are supposed to be running today. The running list has added a few people recently and it seems old members who haven’t run in months or even years are coming out of the woodwork.
The morning is cold, very cold. Twelve of us are in the parking lot, ready to go. As Susan, Bernadette and I set out in the front of the pack, I see Greta waiting for us at the end of the shoot that opens onto Valmont Road. She’s already run four miles just to get here, and will join the group for her return home again.
The past few weeks have seen a decline in my running, swimming, and cycling. I’m in the midst of a job search and trying to put my finger on exactly what I want to do. Connor started morning kindergarten this year and goes to K-Care two days a week. Therefore, I have two full days to myself (8:30-3:00), and three half days. I need a part-time job but have flirted with the idea of a full forty hours per week. Not that I really want to work that much, but health insurance and retirement benefits count for a lot, especially since my husband is self-employed and we pay through the nose for our health care and retirement. If I got a full-time job though, I would have to find care for Connor when he’s not in school and I’m not around to watch him. He’s been having a hard time lately and has been really sensitive about changes in routines. All this has compounded in my head and heart to create feeling of depression and anxiety. I need this run for so many reasons.
I’m noticing that the more stressed I get, the slower I run. It’s harder for me to find the motivation for movement; when I do manage a few miles in the morning, my muscles are tight and sore. I don’t feel refreshed after a run lately and in fact, I feel depleted. It was hard for me to get up this morning. I wonder if I’ll feel depleted or refreshed after this morning’s eight miler. Here’s hoping it’s the latter.
I steel myself for the bitter cold in the valley. It’s so chilly here, about ten degrees colder than the rest of the run. There’s a mid-sized creek that contributes to the moisture. Now that the foliage has left the branches it’s easy to see the source of my discomfort.
The gloves are no match for the bitter cold. I open and shut my fingers periodically to remind myself they are attached to my hands. The motion does nothing to warm my extremities and I’m resigned to the fact that it’s going to take a good two miles before I’m warm. The trail is a steady uphill from the starting point, so early on my heart rate is elevated and blood is trying to slosh into the cold points of my body.
As we come around a curve Greta and I see a beautiful buck and his harem standing stock still to our right. Karley and Sam are chatting amiably behind us; to point them out I start gesturing with my arm, pointing straight at them and commenting. After a slight delay they pick up the cues and notice the regal animals. The buck is a six-pointer and elegant in his stance. After the group has passed the deer take their exit and easily bound over the six foot fence. The buck is the last to make the crossing, preferring instead to watch for danger from the two legged females making their way up the hill.
At the top of the hill I stop to take off a layer and stretch my right glut. We’re going to wind around the hill and take a breather before heading back to the trailhead. As Susan and Karley point out, the route adds on five minutes at the most. The easy run and the scenery are a nice way to bring the heart rate back to a moderate zone before kicking it in for the last of the hills.
Our group is stretched out over a mile. The ones in front are easily holding their positions, and the ones in back are enjoying not being rushed. That’s the beauty of a large group like this; there can be so many different levels of fitness and speed, and no one feels bad about where they’re at. Susan, Bernadette and I are usually in the front, though we’ve also held space in the back from time to time. Jaime is coming back from having her third baby; years ago, she was at the front of the group and is now easily pacing at the back. The point is that she’s here, running outside in the early dawn light, enjoying the inherent abilities of her body and getting some socialization in on the side.

Back in the parking lot I stretch my hamstrings and blissfully enjoy my endorphins. They haven’t managed to create the “runner’s high” that I love so much, but I do enjoy the effort they’ve made in allowing my brain some semblance of relaxation. Now, on to coffee and the rest of the day.