Reflection and Anticipation

Another year is coming to an end, and another year is starting. Every year this time I tend to reflect on what has happened in the past year and what I plan for the next year. What have I done well? What can I do better? Where do I go from here?

The year never turns out quite how I expect it. Whatever goals I set for myself, whether I accomplish them or not, turn out differently than I expected. This past year I had three main goals. The first was to get a job. I did get one, but it was not in the area I expected. Maybe, though, that worked out better than I had expected. I am not using any of what I learned in grad school in my current job, but I am in an office that understands my running and my general lifestyle. And I can always feel good about the work I'm doing, which is more than many can say.

My second goal was to get back into running shape. I started the year running just a few miles a week, ten to twelve at the most. While this past week I have only run 20 or so, I am in generally running quite a bit more than that. I am in better base shape than I have ever been, by my estimation, and that is something.

My third goal was to run my first marathon. While I was not anticipating that taking place at 10,000+ feet, I cannot express anything but satisfaction with my Leadville Race. I finished. Not only did I finish, I finished in the top 20. I bonked, but I learned a lot from that bonk. Since then, I have been altering my training to better suit my racing goals, including things such as major nutrient intake before and during my run so that, when my next race comes along, I can take enough food in that I do not bonk again.

Those were successes, but none of them turned out like I expected.

Fully expecting the same thing to happen this year, I have set a few goals for myself for the coming year. Some are personal, but I will focus on those relating to running here. First of all, my overall goal for the year is to run my first Ultra. This will likely be a 50k, or possibly a 50 miler, depending on how my training goes.

My second purely running goal is to run at least one mile a day for the entire year. This is a goal I've tossed around before, but never come close to reaching. It may not be an entirely reasonable goal given my goal to run an ultra. I will have to play it as it comes. If I find out my body does not take well to running every day, I will ramp the goal back a bit to running 6 days each week. That would be roughly 312 days out of the year.

To go with that, I will be working on a daily routine, to keep my arms and core strong along with my legs. I have let my core work slide this year, and I think if I work on that a bit, it can only help the rest of my body.

Finally, my goal is to work on my photography. While this might not seem so related to running, I have found that I always take my favorite pictures while running. Add to this that on my runs I often get to places few people reach, I think it possible to form a business out of my running photography. That is my final goal for the year.

As I do with just about everything, including my music, I will have to play it by ear. If my body does not handle running every day well, as I said, I'll switch to a goal of running 6 days every week. If my body does not take well to the training required to run an ultra, I will tone that back as well. The photography? That I fully intend to stick to.

As ever, I welcome any comments, as long as they are constructive. Particularly, I would like to hear from others as to what their goals are for the year.

Winter Wonderland

Winter once again blasted the Boulder area the last few days. It started snowing Thursday night and by the time it cleared up on Friday around noon, we had 14 to 20 inches of fresh powder on the ground.

Despite the snow, and Boulder's curious habit of not plowing enough and not salting at all, I braved the rather horrible road conditions and headed up to Chautauqua for some "running." Despite a near accident (Boulder, for those who have not experienced it, has a curious habit of plowing the snow to the middle of the street in the theory that it will melt, which it eventually will. However in the meantime you are left with giant piles of packed snow in the middle of the street, making impossible to turn left in most areas, and where it is possible to turn left, making it impossible to see whether a car is coming. The only thing left to do is gun it in the hopes that a) no other car is coming and b) you can gain enough speed to ram through the barrier of snow and not get stuck on top of it) I made it up to Chautauqua, strapped my Microspikes on, and headed off.

Immediately I knew this was going to be a run only in the loosest sense of the word. I was forced to break trail across the Chautauqua meadow, plowing my way though knee-deep powder and hoping that I was at least generally following the trail. It took over 10 minutes to travel the (level) half mile to the Amp-Greenman trailhead.

There the going got considerably better since somebody, I am assuming Anton Krupicka or Scott Jurek, had been kind enough to break trail earlier in the morning, and clearly at least two or three people had already been by. I decided then that, since my parents were on their way from the airport, I would turn around at noon regardless of whether I made it to the summit, giving me a bit over an hour.

The trail was generally good, though unconsolidated, up through Saddle Rock. As far as pace go, I would call it a powerful hike, though at best I gave myself a pace of 20 or so minutes per mile. After Saddle Rock, though, it was evident that several people had turned around, and the remaining trail up to the summit would be minimally broken.

But it was absolutely gorgeous. I never get over the feeling of joy being out in that sort of environment. The snow was still falling, muffling every noise until it felt like I was the only person for miles. The only other things I saw moving were a few overly-industrious squirrels and a 10-point buck picking his way up the mountainside.

As it turned out, I did not quite make it to the summit by noon. I turned around a bit over an hour into my run, with another half mile to go to the summit. As the picture suggests, I was not entirely pleased to be turning around, but sometimes, family has to be the priority.

That said, the way down itself was fantastic! Nearly every time my foot came down, it slid another foot or two down the slope, lending me more of a bounding stride than any sort of normal running stride. And while I took a tumble or two, the snow was so thick that I barely felt it before I was up and off again (much to the surprise of a poor border collie, who gave me a few startled barks as I came flying around a bend).

I'll leave you with a couple more pics, just to fuel the envy I believe you should feel.

 The trail.

A snowy Boulder.

All in all, a wonderful, wintry day, reminding me again why I am so lucky to be living and running in Boulder.

Taking it Easy

Taking it easy is something that most runners hate. You get into a good rhythm, progress in your fitness, feel good for a long time, then invariably something happens that requires you to take it easy for a bit.

This is not generally a big problem, fitness-wise. In the scheme of things, taking it easy for a few days or a week will not make that much of a difference, and may in fact significantly help your running health. But it never feels right. The runner starts to feel guilty, like they should be out there running even though rest is the best thing for them.

It just feels wrong to take it easy.

Naturally, given this post, I have opted to take it easy for the last week or so. I woke up on Monday and could not turn my head to the right, my neck was so sore. I got a massage that afternoon, which helped considerably. Still, I decided that maybe my long, snowy run up Green the day before had maybe tweaked something.

So I have been taking it easy. Granted, I still ran Green on Sunday after doing a bit of Tele skiing in the morning (my first of the season). A side note: I can never go Tele skiing without thinking back to my days as a high school XC skier, with Scott Jurek yelling "Practice your Tele turns" whenever we went down a larger, wide-open hill.

But I have been taking it easy outside of that. And I think I"m back. My plan is to do a quick run up, or partway up, Flagstaff tomorrow morning and see how I feel, and go from there. Hopefully I can get bak into the swing of things quickly.

I'll need to, if my plan for next year pans out. I have one race I definitely want to do now: the Moab Trail Marathon on November 3rd. It also happens to be the trail national championships for the year. And while I don't intend to become a member of the USATF and actually compete, it would be awesome to race head to head with, or at least briefly see the backsides of, the best in the country.

Aside from that, I have a Sanitarado run planned for the coming January. February and March are open so far. I think I'll run the Horsetooth Half in April, which should help prep me for either the Greenland Trail 50k or the Golden Gate Park 50k in May. June might see the Leadville Marathon again, or perhaps the Steamboat Marathon. July, there is a distinct possibility, should my training go well, of the Silver Rush 50 miler. August I think I will devote to getting into the high country for some classic runs. That leaves the Golden Leaf in Aspen in September, the Coal Creek Challenge (5 miles!) in October, and the Moabl in November.

It is looking to be a good year!

Carpenter v Jornet?

I just read this article over at running times. Among other things, I am amazed that all of this came from a 23 year old. Granted, he's no normal 23 year old runner, but still . . .

I have been thinking for some time that it would be incredible to see Kilian race Matt Carpenter, and it sounds like that just might happen!

If it does, you had best believe I will be at Pikes Peak this year!

In the meantime, my running schedule for next year is coming along. From very few ideas, I now have far too many. Here are a few I'm looking at.


January
    The Five Peaks Challenge (not a race)

February

March
    Antelope Island Buffalo Run

April
    Collegiate Peaks Trail Run
    Horsetooth Half

May
    Greenland Trail Races
    Wyoming Marathons?
    Golden Gate Park race

June

Steamboat Marathon

Leadville

July

August

Pikes Peak?

Aspen Backcountry?

September
    Golden Leaf

October
    Coal Creek Challenge

November

December

Winter Has Arrived & a Classic Trail Running Story

From the 60+ degree, sunny temperatures on Wednesday, we have plunged down to a balmy (for a Minnesotan such as yours truly) 10 degrees when I woke up this morning. Add to that anywhere from 10 inches, down by my apartment, to 2+ feet of snow in the course of two storms, and winter appears to have reared its snowy head here in Boulder.

And I could not be happier.

The 60 degree, sunny weather on Wednesday led me to take my friend Matt up on a last-minute request for a running partner in the afternoon. We headed over Viewpoint trail on the flanks of Flagstaff, through Chautauqua, and then split off for separate afternoons. That was my second time up Viewpoint that day, and all told made for 11+ miles of running on a day when I had planned for 5. Such is life in Boulder sometimes.

In the middle of that run, on our way up Viewpoint, we started discussing my sister's research on the relative stability of a running stride versus a walking stride. Not surprisingly, we both thought we felt more steady running on trails than we did walking, when we tend to hit our toes on the ever-present rocks on Boulder-area trails.

Not five minutes after discussing this, I had a classic trail runner moment: we were cruising along a smooth stretch of trail, one I take several times a week and so feel as though I know fairly well, and suddenly my toe catches on a miniscule irregularity on the trail and I'm flat on my chest in the middle of the trail.

After walking for a minute just to get re-centered, we quickly started talking about our various trail running scars. I normally get them shortly after I pass somebody, when I almost invariably trip over some very obvious feature in the trail just when I feel the best. Some of them have been worse than others.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've seen that hat since this run. 

Fortunately, this encounter with the trail surface did not leave those sorts of marks. 

As I alluded to above, I ran up Green with a couple friends this morning. I use the word "run" very loosely here. It took us over an hour to cover the first 4 miles, and an additional half an hour to hit the mile and a half after that. This was due in part to the steep(ish) nature of the trail up Green, but mostly because we were, at times, running in unconsolidated snow that came up to my thighs. 

A view of Green Mountain from Sanitas, on Saturday. 

Needless to say, the way down the mountain was much more fun. Whereas we had hit the first 5.5 miles in a little under an hour and forty minutes, we hit went downhill in under half an hour.

Chris on the final stretches of Green, Matt is just in front of him. 

All in all, it was both a very difficult and a very fun run to cap off an excellent running week. I feel like I've been getting in better and better shape each and every week, and at the moment I'm not even training for anything specific. If I can keep this up (knock on wood) I might just be able to post some good results in 2012. 

With that in mind, I need to start thinking of what races I want to do next week, and how I want to train for them, but that's a subject for another post.

A run up Green

As I mentioned last time, I took the opportunity on Friday to do some filming of a typical run up Green Mountain. I chose Green because I know it well, and it has the possibility of some beautiful shots, but also because it has been made well-known by Anton Krupicka.

Without further ado, and after spending much of the day editing what turned into a two-and-a-half minute video, here it is:

 

I should acknowledge a certain Mizuno running commercial (long form) for both the music and the outhouse shot.

Louisville Turkey Trot

As I mentioned in my last post, I randomly signed up for a Turkey Trot 5k in Louisville which took place on Thursday morning. Since I signed up so late, I was not sure whether I wanted to treat it as a race or just as a fun run. I had done a significant hill workout (8x400m hills in 80 seconds each) on Tuesday, and my legs were till a little less than recovered. Then I went out for a 6 mile run the night before.

All told, I got to the race on Thursday morning, tried a few striders to warm up, and realized that my legs felt pretty awful, all told. I decided then that, while I would not take it easy, nor would I put it all out there and race this one.

I picked a spot 10 or so rows back from the front of the pack, knowing that there would be a bottleneck when the course shifted from the road to the bike path, about a quarter mile into the race. I spent that first quarter mile passing a significant portion of the people who started out in front of me, running at what felt like a quick but easily sustainable pace (one stride in, one stride out). My (brand new) Soleus GPS watch said I was moving around a 6 minute mile pace.

From there on, I just concentrated on keeping my form loose and easy, and trying to keep the pace honest. I never felt that I was pushing particularly head, and never in the entire race did my breathing labor.

The course itself was out and back, and quite pretty. It started by the Blue Parrot in downtown Lousiville, took a sharp left after half a block, and entered Louisville's Central Park. After skirting the west edge of the park, it continued south on a dirt path through some open space and the Coal Creek golf course. It briefly entered a residential area before turning around to head back to the starting line.

At this point, it got a little bit tricky. Since I was, apparently in the top 30 or so by this point, I ran into crowds on my way back. This was the inaugural Louisville Turkey Trot, the race organizers were not sure how popular the race would be, and opted to cap it at 2000.  I'm sure they reached that cap, and 2000 people on a narrow bike/walk path leads to some crowded conditions. That's what happens when you make a race free.

Their decision to allow both strollers and dogs, while keeping with the laid-back nature of the race, also added to the crowded conditions. So, coming back I occasionally had to dodge oncoming runners, and at one point had to leap a dog's leash when it ran across the path in front of me.

Par for the course on races like this, and not a bit deal since I was not taking it that seriously.

I did feel the first signs of fatigue at about mile 2.5, which is also when I decided to actually pick up the pace and drop the guy who had been gamely keeping up with me for the past two miles. I felt kind of bad, since it was seeming so easy for me and was obviously a difficult pace for him. But I realized that, with half a mile left, and with the clock ticking near 17 minutes, I had a good shot at my best 5k since my shoulder surgery.

Naturally, I forgot to stop my watch when I crossed the finish line. I had far too much left in me, and kind of ran through the finish line and off to the side (much to the annoyance of the volunteer who had to chase after me to clip my chip off my shoe), and stopped my watch a bit later when it read 18:42. By itself that would have been my best time since my surgery, though I guessed my time was closer to 18:30.

Since I was still feeling pretty good, I then decided to run back along the course for a while til I met my friend (G), who was also running. I ran in with her, and she herself posted a very good time for somebody who hasn't run since the Bolder Boulder in May with 36 minutes flat.

As it turns out, looking at the results on Friday, I had run an 18:25. That's my fastest 5k since my shoulder surgery by 30 seconds, and also puts me at 5:57 mile pace. Considering the only intensity I've done in my training recently came two days before this race, I would say I'm quite happy with that. It does, however, make me wonder what I might be able to do if I genuinely tried in a race.

The next day I spent a good three hours up on Green Mountain, filming myself. I will report more on that later, with clips, but for now I will say that it was quite fun, and I'm looking forward to seeing the results when I get done editing it.

Turkey Trot

So, rather than the 2 hour trail run I planned for tomorrow, I will be doing a 5k Turkey Trot.

Race report tomorrow or Friday.

Mesa PR

First things first: clearly, from the title of the post, I broke some sort of PR on the Mesa Trail recently.

Actually, it was this morning, and there are a few caveats to put in place before talking about it. First: I rarely run just the Mesa trail. I generally run part of the Mesa trail on the way to or from somewhere else (Green, Bear, South Boulder, etc . . .). Second, I have never really pushed myself on the Mesa trail, since I usually focus on the nearby peaks when I am trying to get into shape for a race. Third, I was not at my prime this morning, having had a hard week beforehand.

Next time I decide to keep up with Peter Bakwin on the way up Flagstaff, somebody please knock a little sense into my skull.

The final caveat is that I only decided to attempt a PR on Mesa early this morning, when I was having trouble (for the first time in some time) motivating myself to get out for a longish run on Sunday morning. There's nothing like a little competition to provide some extra motivation, even if it's only with yourself.

With that in mind, I drove up to Chautauqua, a rarity for me, only to find that, when I strapped my watch onto my wrist, it stopped functioning completely. This was not unexpected: this particular watch (a Timex Ironman, failure engineered) had been trying to give up the ghost for some time, I had just been too stubborn to spend the money on a newer watch. Since it was falling apart in any case, I tossed it in the trash reading 9:57AM (it was a little slow).

With that as the last time I saw, I figure I started the run at about 10AM after a short pit stop. I focused on the way out on keeping the pace honest, but not brutal. I pushed on the uphills, but kept thinking that this should feel like the first quarter of a marathon, and consciously kept myself from going to fast. Nevertheless, when I reached the South Mesa trail head, a friendly hiker let me know that the time was "five to eleven on the dot." Not bad: 55 minutes for the first half. Eight minutes off Dave Mackey's record, but that's a serious time to chase.

After another pit stop (I need to lay off the coffee a bit) I took off back up the two-mile climb out of South Mesa. On the way out, I had decided that this is where I'd push it, and see how I felt. The answer was not as good as I hoped, but I still managed what felt like a decent pace. Unfortunately on the way back I seemed to run afoul of more rocks than I usually do, including one that jammed my right big toe to the point that it's still hurting as I sit here a few hours later.

Such is the life of a trail runner. Gotta keep your eyes on the trail.

When I descended back into the Chautauqua trail head, I figured it was a little after noon, and I was right. It took me significantly longer to do the second half of the run, and I pulled in with a round trip time of almost exactly 2 hours. Not bad, but I think I can do better.

This week looks to be a good one as far as running is concerned. It doesn't hurt that it's a three day work week. For those of you who might be in Boulder and looking for a training group, I recommend Boldrunning. It's run by the husband and wife team of Ewen and Heather North. Ewen is an accomplished runner and excellent coach, former course record holder at the Canyonlands Half (or is it the Other Half, I can never remember). Heather is both an excellent runner and a PT. And both have excellent taste in beer.

I myself utilized Boldrunning, partially under its prior name, the Bolder Boulder Training Club, to get back into shape after a broken ankle left me with a right leg approximately the size of my left arm, and found them both fun and helpful.

The reason I mention this is that they will be having free "trial" training sessions over the next two weeks. Tuesdays ( the 22nd and 29th) will be hill workouts, meeting at Harlow Platts Park in South Boulder. Wednesdays (the 23rd and 30th) will be an easy run leaving from the Boulder Running Company, and followed by food and beer. Those all start at 6PM. There is a rumor about a longer run on the intervening Saturday, but there are no firm plans yet.

As I said, a fun group of people. I highly recommend them.

Thursday morning, the normal Boulder Trail Runners Happy Hour Run group will be heading out for a rare, pre-turkey, morning run for a couple hours, followed by mimosas at Chautauqua. I am thoroughly looking forward to that particular run. As for the rest of the week, who knows? With a few interesting runs on the calendar, I have to keep fit.

Gear Test

I have felt very professional lately while writing this blog. I recently commissioned a desk for myself, made from reclaimed red oak to my own specifications, and I now feel both professional, and in some sense like I have to live up to the gorgeous desk on which I write these posts. Mostly, however, I just love having a giant, mostly empty desk where I can put my computer. It seems to ooze potential.

But all that and the more that I was thinking is beside the point at the moment. This is about running.

It was windy yesterday here in Boulder, enough so that I threw out any idea of a long, flat run, and headed, as I am wont to do, into the foothills and the Chautauqua area for a long, hilly run. In preparation for the Leadville Marathon this summer, I had several times run the three most prominent peaks of Boulder: South Boulder Peak, Bear Peak, and Green Mountain. I had also often run Flagstaff, since it was convenient to my office.  I opted yesterday for the previously untried (by me) combo of Flagstaff and Green, with the possibility of adding the other two as a bonus.

This was both a test of me and a test of my new gear. I had visited the GoLite sale earlier that morning, an institution here in Boulder, and picked up a few necessaries for my running adventures. Among other things, I had left my old windshirt at Leadville, and needed a new one. I also took the opportunity to grab myself a new hydration pack, since the design has definitely improved in the years since I got my trusty Mule.

To my great surprise, heading up Crown Rock to the Flagstaff trail, my legs felt strong and the, reasonably severe, slope felt easy. I quickly topped off Flagstaff and headed down Ute to hit Green. Here again, my legs felt great and, aside from slipping a few times on icy sections of trail, I made it up Green no problem.

The view to the west from the top of Green. All the little peaks on the plaque should be there somewhere in the background. The view to the east was clear and sunny.

From there, I took off down Green-Bear for the next shot to the legs. I think this is my favorite downhill in the area. It is fairly gradual, and much less crowded than most of the trails in the area, so you can bomb down it without too much worry about knees or collisions. 

Up till this point, I had entertained thoughts of hitting Bear and South Boulder, but decided that, since I had not run that far in a long time (read: other than the Leadville Marathon) I would do better to leave it at two peaks for the day. 

I took off down Bear Canyon and promptly managed to almost brain myself on a tree that had fallen across the path. This was one of only two points on the run where there was significant snow on the trail. It didn't last long, and I quickly zig-zagged my way down the series of tight switchbacks and back to Mesa trail. 

From there it was a quick couple miles back to where my car was (alas) waiting in the parking lot. 

How long was the run? I have no real idea. I rarely run with a watch, since when I do I obsessively check it and compare myself to prior runs on the same route, and I forgot to check the time in my car before I left and after I got back. I'm guessing, though, it was a bit over two hours. 

The good news: I felt great the whole time. Even when I was moving at a good clip, I never felt like I was straining. My new gear worked like a charm. The backpack, which I will admit was not really necessary for that short a run, fit like a glove and didn't bounce or bother me in the least. The windshirt did its job. And the shorts I picked up as an afterthought, well they will take some breaking in. 

I had the chance on this run to muse on what races and runs might be in store for the next year, but I'll save those for another post.

Musings

There are a few questions I am asked regularly when people find out both that I am a runner and how often and far I run. In the interest of clearing a few of these up, I thought I'd write about them over the next several posts. They might be short, and they might go far too long. I am not sure quite how it will work yet.

FAQ #1: What do you think about when you run?

This is probably the most common question I get asked. The answer depends entirely on the day.

The simple answer is: anything and everything. On my runs, my mind generally wanders a fair amount. I good portion of the time I am actually coming up with ideas. Running is far and away my most creative period.

The number one topic is this blog. I consider not only what I will write about in this blog, but how I will write it. I gather experiences that I want to share, and I take pictures that I subsequently post here. I also have come up with business ideas, song lyrics (yes, I occasionally write songs too), story ideas (much more common than song lyrics), and just about everything else you can think of.

I always, always have a song running through my head. Sometimes it is the same song for the entire run. More often I bounce from song to song via melodies. I tend to start with the last song I heard before heading out on the run, and from there progress to songs that either sound like it or have a similar theme. Like a game of "telephone," often the song I am singing, in my head or out loud, at the end of a particular run seems to have nothing to do with what was going though my head when I started out.

The other thing I often do on my runs is process whatever is going on in my life at the time. I use running as therapy, where I can really focus on a topic with few distractions (other than the occasional other runner or hiker) and really process where I am. If I have a problem in my life, I go out for a run, and usually by the time I come back, even if I don't have a solution, I have a new way to approach the issue.

The one thing I never am on my runs is bored. To be  a successful distance runner, I think it's safe to say that you have to be fairly comfortable in your own head. If you were anything but, there is no possible way you could go out for a four hour run by yourself and come back sane.

When I race, though, everything else goes out the window, and the only thing on my mind is the race.

This only just scratches the surface of what I think of when I run, but it gives at least some idea. I have a whole philosophy around running, that I will touch on throughout my posts in this blog, but I think that is good enough for today.

Oh, and of course, the other thing I think about quite a bit is the run itself. With trails like these it's required.

And just for the fun of it, I'll leave you with a picture from a run I went on back in June, while I was training for the Leadville Marathon. 

Tour de Lakes

As usual, I am posting this several weeks after the actual run in question. As much as I try to avoid working this way, it always seems to happen. This time, I have not actually had much time between that day and this in which to write a post. Between helping a friend move, getting shipped out to Chicago for a week for company training, and, naturally, running quite a bit, I have not found the time.

On October 2, I took advantage of a little spare time and a gorgeous day to head up to Rocky Mountain National Park for a run that I had taken with a friend some years earlier. I recalled it being a long, arduous run with a hard initial climb, and an additional several mile-long, 3000 foot climb in the middle. The loop was listed at about 11 miles, but given the time it took last time, we estimated it was closer to 13 or 14. Called the “Tour de Lakes,” it skirts a path around and past four separate lakes.

This was the peak aspen season, so I anticipated large crowds. I was not disappointed. There was a snarl of traffic through Estes Park, and a long line to get into the Park proper as well.  Since I had to wait in line in any case, I took the opportunity and renewed my National Parks pass for another year.

By the time I finally made it to the Bierstadt Lake parking lot, I was worried about finding a parking spot with all the traffic I had seen on the way in. Fortunately for me, though, this trailhead is far less well-known than Bear Lake, which is a few miles farther up the road, and I was able to pull into the last spot in the lot.

I remembered the initial climb up to the first ridgeline being tortuous the last time, so I was surprised when I found myself cruising up the switchbacks without much trouble. I stopped to snap a few pictures of the Longs Peak diamond rising behind me through the golden aspen, something quite a few other people were doing with much larger cameras, and cruised on over the ridge and around Bierstadt lake.

A classic autumn view of Longs Peak, from the first climb of the day.

This little guy was sitting in the middle of the trail. (S)he did not particularly like me getting this close, and curled up defensively.

After Bierstadt, the trail gets significantly less crowded as it heads for Cub Lake. The last time I ran this steep and rocky downhill section, my friend Mark had a GPS watch on, and clocked us in at a 4:30 mile for one stretch. I do not think I equaled that this time, but I’ve been wrong before.

After the descent, the trail crosses a small stream, and takes you out into a small meadow. I looked up, and saw the picture of a lifetime. I snapped a quick shot, knowing that I would probably not be able to capture the sheer stunning beauty of the scene, but the picture itself turned out pretty well.

 

I think this is one of the better pictures I have managed to capture. It's hard to beat the scene I had to work with, though.

As the picture shows, at this point the trail starts to head up again, for a long, long time.

A mile or two on from this picture, the trail crosses another, larger stream before heading up a long valley. At this crossing I met a couple other runners heading the opposite direction around the loop. They had just moved to Boulder from Texas and Tennessee, and three days after moving here went for this run. Hats off to them, that takes guts.

A little farther on, after  passing a group of CU students out for a weekend backpacking trip, the trail goes by Fern Falls.  I took the opportunity to grab a profile pic for my Facebook account, as well as a picture without me messing up the foreground. 

Fern Falls

My legs were starting to feel the climb a bit here. As I continued on, and the climb just kept coming and coming, I began to suffer a bit. There is no part of this climb that is particularly steep. It’s just relentless. It only lets up briefly to skirt the edge of the third (and fourth) lake of the day: Fern (and Odessa)

Looking over Fern Lake, at Flattop Mountain and the Little Matterhorn. 

At this point the trail is more accessible from the Bear Lake trailhead, and thus more crowded. Where I had gone miles without seeing people earlier in the day, now I saw groups every quarter mile or so. For the moment, this helped give me a little boost to get me up and over the last climb ridge of the day, from which point it is all downhill.

While I was definitely feeling the run by this point, I still was not as tired as I might have expected to be. I must have had some residual fitness from a summer of runner that decided to poke its head out during the end of the run.

That being the case, I started cruising the downhill, letting my legs go knowing that the hardest, longest portion of the run was over and it was, nearly, all downhill from this point.

Unfortunately, this also meant that I had to dodge the ubiquitous photographers on the way down. In general, they were courteous and stepped to the side of the trail, letting me burn by them, and often even cheering me on. However, as is always the case, there were exceptions to this rule. I started to get exasperated by the fifth time I came around a bend to find a tripod supporting a several thousand-dollar camera set up in the middle of the trail. I am all for getting a great shot, but it is still a trail, and people run.

This annoyance was not nearly enough to spoil my day however. I was out on a gorgeous day, running through groves of evergreens and golden aspen, with my legs still feeling good even after 12 or so miles.

I came back to Bierstadt Lake with enough left in my legs to give it a good push over the last, short uphill before cruising back down to the parking lot with, again, stunning views of Longs Peak to the south.

I ended up coming in at three hours on the dot, about 35 minutes faster than I took this loop the last time, even with all the photography breaks. All in all, a fantastic way to close out a serious summer of running.

The First Snow

It has been my tradition as long as I have been a runner, or even close to a runner, that I run during the first snow. Whenever it occurs (usually sometime in October out here in Colorado), whether it's in the middle of the day or the middle of the night, when those first flakes start falling, you can find me out on the roads, trails, or paths running my heart out.

And usually singing.

Today was the first snow in Boulder this year. My plan had been to head up to Indian Peaks today to get in a High Lonesome Loop before the snow closed that route down. Unfortunately I may have left that a bit late this year. The forecast for Nederland today was for 4 to 8 inches of snow to fall in 31 degree weather. While I don't really mind running in that much snow, and in fact regularly find it quite invigorating, I had zero desire to drive up the Canyon this morning with a cadre of other, less experienced snow drivers. The first snow of the year almost always causes a bit of a Charlie Fox up the Canyon, and I avoid it if I can.

Thus this morning found me heading up to Chautauqua to get in a run up Green Mountain. The parking lot was wet, but with rain, not snow. In a tiny bit of cosmic irony as I pulled into my parking spot, "Knee Deep" by the Zac Brown Band, with Jimmy Buffett, started playing on the radio. So I took off up the Amphitheater Trail with the words "only worry in the world 'is the tide going to reach my chair'" bouncing around in my head.

To my great surprise, the initial stair-climbing up Amphitheater felt rather easy today. Whatever shape I'm in, this section tends to hurt, but today I just felt smooth and easy, bounding up the rocks and stairs past the various groups of people coming down. And that sense of ease continued as I followed Saddle Rock trail up across the snow-line, where the soft susurrus of snow falling on the still-golden leaves provided a soothing background to a difficult climb. I had to pick my way across some of the rock-fields on the higher reaches of Greenman, when I got there, since I don't know the trail as well as some other runners. But much to my surprise I felt great even as I got to the summit. I have always remembered this last stretch being a bit of a haul, but today I was still cruising.

That's the magic of the first snow for me: I always feel invincible on my runs. My legs don't get as tired. My lungs don't gasp. On the way down, after stopping and talking to a ranger for a minute, the people I passed kept looking at me strangely. I wondered why, until I realized that, true to form, the words from "Knee Deep" that I thought were merely going through my head were in fact coming out my mouth. Thinking about it now, I must have made quite the picture, running down the mountain at a decent clip, signing "left a note said I'll be back in a minute, bought a boat and I sailed off in it. Don't think anybody's gonna miss me any way" while my feet came down in several inches of snow. The first snow: every year, it pushes me just to the other side of sanity. And I love it.

A few pics from a summer of running

The first set is from a run I did up in Indian Peaks on June 26 this year. This was to be my last long(ish) run before running the Leadville Marathon the next week. I felt good, despite coming back from a week in Baltimore just the day before. Unfortunately, before I managed to get much of a run in, the snow on the trail got too deep and I ended up turning back. I did, though, get a up high and get some good altitude time in.

Very much out of order, this is a picture of the only lake I'd managed to get to that day. I had meant to go to king, but the snow was too much.

This was the first stretch of snow on the trail. It only got deeper from here. Since I was in shorts, post-holing through the icy crust of this quickly cut up my shins, and I soon decided to turn around.

The water was still really high for June. Down in Boulder around this time, the Creek was in full flood, and closed to tubing.

Again, the water was high. But as ever, high water makes for great pictures.


Skipping a bit, the next are from a run, again in Indian Peaks, up the Arapahoe Pass trail. i didn't get pics of it, but I got caught out a bit by a thunderstorm this day, and ended up having to hightail it back down the trail a ways.

From the Arapahoe Glacier trail.

Looking back down the trail. At about this time the clouds were building a bit behind me, but I wasn't too concerned as it was still pretty early. Oops . . .

My turnaround point. My legs were just not feeling good this day, so I opted not to continue on either to Caribou Pass or further along the Arapahoe Pass trail. Also, shortly after I took this picture, the sky opened up an the lightning started, so I decided to head back down, somewhat recklessly it must be said.

More pics to come.

Pics from the run below

Again, it has been a while since I posted here. Not due to me not running, but more that I have not yet set up internet in my new(ish) apartment. Had I done so before now, I probably would have posted these earlier. However, since I didn't, here are a few.


A look at the trail ahead for the day. Belford is on the left, Missouri looms to the right of the picture. Missouri was intimidating to me that day, despite being a relatively easy mountain, as it is where a friend of mine's girlfriend had died in a mountaineering accident earlier in the year.

At the top of Belford.

I am no longer sure where this picture was taken from. I believe, though, that it is looking south from Oxford.

Summit of Oxford.

On the saddle between Belford and Missouri. It was about here that I decided not to go for the summit of Missouri as well, but leave it for another trip.

More pics from the summer and fall of running to come in the next several posts.

The High Country

It has been quite a long time since I have written here, which is fair, because it took me quite a bit longer than I ever would have expected to recover from Leadville.

It was most likely a combination of physical and mental recovery, combined. I was running again two days after the marathon itself, but for a long time I could not physically run much more than three miles a day. And when my legs started to finally recover, I found myself with much less motivation to run than I had felt in a long time. This, or so I hear, is fairly common after your first significantly long and difficult race.

However, in due time, I got my fire back, and started running longer and more often. This weekend, I headed southwest to Leadville and the Sawatch range to get some serious mountain running in. I had a grand plan to do Belford, Oxford, and Missouri mountains. The fact that the Leadville 100 was this weekend did not influence my plans at all, it's safe to say, since I had completely forgotten that the race was this weekend, if indeed I had ever really known.

I took advantage of the runner's edge on timing, and didn't hit the trailhead until between 8:30 and 9AM. As I often do, I ran without a watch. I can always estimate noon from the position of the sun, and if I can't, because of cloud cover, I know I probably shouldn't be on the mountain any more in any case. Besides, as with most Fourteeners on summer weekends, there were hordes of people out to knock a couple out.

I equipped myself for three mountains' worth of running, and headed up the trail. The guidebook had mentioned a "memorable series of switchbacks" as the trail headed up into Missouri Gulch, and I immediately realized why they can be described as such. The trail itself is nice, soft dirt, but it climbs. Steeply.

I found myself power-hiking much sooner than I thought I would, thinking to myself that if I had three mountains on the schedule for the day, I should probably take it easier rather than push myself at all. Still, before I was beyond the initial pitch, I started picking off hikers.

As the trail emerged into the treeline area, it leveled off to the point where I could start running more without worrying too much about fatiguing my legs too early. And the hikers started coming thick and fast.

When I pass people on 14ers, there are several reactions I get over and over. Most often, people are simply impressed and wish me good luck, or say "Nice work." Others seem somewhat resigned and a little discouraged that I can pass them with seeming ease. The third reaction is the one I don't understand: some people get angry at me. There's a reaction like "Oh, here comes a fast one," in a very sarcastic tone of voice. Or they refuse to move aside.

Fortunately, this day I only encountered the first two types, and it sped me up the mountain yet faster. My legs didn't feel great, but they were plenty strong enough to run the flatter bits and hike the steep pitches quickly, and soon enough I was at the top of Belford, feeling good as I looked down at the traverse over to Oxford.

And so I started to run again, across the ridge of Belford and down the steep pitch to the saddle between Belford and Oxford. I met a guy from Kansas here, who was also running down the steeper pitch. We chatted for a while until he ran out of gas and had to stop, while I ran on. I began to realize at this point that my plan to hit Missouri as well might be more than a little ambitious. My legs began to tire as I ran the trail up the last stretch of Oxford and hit the summit.

Here I finally encountered the third type of hiker: those who seem annoyed at you and consider you a showoff for running on a 14er. To you, I apologize that, because of the endless hours of hard work and training that I put in, I am in better shape than you and therefore can run faster. I assure you, it is not to make you feel out of shape or slow that I run. It is merely so that I can challenge myself and see what I can do. You normally do not even blip on my radar when considering these runs.

That said, I tanked on the way back up the side of Belford. Anybody who has been on these mountains will tell you how much harder the run back up to Belford is than either the original climb up Belford or the climb up Oxford.

I couldn't even think of running here. My legs were protesting every step of the way. When I ran into a couple I had seen on the way up, and they asked whether I was planning on Missouri as well, since I clearly had time, I could only grimace and say "Not today."

I hit the ridge of Belford again, and paused to rest and gnaw on a couple strips of dried mango (a favorite of mine on longer runs and hikes). Looking at my options, I headed north for the the easier, longer descent via Elkhead (I think?) Pass, rather than heading down the steeper route I came up.

As I came down from the pass, I passed in turn the trail up Missouri, and briefly, very briefly, considered running that as well. But again, I realized that it was not in the cards this particular day, and I continued to run down Missouri Gulch to the trailhead.

I think, over all, that this was my favorite day above 14000 feet. I met more nice, engaging people on this run than on any two prior runs or hikes, which meant as well that I stopped running more often. I can only say thanks to the people who were so nice, and (almost) unfailingly encouraging.

You remind me why I love this state.

Race Report

I may have mentioned this here before, but in case I did not, several months ago I decided to train for my first marathon. I had some options on which race I wanted to run, Grandma’s Marathon in my hometown of Duluth, Minnesota being one of the major candidates. However, after some thought, I decided, possibly optimistically, to sign up for the Leadville Trail Marathon.

I knew I was being ambitions picking one of the tougher marathons in the country for my first try, but I figured because a) much of my training is done on trails and b) I was interested to see how I could do in a long race at altitude that I would try for Leadville, which ranges from 10,000 on up to just over 13,000 feet. Training went well, including several 3+ hour runs on the Boulder OSMP trails, and when race day came, despite the rather hectic weeks I’d had leading up to it, I felt as ready as I could have been.

Having stayed in a friend’s condo in Copper the night before, I woke at about 5:15, ate my traditional pre-race breakfast (two packets of Quaker Maple and Brown Sugar instant oatmeal) and headed up to Leadville at 6. After a few detours around town (coffee!!) I finally discovered that the packet pickup had been moved to the more traditional Sixth Street Gym location. I duly picked up my gear, and was heading back to my car to find a suitable parking spot (where I wouldn’t get towed) when I saw Marshall Ulrich heading towards the gym.

I’d met him several weeks before, when he had been a part of the Naked Tour. I asked him if he was running, and sure enough he was planning to run the marathon. Great: now I was running against a running legend. He may be 60, but he’s definitely still a formidable runner. Mostly, though, I was just glad he remembered who I was.

After parking my car I suddenly found myself with more than an hour until the race started and very little to do. I had decided that it was relatively pointless to do any sort of warm up as a) I would not be running all that fast at any point during the day, b) I would have ample time to warm up during the first section of the race and c) I knew I would need every ounce of energy I could muster for the actual race. I would never think of neglecting a warm up for a shorter race, but this was a whole different animal.

Soon enough, though, they called us to the starting line. The guy next to me, apparently from Austrailia, asked how many of these I had done. When I said, calmly “this is my first one,” he seemed a bit disbelieving that anybody would pick this race for their first marathon. After a few minutes of jittery anticipation, the shotgun (yes they had a 12-guage) went off, and we took off up the road. It’s a mark of how focused I was on finishing the race and running at my own comfortable pace that it was about two minutes before I realized I had not started my watch.

At this point, all of my mental effort was pointed towards one idea: take it easy. I had never run a race this distance before, but I knew that I had to start out at a stumbling pace in order to have enough energy over the course of the day to finish the race. At this point, I was already up at the front of the pack within a lead group of 30 or so racers. About 12 minutes into the race, the Heavy Half course split off from the Marathon, and about 10 runners from the lead group took off up the shorter course, leaving 20 or so marathoners to take a right.

Until this point, I had held in my mind the desire to keep a running cadence over the entire course. However, when the guy next to me, a 3 time Leadville Marathon runner, start walking up some of the steeper sections, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and dropped the running cadence. At the time, the pace I set felt very comfortable and easy, but I would later decide that this was the section where I went too fast, too soon.

The first aid station came at about mile 4, and I ran through in 41 minutes. Up to this point, nearly the whole race had been uphill, so I felt good with that time. From there, after another significant uphill, the race course plunges into a loop around Ball Mountain. The short, sharp downhill was followed by a long, relatively gradual uphill, punctuated by the first snow we would see on course. The official course took a jog left and back right to traverse this snowfield, but already runners were cutting off the switchback and heading straight across, as I would on the way back.

The route then hit the only single track we would see the whole day. As a general rule, I feel far more comfortable on the muddy singletrack that we encountered than the rugged dirt roads we had been traversing so far. On those sorts of roads I always picture myself hitting a loose rock at a bad angle and twisting or breaking my ankle, so I slow down. On the single track section, though, I fairly flew along.

I cruised back into the first aid station, which was also the second aid station, as well as the second to last and last aid station, at about 1:10 (?). The course then took a turn down a long, gradual “improved road,” where I concentrated on keeping a fast turnover and minimizing the pounding on my legs. I was now 7+ miles into the race, and running still felt free, easy, and most importantly, slow.

After a few more miles, punctuated by the first water crossing of the day followed by a short uphill, we cruised down into the Res aid station. I start saying “we” here because by this point, the race had settled into the form it would take for much of the day, and I was trading pacing duties with another runner (whose name I never managed to get) with whom I would run for most of the rest of the day. Three was a rather raucous crowd at this station, which was the only one on the course accessible by car.

Until this point, we had been running through the Leadville mining district. Our scenery, save for the Ball Mountain loop, had consisted of mine tailings, old buildings, and pools of water stained by mine runoff. Despite its industrial nature, the area had its own sort of beauty, and it was a fun area to run through.

Now, however, the race turned from the mining district and took on a true alpine feel. At the Res aid station, the race sets its sights upwards and begins the long, steep climb up to Mosquito pass, the high point of the race at 13,184 feet.

When I think about that elevation, I generally think about gasping for air at such an altitude. Up until this point in the race, I had not even noticed that we were at 10,000+ feet the entire time. I did not seem to even be affected by the altitude. Of course, my body was working harder, and I was getting dehydrated and generally depleted more quickly than I realized, and that would come back to haunt me later on. However, at no point in the day did I feel like the altitude was affecting my breathing.

The climb up Mosquito Pass is a monster by just about anybody’s definition (the only possible exception being Matt Carpenter). The pass itself is a rough 4WD road, punctuated by stream crossings and culverts. At points, the grade is as much as 20%. It is long and unrelenting, but the views are spectacular.

I ended up walking much of the climb up to Mosquito Pass. Except for a few spots, it seemed more efficient and a much better idea for the long term than trying, for pride’s sake, to keep up a running cadence. At this point, my plan was still to relax as long as possible, keep my form efficient, and not attempt to really race until I came back to the “improved” dirt road section, which would be uphill on the way back. So I settled in to power hike mode, and ran wherever the trail flattened out for a little while, focusing on keeping the runner in front of me in my sights.

During the climb up the pass, I started passing the slower participants of the Heavy Half race. Each person I passed, most of who made some encouraging comment, gave me a little mental boost that helped keep me moving at a fair pace. One memorable participant, wearing a hot pink and blue outfit, asked “Are you planning on running the (Leadville) 100 this year? Because you look like you know what you’re doing on the uphill.”

Little things like that seem to make all the difference in the world.

Remarkably, after more than 10 miles of racing, this climb felt fairly easy to me. I was not taking a particularly slow pace, but I did not seem to be breathing hard or forcing too much at this point. So when the aid station that would normally be at the top came a mile and a half early due to the snow on the road, I almost went right by it without stopping. Four switchbacks later, I topped out Mosquito pass, was recorded by the race volunteers there, and took off for the pounding descent.

I do not like long descents. I do not like descents with lots of large, loose rocks. I do not particularly like crowded descents. This was all three. There was a lot of pounding, and I felt like I was crawling down the slope. I must have looked better than I felt, though, because everybody climbing up kept saying how fantastic I looked. And I was clearly not going as slowly as I thought, because I caught two runners on the downhill who had taken the turnaround a minute or so ahead of me.

I cruised back into the Res aid station, and heard a brief “Minnesota” from somebody in the crowd. I felt good, shouted out “I’m from DULUTH!” and asked if she would hold my wind jacket. Still feeling pretty good, I ate a piece of watermelon, refilled my water bottle, and took off down the road, having passed one more runner at the station.

I still felt good on the improved road section. In fact, I generally felt better running than walking, and so kept up a running cadence, albeit a slow one, up all but the steepest sections of the road. But I started getting the feeling that my stomach was none to happy with me. Maybe it was the watermelon, maybe it was the gels, maybe it was the change in drinks (why did they have multiple types of electrolyte drinks on the course any way?). Whatever it was, I knew my legs needed fuel, but my stomach didn’t want to take anything in, so I let it slide.

I ran into the “Loop” aid station feeling pretty good, though I had already drained most of my water bottle, and had to refill it again. On the climb out of the station, though, my legs started to quit on me. I had realized that I would be walking a lot of this climb, but even on the flats, I now had difficulty breaking into a run again. On the singletrack portion of the Ball mountain loop, I started being passed by runners who had been behind me until this point. The guy I had been pacing with all day left me behind, then two more runners passed me.

It was definitely the low point of the race.

After the snow crossing, where I slipped, fell, and slid several feet before I could right myself, I slowed to a walk, on a flat, and even downhill portion of the course. Another runner came up from behind, and asked if I needed anything. I still had gels and chews, and so I waved him on, but thought, not for the first time that day, on how nice runners are as a group.

If there was a make or break point to the day, this was it. It was the point where I could decide to give up on my time goal, or even give up on the race entirely. I was in a bad state, with legs that didn’t want to move and a mind that got the first little thought of “what did I get myself in to?”

So I took out a gel, kept walking, and forced myself to get it down. Quitting never really entered my head. Giving up the sub-5 hour goal was a possibility, but I didn’t take it. I hit a smooth, downhill portion, and got my legs moving in something resembling a run again. I still was not feeling great, but the gel helped, and I downed my entire water bottle on the uphill to the aid station.

Mile 22. Save for one or two small sections, it was all downhill from there. I didn’t take the downhill that fast, thinking, as much as I could think at that point, that the last thing I wanted to do was roll or break an ankle in the last 4 miles. At one point, I got confused and was not sure which way to go until two runners coming up from behind pointed me in the right direction.

I kept going. When I hit the point where the two races converged again, I knew that I would achieve both my goals: finishing the race and coming in under five hours. Another racer, one who had run twice before, came up and we cruised back down towards the finish together. He offered to race to the line, but having secured my time goal, I opted not to.

Had I known we were racing for a place in the top 20, I might have felt differently. As it was, I came in 3 seconds behind him, for a 21^st place finish, 3^rd place in my age group, in a time of 4:46:23.1.

Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I had forgotten to look up at the clock as I passed under the finishing arch, and my own watch was off. I only knew that my watch said 12:46PM, and that meant I was in under 5 hours.

Then came the release. Physically, mentally, and emotionally I was spent. This race was easily the hardest thing I had ever done physically and mentally, and emotionally, it had been a tough week, and with the finish line, everything kind of let loose. I wandered around for an hour or so, going to my car, and back to the finish area, and back to my car. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to stay for the awards ceremony or not. I was in a bit of a daze. Then I realized that I didn’t have to decide. I went back to the condo where I’d stayed the night before to take a shower before deciding.

Ultimately, I left before the dinner and awards ceremony. I learned just today that, for getting third in my division, I would be getting some sort of award (what it is I don’t know). So perhaps I should have stayed.

Over all, I would say the race went reasonably well. For a first marathon effort, I could have done a lot worse.

Things I did well: I took enough fluids, did my best to take enough carbs. I paced myself reasonably well. I did not allow myself to quit when the task ahead seemed overwhelming. I chose to walk the uphills rather than hold to my normal conviction that I should run every step.

Things to improve: preparation-wise, I did not eat enough or take in enough nutrition during my training runs. This left my stomach unprepared for mile 19, when I had been taking in fluids and gels all day, but my stomach didn’t want to take in what my legs needed.

I think I caught the marathon bug. There is something about pushing that hard for that long that is appealing to my personality. I am already looking ahead to my next race: perhaps the inaugural Aspen Marathon on August 27^th should I recover enough. I will consider my options, but I have no desire to run a road marathon.

Why I trail run.

Some time ago, Anton Krupicka, fellow Boulder resident and Ultra runner extraordinaire, wrote a piece for running times about why he runs trails (you can read it here). It has quickly become another one of his classic pieces, standing alongside the piece he wrote on why he is a minimalist runner. In this particular piece, as is he is wont to do, he gets more existential and philosophical. In my writing, I prefer using stories and examples to get my idea across, and there is a day last week that exemplifies why I love running trails.

It began as a fairly typical morning run for me. Having run for two and a half hours on Saturday, with the Bolder Boulder on Monday, I had felt somewhat sluggish on my run Tuesday morning. By Wednesday, however, I was feeling back to form enough to give Flagstaff a shot. Running up the trail, just a 10-minute run from my office, I again thought how lucky I was to have such great trails within easy reach.

My legs felt strong on the uphill, bounding easily over rocks and roots and hitting a steady, fast cadence up the steep section. But I had not planned to do the whole trail that day, so about two-thirds of the way up I called it good, turned around, and headed back down the mountain.

How I take the downhill depends far more on how my legs are feeling and how much rest they’ve gotten than my approach to the uphill sections normally does. Some days, when I feel particularly good, I fairly fly down the trail, dancing and skipping over rocks and around trees, with my feet touching down for the briefest moments before rising again. In those times, I feel more like I’m dancing than running. I don’t look for a spot to plant my foot, I let my feet glide lightly over the ground, each footfall being used merely as a reference and means of control.

Other days, such as this one, when my quada are a little sore, I opt for a slower, more relaxed approach. Rather than the dancing steps, the downhill becomes slow and inexorable. And last Wednesday I was particularly glad I took that approach.

Coming around a corner at a sedate pace, I found myself face to face with a deer. He was standing smack in the middle of the trail, looking straight across at me with an expression that said, very clearly, “What the hell are you doing here? This is my trail.”

I slowed, stopped, and we looked at each other for a few breaths. H was a young buck, probably a yearling, two years at the most, and his velvet-covered antlers were going to make him a four-pointer at best. With all the brazen confidence of youth, h stood right in my path, not moving as I walked closer. Finally, when I got to within five feet of him, he gave me one last look, and slowly walked up the side of the hill, joining a group of two more young males.

I continued on for the last mile of the downhill, thinking just how rare that moment had been, and how much I love trail running. When you run, you are necessarily a part of the environment, whether that’s a street, a trail, or a track. There is a connection there, one that you lose with the speed of bikes and the enclosure of a car. You move along through a space, smoothly and efficiently, but there is no denying that you are at the same time a part of that space. That connection, and that feeling of efficient motion, is the essence of my love for trail running.

And as if that run were not surreal enough, a mile and a half later, back on the Boulder Creek Path, I saw two runners coming towards me, on the space to the side of the path where I normally run. And sure enough, there was Scott Jurek, in the trail in front of me, just like that brazen buck.

Only fitting, since his nickname to the Tarahumara translates as “deer.”

A surreal experience, and one that I am not likely to forget any time soon.