Shari and I kicked in the after-burners for a final bit of speed work and cruised into the parking lot.  Elizabeth and Kathy had arrived back at the cars a few minutes prior and joined Beth in stretching.  Our other Beth, “Beth of the Infinite Legs”, couldn’t stay for coffee and had just left with her neighbor.

As we stood around the parking lot exuding our stink on to each other, Sarah voiced thoughts that have percolated in my brain many times over the seasons.  She summed it up so well.  “It is so amazing to be a part of this group, where there are so many levels of ability and no one gets left behind.  Any one of us could lead the pack.”

Shari finished the sentiment – “It just depends on the day, that’s all.  What’s really amazing is there’s no ego.”

There were murmurs of agreement.  So many different ability levels, people who have raced for years, new runners, post-baby runners, new racers… we have a good mix.

I thought about this little exchange all weekend; in fact, it came to define the run for me.  The women in the group ARE strong.  It’s an absolute privilege to run with them.  Sarah has been with the group a few times, as her weekends are full and she’s not always around.  Shari travels so much that it’s always a treat to run with her when she’s in town.  Siga started running with us a few months ago after a several year hiatus.  Juli has ten years worth of racing under her belt, including Ironman.  Kathy is the glue that binds us together, suggesting runs even when she’s going to be out of town.  Elizabeth is stronger than she knows and has an uncanny knack for bringing humor and a fresh perspective every week.  Jacqueline keeps us on our toes, calling back to her to “watch out for the rock” or “pick up your feet, Jacq!”  She sports more band-aids than any adult I know.  Susan is a veritable workhorse, and can power up a hill like nobody’s business.  Heidi hasn’t been with us for a few weeks because she’s training for her next half-Ironman.  Her husband introduced himself to the group at a coffee shop one morning, and asked if she could come along.  She was new to the area and didn’t know any runners yet.

And yet, with all that strength and absolute stamina, there is no ego.  We don’t race each other on Saturdays and there’s no “pecking order”.  I’ve run and talked with everyone over the months, and run every position in the group.  Sometimes people are intimidated to run with us; I know I was when I first started.  But here’s the thing; no one gets left behind and it’s because no one is here to prove themselves.  We’re all out there running because we want to be together and there’s coffee afterward, which means more time for talking.

I look forward to these runs all week long.  If I don’t run on Saturday my entire weekend feels wonky.  The exercise is great, but there’s more; Saturday mornings are about absolute acceptance and non-judgment.  I can show up to a run and be mostly silent, stewing in my own thoughts.  I can be hyper and strong, or slow and steady.  I could be recovering from an injury or illness (like last week) and hear someone say “Hey, I’m so glad you’re back, are you feeling better?  I really missed you!”  I could have the world’s worst stink to me and still have a running partner.  Each of us carries emotional pieces of the other, snippets that have been shared over the miles and weeks and seasons we’ve been together.  Saturday morning is bonding, perspiration, a total lack of masking.

I love each and every woman that I run with.  I could write an entry about all of them, about the amazing character, strength, and utter beauty each of them carries.  I absolutely draw strength from the group, from the energy that the women weave when they’re together.  I am honored to be a part of this group that meets at 7 AM on a different trail each week, and I am thrilled to know that other women in the group are just as awed by the magic we create when we’re together.  So, to all you amazing women I run with; thank you.

It’s been one year since I started recording our weekly Saturday Morning running. I’ve written in sickness and in health, through the torrent of the seasons. My personal life has been a backdrop of my running, inspiring me to dig deeper and find clarity and truth on this path called Life.

It’s light out early in the mornings now, and will be so for another two weeks until time Springs Forward with Daylight Savings Time. Then, we’ll be running in the pre-dawn and witnessing the miracle of daylight all over again.

I haven’t run with the gang for two weeks. Because of my absence, or maybe because of my emotional state, I feel disconnected from the group, like an outsider peeking in. I know I can run the trail, I know in my mind that I’m welcome, but still… I’m not connected and the loss saddens me.

Instead of running Doudy Draw to Eldo Canyon as was planned, we changed course after a round of hand-raising and headed up the Mesa Trail to North Fork/South Fork. There’s trail and parking lot maintenance happening in the Doudy Draw parking lot across the street and the fences are meant to discourage us. We comply and mentally prepare for a steep up-and-down instead of the gentle trail that I had been hoping for. I even brought my camera to record the morning light on the canyon walls as we came through the “wind tunnel” in Eldorado Canyon. No matter. The camera is tucked inside my CamelBak waist pack and is easy enough to bring next time.

Last week Sophie and I took a fast road trip to Pittsburg, Kansas. I recently reconnected with a long-lost college friend (thank you FaceBook!!) and decided to go see her. She and I left the University of Northern Colorado at the same time, for what we discovered were ultimately the same reasons. Our lives have taken drastically different paths and yet, here we are, converging again. The metaphor to running is so strong it almost feels trite.

She started running a few months ago for the first time in her life. She recently separated from her husband and finds herself a single Mom in graduate school. She tells me she felt compelled to sell everything, buy a van and take off. Instead, she laced up her sneakers and decided that the old model didn’t apply. She’s sold everything and headed out so many times she’s lost count. Instead, she took her figurative desire to run away and created a literal outlet of running… running toward health, sanity, fitness, and herself.

She’s recreated herself in so many ways over the years, and yet, sitting with her in that cozy little house on the edge of the Kansas border, she’s still the same person I laughed with fifteen years ago. Her life experiences have left her changed but not jaded. She knows herself deeply now and doesn’t dwell on what didn’t work. She belly-laughs about some of the crazy things she’s done and shakes her head in awe that she was able to walk away from it all unscathed. We did a little reminiscing about our college days and giggled like the school girls we were about some of the college hotties we hung out with, and then moved on to present time.

The trip was so fast; only three days. Sophie and I drove for twelve hours on Saturday and Monday, so that we could stay in Pittsburg on Sunday. My right hip was screaming at me at the end of the trip by the time we pulled into our own driveway. I could barely walk due to the seized muscles. I hadn’t run in four days and wasn’t sure I would be able to run for another day at least. Stretching was in order. Stretching the body, stretching the mind. I had to make room for the new experiences and thoughts chasing each other around in the confines of my little brain.

The camera in my pack sits snuggly on my tailbone. I remember to use it a few times and even pull off the trail at one point to get an action shot. The women seem reticent when the camera comes out, so mostly I leave it packed away. Sometimes recording images for posterity takes away from the experience of living the moment and I want to honor that feeling of being in the moment for my friends.

Susan and I are careful to watch for the turn-off on the North Fork trail; we don’t want to extend an extra two miles today like we did a few weeks ago. I’m not worried though; there’s no snow or ice on the trail to distract us from making the turn. We won’t be watching our feet for safety like we did a few weeks ago when we went off pell-mell down the trail, and then grunted and slipped our way back up again.

I can tell spring is heading this way because of the clarity of the sky and the barrenness of the foliage. The brilliant blue of the sky is caused by the angle of the earth, and is only apparent in this part of the world for a few months. I love seeing the cobalt color; it reminds me that miracles happen above us, out of reach, as often as they happen in our own backyards.

I’m pensive today and don’t feel like talking. I’m alternately in front, behind, solitary, and within a group. My presence seems as fluid as the air I’m breathing. My lovely trail running shoes keep my feet firmly in place and the only time I’m utterly aware of my body is when we’re gasping up South Fork and my hip is hurting bad. It hasn’t gotten back to where it was pre-road trip. On that note, neither has my mind. I’m still whirling in outer space and am working really hard at pulling myself down and grounding. My most sincere wish is to hibernate for the next month and sort out my thoughts. Change is on the horizon and I desperately want to hunker down and prepare.

Today was one of those rare mornings. A misting of snow had fallen during the night and the clouds were low-lying. The dawn light struggled to reach the ground through the thick veil of clouds and fog that sat, quietly snuggled into the crevices of the valley.

We started our run at the Greenbelt Plateau Trailhead off of Hwy 93 and 128th Street. The plan was to run the ridge of Marshall Mesa over to Highway 93 and cross the road, then head through Community Ditch to Doudy Draw, climb Doudy Draw, circle the mesa, and descend back to Highway 93 to the trailhead. The run is almost eight miles and takes a little over an hour.

I was surprised by the size of our group when Susan and I pulled into the parking lot. Only a few responses had floated in by the time I went to bed Friday night, so I thought that we’d have a group of three for the weekly run; Susan and me, and Karley. Karley had emailed that she was flying home on Friday and, barring jet lag, would be running. Bernadette thought she’s be in Wyoming for her son’s wrestling match, so count her out. A.J. was still sick so she wouldn’t run, especially after last week’s adventure through the woods. Zina was fighting a cold and thought bed and warmth would be better than a run through twenty degree weather. Come Saturday though, Karley was there, along with A.J. and Bernadette, Mary, Caryn, Missy, Savannah, and Cherry, along with our newest member, June. Only Zina ended up missing the run.

We started out at a good clip. Karley regaled us with stories of the inauguration in D.C., where she and her family had been for the past eight days. After only a mile I was wishing I hadn’t dressed like a layer cake; two shirts and a jacket was a bit much. I was worried about the wind chill factor in the hills so had come over-prepared; the wicking shirt and windbreaker would have been enough. As it was, I let myself sweat, telling myself that sweat is an internal cleanser and it’s good for me.

Once we got into the forest I realized that the air was wet, a like still rain. We were four miles into the run and everyone was sweaty from the exertion. Hair that was poking out from underneath hats was turning white with frost. Eyebrows were white, and eyelashes had a small coating of nature’s mascara.

It was hard to look up from the trail. This section of Community Ditch and Doudy Draw is often used by mountain bikers. With the warm weather last week, the bikes were out in force, leaving criss-crossing tracks all over the trail. The sudden cold weather froze the tracks into ankle-wrenching spines that kept my eyes downcast and alert.

The trek up Doudy Draw into the forest was hard. I was breathing heavy and my legs felt like they were churning slower than usual, trying to break away from gravity’s iron grip. My four compatriots were trotting easily ahead. I accepted my position of caboose and kept chugging upward.

And then my brain recognized the beauty that surrounded me. I ascended the last quarter mile of Doudy Draw. The reddish-brown trail rose at a gentle angle, the multi-sized rocks that had peppered the trail for the past mile noticeably absent. Pine trees rose from the sides of the trail in a sweeping arc, winter wonderland trees that were frosted with sparkling ice on every branch and needle. No snow lay on the ground underneath this fairy-tale image, and no sound other than the gentle whishing of my breath broke the stillness.

I wished for a camera, mine or anyone else’s, to record the image. The lens would notice the transcendence of the light and the quietness of the forest. It would note the air temperature and the stark contrast of my breath with the sturdiness of the trees that began their lives decades before mine.

And then I was out of the fairy-land and at the gate with Cherry, A.J., Bernadette and Susan. We gasped in awe at the whiteness of each other’s hair, how we had suddenly “gone grey” in the course of half an hour. A.J.’s short brown hair stuck out from under her cap, making it hard for her to see her own frosting. Everyone laughed at my white braids hanging to my shoulders; they contrasted with my black hat and bright blue jacket in a comical way.

The last three miles were easy, a virtual walk in the park. Bernadette groaned when we showed her the new trail around the top of the mesa. “I always fall here!”

“You’ll be fine, they redid the trail here and it’s really nice now,” we assured her. She falls more than any adult I know. Just this past week, she went to an audition adorned with Hello Kitty band-aids from a fall two weeks earlier.

We coasted into the parking lot and saw Missy draped over the fence, camera in hand. She took the short-cut from the top of Doudy Draw back to the parking lot so she could grab her camera and photograph the runners as they returned, triumphant and frosted. She clicked and laughed as we came down the trail, and took close-ups of our white hair. Karley’s curly pony-tail was white and stiff, as though it had been sprayed with white paint and shellacked into position.

The forest was magical this morning, and the magic seemed to coat itself over the runners as we passed by. We were all sturdy and yummy in our own right, but the frosting that was bestowed upon us took years off our lives and made us giggle like children. That’s the magic of frosting though; it transforms what it is spread upon, making the ordinary just a little more noticeable and, well… extra-ordinary.

The meeting place is the old Louisville Post Office on Front Street and Pine. It’s almost a mile from my house; I leave ten minutes early and keep my pace at a super-easy 9:26 pace. This is pure warm-up to the P.O. and I don’t want to get too warm.

Susan is running down from her house too, and the rest of the group is gathering on the side street. Cherry is back after being at the Arizona Ironman two weeks ago and her subsequent recovery from a head cold. Zina is bouncing around in the cold and Bernadette looks cold in her Capri’s and sneakers with the no-show socks.

Over half the women in the group have never been on this trail, so they’re pleased about the prospect of a new run. I’ve run this trail so many times in the past two years that all novelty is lost to me. Not sure how many more times I’ll tolerate it either; today’s run is only due to the group and I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Caryn, Rita, Savannah, Mary and A.J. are looking forward to this run. I mention to Mary that I’ve run this trail so many times I’ve lost count, and can point out every single turn-around point I’ve ever done. “This one is where I turn around for a five-miler, this is the five and a half point, this is the six mile point…” and so on. She astutely sums it up to perspective; this trail is not exciting to me because I’ve run it ad nauseum; yet to many others it’s a nice change from the severe trail runs we usually do.

We jump onto the trail across from the Community Park. The snow is about an inch deep and packed in most places. There’s a little ice here and there, but no mud and nothing deep that prevents a good long run. In previous winters I’ve had to turn around at certain sections because of the ice or deep snow that becomes treacherous for a slight person and unadorned feet (read: no Yaktrax).

Cherry and I settle into a pace. I tell her about my new part-time job with 5430 Sports. She’s familiar with the organization and in fact encouraged me to contact them. She listens to me describe the two distinct aspects of the job (expo sales, sustainability development and consulting) and agrees that the latter will be my passion. She knows me and the owners of 5430 Sports; from her perspective, this will be a good working partnership.

Cherry detours to the trees for a pee-break and Mary joins me as a running partner. I’ve never talked with her during a run before; she’s usually in the middle section of the group while I’m out in the lead. Today I’m more interested in holding pace for a long run instead of using this as a tempo training run, which is what the trail runs usually morph into for this amateur athlete. I see the run and the group members in a different light when I’m not trying to squeeze in a tempo run or concentrate on how far and fast I can physically push my body while still having energy to get through the rest of the day.

Bernadette, Susan and A.J. are waiting at the turn-around. Bernadette is messing with her socks which have inched their way down her foot and are now solidly stuck under the heel of her foot. I can’t imagine not wearing the right socks for the right activity and look at her in disbelief as she flatly refuses our attempts to talk her into wearing ankle socks. She likes what she likes and won’t be talked into doing things differently, even though she sees that those of us wearing socks that cover the entire foot aren’t stopping after three miles to unroll the material and put it back in place.

The group has mostly assembled at the turn-around, so we head back. Cherry has caught up with the group after her impromptu trip into the trees, and is smiling as she ducks to the side again. “I’m just glad to be out running again,” she says to me as we start down the trail.

The conversation turns to the Arizona Ironman. She was there with her husband, Mark, who works for Ironman. Clare was there cheering on a friend, and Barry, my new boss, was there participating while his wife, Jodee, cheered him on. Clare is pumped to do another Ironman after being a spectator this year. Apparently she’s trying to talk Cherry into doing it with her. “Nope, don’t have any interest in doing another Ironman,” Cherry declares. “I like how my body feels when I’m exercising a certain amount and I don’t need to push it farther than that.”

She has the benefit of being able to look at a race like the Ironman from multiple angles. She’s been a competitive racer in her “younger days”, she’s helped set up many races, and she’s been there to cheer on friends and help them train. Her perspective is based on a lot of information and is firmly based in doing what is right for her body.

I’m thinking about doing a half-marathon in March. Susan mentioned it to me a few months ago and I’ve had the idea tucked away ever since. I’d like to do a half, as the farthest I’ve raced is a 10K. I’m sure I could do it; thirteen miles doesn’t seem insurmountable. Cherry does a “runner’s blow” to the side of the trail and gives me another dose of reality. “You talk about doing a half marathon like it’s feasible, and I’m sitting here thinking that it sounds about as far away as the moon. I’ve been sick and haven’t done anything in two weeks. What you can accomplish has everything to do with attitude and perspective.”

Ain’t that the God’s honest truth. There have been points in my life when I didn’t think I could get out of bed; to do that was the high point in my day. On the flip side, there have been times in my life when I ran up mountains and lived to tell the story. Everything I do is couched with perspective on where I’ve been and where I’m at right now, this very minute. And attitude? A good attitude is that little thing that makes it all worth doing, over and over again.