Category Archives: Running

Runner’s Blog

Fence Painting

25 Saturday May 2019

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fence painting

I was excited to get in three days of trail running this weekend, but like Aunt Polly, Karen sent me out to paint the fence Saturday morning.  I wasn’t thrilled about it, but after reading the paper and sufficient cups of coffee, I acquiesced.

I began with a trip to my local paint store, Boulder Valley Paint.  I estimated I needed three gallons.  At $50 per gallon, I didn’t want to buy more than I would need.  But with the paint store closed the next two days for the holiday, it was critical I not under-estimate.  Three gallons turned out to be perfect.  I know my paint.

Tiffany chatted me up while she stirred the paints.  I let on I would rather be doing something else, but that at least painting the fence would get me outside.  I didn’t tell her I’d rather be running.  Instead, I shared my other irritation with her, that I considered it my neighbor’s fence and I shouldn’t have to do this.

Tiffany might be 35 or 40, hard to say.  She has straight, long hair with bangs that give off a schoolgirl look, and colorful ink on both shoulders and upper arms.  She gave me a lecture on how it was important to not go into painting in a sour mood.  That I needed to find the joy in my task.  That I should consider drinking a beer first with some CBD.  A house painter and home decorator herself, she advised me on how to find the zen in painting.

Being Boulder County, my paint store lecture on the zen of painting wasn’t all that surprising.  What was bizarre though was we discovered we both learned to paint from our grandmothers, and in both circumstances, because we painted their rental property.  We’d led mirrored childhoods.  I left determined to have a positive attitude, which I rationalized by telling myself that painting would be a better workout than running.

Turned out to be an awesome four-hour workout.  And it got me outside on what was perhaps the most perfect spring day of the season.  I’ll run Sunday and Monday.  Not the Bolder Boulder though.  If you know me, then you know I’m a vain runner.  I’ll only run the Bolder Boulder again when I’m fast enough to be in a top-seeded wave with a chance for a competitive finish among my age group.  Hopefully next year.

50° in May

19 Sunday May 2019

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I suppose if you wanted to swim at the rez today, 50° would have sucked.  But for running?  Shorts and a long-sleeve cotton T was the perfect gear for this weather.  If you recognize this street sign, you know what trailhead I ran at today.

After finding my pace a few weeks back, I can handle the hills of the East Boulder Trail just fine.  I can’t tell you my exact pace as I’m not going to bother wearing a watch at this point in my training plan, but safe to say it’s slow.  Feels to me about 10 minutes per mile.  I’m fine with that as long as I can complete the distance, and the hills, without walking.

But the cold weather today gave me a little skip in my step.  I felt fast.  Well, faster.  It’s amazing the impact temperature has on distance running.  And I like the look of the clouds sitting on top of the foothills west of Boulder Valley.  On a clear day, this trail affords spectacular views of the Indian Peaks, but this blanket of clouds gave it a cozy feel that we won’t experience much of as summer dries out the valley and hills.  It was a good day to run.

Aspen Heavy Half

05 Sunday May 2019

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Tortugas on 57th Bday

Karen and I are pictured here eating dinner at Tortugas, celebrating Ellie turning 17.  I turned 17 forty years and two days prior to this photo.  I posted an email from a friend a couple of days ago on FaceBook, that captured the spirit of aging gracefully.  We were discussing whether or not it was juvenile to still be athletically competitive.  My friend said, “You start being old when you stop having those thoughts.”  I agree.

Maybe that’s not being graceful.  Maybe that’s refusing to yield.  Maybe that’s pure narcissism.  When I’m running an event, and I’m in decent racing shape, I love getting into a race.  If it’s a marathon, the race might only be for a few miles, somewhere in the middle.  In the Bolder Boulder 10K, my racing starts at mile 4 on the top of Casey Hill at 13th and High Streets, and continues to Folsom.  I don’t generally kick it in through the stadium, because kicks are for kids.  But I will race kids, and women, anything with two legs.  It is juvenile, and it’s fun.

I had another good weekend of running.  I’ve been running hilly trails to maximize the training potential.  I’ve yet to establish a weekday routine, but that’s next on my list.  My weight is trending lower and I’ve rediscovered my running pace and form.  It would be more comfortable to simply sit in my chair and read, like a graceful gentleman, but I’m not done competing.  Not yet.  I’m currently training for the Aspen Heavy Half Marathon, August 10th.

Mutton on the Rotisserie

21 Sunday Apr 2019

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I took advantage of the Easter weekend and got in twenty-one miles, all on the East Boulder Trail.  8, 8, and 5.  I had to go out earlier today to make time in the day for everything else.  I was rewarded with a run with a front row seat to watching the storm come in.  I love that.

The run started out a little warm.  A cool breeze picked up momentum on my return leg. The clouds rolled in and filtered the sun, which was just crossing that boundary, formed by my body, from east to west.

The snow on the Indian Peaks was still bright white.  I knew that later, as the sun crossed the peak’s boundaries, the snow mountainsides would turn to blue.  And as the sun set, with some rays angled straight into my eyes, other rays would bounce off the snow and color the sky in glorious pinks, like the Hills of Calvary on fire.  The rain finally dropped on my windshield as I pulled into my neighborhood.

I’ve enjoyed my three-day weekend.  Besides good runs, I cut, painted and installed a shelf, and hung a hook to Ellie’s wall for her guitar.  I wished I’d spent more time with friends, but it’s a family weekend.  Getting ready now to rotisserie mutton for my tribe.

 

Tara & Teddy

19 Friday Apr 2019

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I found my pace on the East Boulder Trail today.  Spoiler alert, it’s slower than I’d been running.  Seems odd runners have to relearn their pace after falling out of shape, but they do.  Finding my pace allowed me to run further and to avoid walking.

Cairn

My cairn was knocked over so I rebuilt it.  You might not be surprised by this, but I felt inspired by the architecture of the Notre Dame Cathedral.

Bridge

I targeted the bridge today for my turn-around, which would have given me a five-mile run.  But with my new-found pace, I kept going.

Ashes

I ran past the spot along the Boulder Creek where I released Tara and Teddy’s ashes.  Our first dogs, they would typically run with me and cool off here in the creek.  I ran just a little further.

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I made my turn-around at the White Rocks Trailhead, resulting in an eight miler.  Longest run of the year.

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On my return, near the end, I passed a blind lady hiking on the trail, dragging her walking stick along the edge as a guide.  She wasn’t wearing glasses but held her face up skyward with closed eyes, toward the sun.  I felt some derivative of empathy and for a moment imagined I was her, hiking a Colorado Trail without sight, but feeling my way into the sun.  She looked happy.

tara and teddy

Tara and Teddy mirror some of the traits of our current dogs.  Mostly, there were two of them then, and we have two now.  Similar sizes.  Tara and Millie were both at the top of the pecking order while the boys were both overly defensive.  Karen always says that Tara and Teddy came back as Millie and Meeko.  I don’t know, maybe they did.

Heavy Thoughts

13 Saturday Apr 2019

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It looked like winter today.  And it was fairly cool when I stepped out the door.  By the time I reached the trail though, the weather was ideal for running.  I’m not yet in a strong running routine and I did well to get out there, but I overdressed.  I suspect I was compensating for not wanting to get outside.  I wanted to remain warm and cozy.

I won’t sugarcoat it, running overweight sucks.  I have to walk up some of the bigger hills still on East Boulder Trail.  And I don’t like other runners passing me.  At the risk of me too backlash, I especially don’t like girls passing me like I’m standing still.  It’s not good for my self-image.

Honestly, the last couple of weeks, I’ve felt overweight in every aspect of my life.  Work has been hard.  Traveled last week and had to spend 14 hour days with 4000 of my closest friends.  I’m somewhere in the middle on the extrovert/introvert spectrum, but together time like that leaves me totally exhausted.

Then there are my book sales.  Or lack of.  I’ve been advertising and the click-through rates are awesome.  But that just means I’m spending money, because my conversion rate sucks.  I’ve discovered and fixed some mistakes but for the most part, my problem is a lack of reviews.  People don’t buy online without reviews and to date, I have zero reviews.  I should probably stop advertising until I get some.

Sorry to bring you down but I blog what’s on my mind.  Right now, my mind needs to lose some weight.

Cairn

31 Sunday Mar 2019

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There’s a heap of stones piled up on the East Boulder Trail that I haven’t noticed before.  Probably because I haven’t run this far on the trail yet this year. In trumpian fashion, I didn’t intend to run this far today.  Maybe I was into a song, but I ran past my turn-around target, which was a couple hundred meters above this hill.  Seeing this cairn direct my flight toward the newer southeastern path, woke me up.  I stayed the course and ran down the hill.

 

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I knew that, in my current state of fitness, running down that hill might be a mistake.  Odds very much are that I’ll have to return back up that same hill.  By the photo above, not only is it clear that I made it another quarter mile, but the footbridge has finally been repaired after the last big flood.

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I did make it back up that hill.  I’m not saying I didn’t walk a bit of it.  I will say that I took both the downhill and uphill pictures together, on my return.

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I made it back to my car, feeling like I just experienced my best run of the year.  Not only did I best a recent-distance metric, but my confidence level was boosted by the accomplishment.  Accidental or not.

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I pronounce cairn like my wife’s name, Karen, but with an Irish lilt that moves the second vowel ahead of the”r”.  Some pronounce it like the word farm.  It’s Scottish-Celtic for a heap of rocks with a meaning.  A monument, if not a landmark.  Cairns are one of the best forms of aesthetic function you’ll ever come across.

Joder Ranch

16 Saturday Mar 2019

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My first running since October almost never happened.  The first trailhead on the south side of Heil Ranch was closed.  I took the risk of driving out to Lyons to try the north end of the trail.  Closed again, due to muddy conditions.  Springtime in the Rockies.  I wasn’t sure where to go after that but stumbled upon a trailhead a mile and a half south of Left Hand Canyon on Hwy 36 that I never knew existed.  Joder Ranch.

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The trail started out as a jeep road, but soon steered off onto a trail, still wide enough for a group of runners to pace side-by-side.  Eventually, the trail tapered into single track and gained trees.  I surprised myself by climbing to the top of the first ridge.  From here I could see a second ridge where I guessed the trail would also climb.

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I was wrong.  The trail turned south and ran along a ravine.  Shaded by the hill, the trail was icy in spots.  Soft enough though that my two hundred pounds found it malleable.  Soon enough, the trail ended on Old Stage Coach Road, a few hundred yards from the intersection with Left Hand Canyon.  I turned around and made my way back to my CRV.  It was a good run.

Indian Summer Run

20 Saturday Oct 2018

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Last weekend’s run in falling snow was nice.  The contrasting weather made today’s Indian summer run all that more special.  With these dream-like conditions, it’s almost as if God wants me to get outside for a run.

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Over the past five weeks or so, I’ve lost ten pounds.  At 189, I’m running with confidence again.  Certainly not fast, but with strength over the white rock hills of the East Boulder Trail.  Those three days of running in southern Utah were the catalyst I hoped they would be.  Running is joyful again.

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This is hands-down my favorite running season.  The air was crisp, the sun warm, and the Indian Peaks capped with fresh white snow.  The absence of those ten pounds were noticeable.  My legs felt strong running up the hills.

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Afterward, we picked out pumpkins at Munson Farms.  Karen’s parents are in town.  Brit joined us with her fiancé, Eric.  And Ellie Rose brought her boyfriend, Will.  Along with pumpkins, I purchased some Munson yellow onions to stew a french onion soup for dinner  tomorrow.  The days might be warm still, but the evenings cool off, suggesting a fall menu.

 

Snow Bridge

14 Sunday Oct 2018

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Ellie at Tortugas

The girls layer when the cold sets in and I honestly can’t tell if this is Ellierose or Brit.  Must be Ellierose.  Brit doesn’t live with us anymore.  I live for this weather.  It’s why I live in Colorado.  Gently falling snow and 20° is meant for running.

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I woke up this morning to a foot of snow, excited to get out there.  As a gentleman runner, I might stay inside when the wind blows hard, but I dream of snow runs.  Below freezing temps don’t scare me.  It is a trick though to not overdress on the first cold day.  I did okay in light tights, two shirts and a wind jacket.  I was able to pocket my gloves before two miles.  This was ideal running weather.

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I got in six miles on the LoBo Trail, making it a little past this snowy bridge before turning back around.  I streamed James Bay on Pandora, gentle music for post card conditions.  Real winter is no doubt coming.  Running on days like this is how you acclimate.  Don’t miss out.

Little Burning Man

07 Sunday Oct 2018

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GC Sunrise

I drove to Kanab, Utah to experience some of this country’s most spectacular trail runs.  And to maybe reignite my passion for running.  Sunrises like this one over the Grande Canyon were enough to make me become a morning runner.

Bryce Canyon

Bryce Canyon Course

The first morning was less certain.  Crawling out of my tent at 4:30am into cold, monsoon rain was not an easy thing to do.  But I came here seeking my tribe, to see if I might once again belong with the men and women who are actually in shape to run these trails.  I gathered my gear and confidence and headed to the start of my first race in nearly a year.

Bryce Finish

Bryce Canyon began as a sodden run in mud, with rain clouds obscuring the sunrise until half way into the course.  Fortunately the ground was more firm in the second half, spared from most of the rain, because the trail here was more exposed on side hills of dirt and trying to run it would have been dangerous.

Runners from past events said it was also good they reversed the course, as the vertical was easier to handle in this direction.  As incredibly scenic as this course was, winding its way through hundreds of hoodoos, the final mile ran through a dry wash and required crawling under this mud-packed bridge ten meters before the finish line.  The finish was almost ironic in how ugly it was relative to the panoramic run.

Zion

Zion Course

Day two was Zion and the weather was gorgeous.  I don’t think any of the runs warmed up over 60° and this particular course was fast for those primed for racing.  We ran a thirteen mile loop on the Gooseberry Mesa that wound its way through waves of slick rock.  Not ideal in that running on rock isn’t too much different than running on cement, but it was such a visually unique surface, like running on the moon.  Imagine running a half marathon through a skateboard park.

While the elevation of this trail was fairly flat, the ups and downs over the rocks were exhausting.  I’ve developed a sore knee over the last couple of weeks training and its weakness stole some of my confidence in my footfalls, otherwise I believe I might have run faster on this day.  It was my fastest pace of the three runs.

Grande Canyon

Grande Canyon Course

Day three was thirteen miles on top of the Grande Canyon, just south of Lake Mead alongside the prominent Horseshoe Bend.  This run followed a sandy jeep road the first quarter mile directly to the ledge over the Colorado River.  The course then turned to run alongside the river for roughly three miles on rock very similar to the previous day’s slick rock, grippy but red and more crumbly.

There was never really a trail, we followed pink ribbons tied to shrubs that led us through the desert landscape.  As the crowd thinned out, it took all my focus to spot the next ribbon.  No day dreaming on this run.  Even when I had runners to follow, I couldn’t trust them.  Runners had a tendency to drift well right of the ribbons.  Too far right and they’d be on top of the cliffs again.

The middle six miles were through deep sand that sucked the life out of my legs, along with most of my momentum.  I rolled my ankle on the return as the course returned  to the rocks.  I took that as a hint that my legs were too fatigued to safely run the rocks so I walked much of the final three miles.  I also had a rock break on me when I was making a two foot jump.  Other runners around me applauded my graceful landing, asking me if I was an avid skier.  When I replied that I snowboarded rather than skied, I got a few boos.  Runners are fickle.

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Not sure I can explain this but I had the sense this outing was like a little Burning Man experience.  Maybe it was all the mud and rain that gave it a Woodstock feel.  Or the many Native American talks and dances I sat through.  Or simply the desert of southern Utah.

I was alone for this three day event, sleeping in a one-man tent that began to feel like a coffin near the end.  I finished a Dan Brown thriller and mostly kept to myself.  Including the drive, I had time for reflection.  It’s funny how thoughts come to you differently when your mind is free from the everyday routine.  Even though I brought my laptop, I never booted it up.  I turned off all notifications on my iPhone.  I believe I may have successfully weaned myself off daily news.

I gained an understanding of where I am now as a runner.  I’m no longer competitive and that’s okay.  I enjoy running at any speed.  My doctor told me I have to lose fifteen pounds by January, five pounds per month, for my health.  That will be perfect.  I can run comfortably at 185 pounds.  I don’t feel like returning to the race scene any more than I care to return to 165 pounds.  I just want to be able to run the trails.

 

Gentleman Trail Runner

29 Saturday Sep 2018

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canyon walls

Don’t bother calling my mobile next week.  Doubt I’ll have much of a signal running through the canyons of Southern Utah.  I’ve been reading my race guide and getting excited as I look at the photos.

trailfest trail

Initially, I was worried these trails were over my head, but I gained confidence two weekends ago hiking twenty-six miles in ten hours on the CDT.  I’ll have no trouble meeting the cut off times for the trailfest half marathons.  I’m looking forward to this now as an awesome three-day workout.

hoodoo view

At 12 and 13 miles, the courses will be triple the distance of what I generally run.  But with views like these two photos above and below in Bryce, looking out at hoodoos, I imagine wanting the miles to continue.

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I almost don’t feel worthy of such spectacular trails, not being in better shape. So what.  This will be killer training ground.  Running 37 miles across the best trails the western high-altitude desert has to offer is the best antidote I can think of for my current running malaise.  And spending all this time to myself might be good to recharge my introverted mental capacitors.

tent city

Runners who rent tents will reside in the apparent orderliness of a monochromatic color scheme.  I’ll pitch my one-man tent in the more discordant array in the center of the photo, expecting to meet like-minded people.

Chute

I’ve studied the course elevation profiles and I’m not overly concerned.  Bryce Canyon will be the toughest with nearly 5000 feet of elevation variance, but Zion and the Grande Canyon are almost flat by comparison with less than 2000 feet of variance each.  Not to say each course won’t have challenging sections.  I am happy to see ladders, as I consider myself, certainly while in my current state of fitness, to be a gentleman trail runner.

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I’ve run some great trails in my day, but next week will be like dreams come true.  I’ll be living life, as runners were meant to live it.  When I come back, I’ll be a runner again.

trail top

 

Slow takes Practice

22 Saturday Sep 2018

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Running slow is not easy.  It takes work.  You have to practice running slow.  I’m just now finding this out to be true, and I’m immediately sharing this information with you because I figure you might want to know.

I’ve said this before, muscles have memory, and mine remember running fast.  So it makes perfect sense that I would have to train myself to run slow.  I’ve been struggling all these months not because I’m slow, but because my legs have been trying to run faster than is sensible.  I’m running too fast because that’s all I know.

Today, I practiced running slow.  Running is so much easier when you move your legs within their limits.  Not everyone can do this.  I recommend wearing a pair of Beats ear buds to override your memories of running fast with slow-playing content.  Think Diana Krall.  Just slow it down.

Less than two weeks before Trailfest.  Running thirty-seven miles over three days in national parks Trump doesn’t know about yet.  It’s time for me to start training.  Slowly.

Sky on Fire

16 Sunday Sep 2018

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Never Summer

La Plata and I rejoined for a second hike this summer along the Continental Divide Trail.  We met at the Bowen Gulch trailhead off Hwy 34, inside the Rocky Mountain National Park.  We left my car there for our finish and drove through Granby for Hwy 125, which took us up to Willow Creek Pass.

The yellow and burnt orange aspen were much thicker here than in RMNP.  La Plata said the colors were incredible between Durango and this valley.  Their color was echoed by the sun setting under plumes of smoke from the Kremmling fire as we drove up the pass.  The smoke filtered blues on top of hot pinks, mirroring the inferno below, telling the story of our summer with the sky on fire.

Willow Creek Pass

We set off at 6:30am and tracked forty-five minutes of fast-paced progress before I discovered I’d left the keys to my car back in La-Plata’s car at Willow Creek Pass.  This added ninety minutes to our twenty-two mile trek, and a good four more miles.  Today would be a marathon.

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I discovered a new 200 calorie snack bar that I highly recommend – Bulletproof.  I ate their lemon cookie for breakfast.  Yum.  I doubt there is anything else on the health food market anywhere close to this tasty.  The Kremmling fire smoke is in the picture below – those aren’t clouds.

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Hiking with La Plata is like trail running with anyone else.  Fortunately, the section of the Continental Divide Trail between the Willow Creek trailhead and Bowen Gulch near Grand Lake is mostly below tree line.  My breathing seemed good despite the altitude and La Plata’s torrid pace.  He schooled me with this unyielding pace for the earlier blunder with the keys, not slowing down until we crossed Bowen Pass, our high point a little above treeline.

Bowen Pass

Can’t thank him enough.  Always the coach, and actually a personal fitness instructor, this training will serve me well for the three days of trail half marathons in Utah and Arizona next month.  I did have to run at times to catch up with La Plata in the early going.  I took advantage of downhill sections of trail.  We maintained a strong two mile per hour pace.  That’s good for high altitude mountain trails.  Standard walking pace is about three miles per hour.  I don’t expect the Trailfest to be nearly this challenging, except that it’s three days in a row for a total of thirty seven miles.  Recovery will be paramount.

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I missed the photo-taking for Ellie’s homecoming dance.  The kids looked good.  The first photo is with Ellie and her boyfriend Will at Chautauqua.  The second is the group shot.

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Pussyfoot

08 Saturday Sep 2018

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I recently rediscovered the gravity-defying benefits of treadmills.  Turns out, I can run pretty fast on those things.  I’d forgotten that when I returned to fitness years ago, I first started out by walking, and then evolved to running on treadmills before finally pounding the pavement again.  It’s a progression that works.  So most of my runs the last couple of weeks have been on the treadmill at the office.  Seriously, it feels like I’m actually running again on those things.

I still run the trails on the weekends but it’s time to start picking up my game.  I tried to defer my October Trailfest event again but they wouldn’t let me.  Turns out you can’t keep putting things off.  This event has rules.  I paid a hefty registration fee last year and I can’t just let it go.  I’m running it.  Or walking it.  Whatever gets me from start to finish.

Knowing I’m committed now is exciting.  Lose ten pounds or die is the way I feel right now.  Each of the 3-day half marathons have cut-off times to reach their respective aid stations.  It would be helpful if they shared the actual times, it’s a little scary not knowing.

I decided to move on from my weekend routine of the pedestrian East Boulder Trail to a real mountain trail.  I ran Heil Valley Ranch today.  Last time I tried it I don’t think I made it to the top of the Wapiti trail.  I did today, and ran the shorter loop up top – seven and a half miles in all.  That’s my longest run in half a year.

This is a real trail.  Rocky.  Technical.  The two and a half mile climb was hard enough on my lungs, but managing my footfalls was also surprisingly difficult.  I expect to be able to regain my trail skills if I get out there every weekend, but conditioning is part of the process.  Running slow helps but you have to be strong enough to pick up your feet.  I’ll continue to run on the treadmill at the office during the week, but I’m done pussyfooting around on the weekends.  I’m back on the mountain trails.