Back

I had intended to title this post “Back with a vengeance,” however, after this past Saturday it does not seem quite appropriate any longer. My vengeance, as it were, kind of fizzled out over the last couple days.

After returning, seemingly triumphantly, to running the past couple weeks, I’ve hit some setbacks. These are probably caused as much by overzealousness as anything else. I likely pushed it too hard, too fast, and may have hindered my comeback.

Last Saturday, it was raining and cold here on the Front Range, so I chose to forego my plan to run up in James Peak Wilderness and ran up Bear Peak in Boulder instead. I had not run this route since the fire earlier this year, and thought it might be interesting to see what the trail looked like.

Everything went well, leg-wise, and I was making good time on the climb from the South Mesa Trailhead. As I continued to climb, however, it got more and more icy. Past the Fern Canyon Saddle, ice covered every surface, and even in the flat, cloud-obscured light the forest looked like a wonderland of crystal. A single spider web hung from a rock, eye level due to the steep slope I was ascending, looked more like diamond than silk.

As I ascended yet further, though, what before had been merely pretty became dangerous. The ice thickened to upwards of a quarter of an inch, to the point where I could no longer reliably break through it with my steps. I had not thought to need screw shoes this early in the season.

The third time I slipped and slid backwards in an uncontrolled heap, I realized that, while I could likely get up the remainder of the trail, and still hit the peak in under an hour from the South Mesa Trailhead, I was not sure I’d be able to get down again safely. I opted to turn around and head back down, racing back down Mesa to my car.

The following week went well, for the most part. Over five days I put in 4 runs for about 22 miles and 4500 feet of vertical. Nothing too drastic, but then I was still just getting back into the swing of things. I did notice, though, that the ankle I had sprained a few weeks before was still somehow bothering me.

Friday afternoon in particular was an excellent run. I made it up Flagstaff in a reasonable time (I think, I was not wearing a watch but it felt like a good easy effort). On the way down, though, I finally got into a good downhill groove. I was fairly flying down the slopes. At one point, where the trail paralleled the road, albeit 15 feet higher, I startled a pair of cyclists heading down Flagstaff. I must have looked like quite the apparition, darting down the slope at nearly the same speed they were riding.  

Saturday, in a word, sucked. I struck out for the Mesa Trail, not thinking of getting a PR in or anything, but feeling good. The good feeling lasted from South Mesa until about NCAR: all of four miles. The remaining nine miles were punctuated every other step by pain from my left ankle. While I still finished the whole trail in 2:10, I was not feeling good, and I ended up a good 14 minutes of my PR.

Today (Monday) my ankles seemingly feel worse than ever. This has encouraged me to take the day off of running, at least, and maybe explore the trails around Standley Lake on my mountain bike.

Perhaps tomorrow will be another running day. One can only hope.