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.