I see my trail runs like a toddler turning two soon sees flowers. The trail is pretty. The Wapiti Trail is rocky too. Just like I imagine the Bandera 100K trails to be.
These photos are mostly a shoe-eye’s view of the Wapiti Trail to Ponderosa Loop clockwise and back.
If you have run the trails in the Hill Country State Natural Area, atop the Edwards Plateau, west of San Antonio, comment with photos you have of that course. I’m interested how well it compares to my weekend training course.
These rocks lead you back on the inner loops of Ponderosa and Wild Turkey. This is my second Saturday to run in Heil Valley Ranch. It’s my Saturday workout from now until the ultra. The plan is to groom my trail legs.
This intersection drops a path down to the Lyon’s trailhead or around the Wild Turkey Loop counterclockwise, but I steer right to return, first up and then back down the Wapiti Trail.
The trail up to Wapiti offers various textures. I call this texture – rocks.
Sometimes the trail gives back a little with a more pliable surface. This was nice.
But this section was mostly rocks.
And then, there it is, the trail down Wapiti. The heavy lifting is over. I tumbled down slowly and in control. Still finding my trail legs.
The path was rock after rock through the wildflowers.
Any wildfire trails out at Bandera?
Ending my run among the burnout was surreal.
I went dry in July with no drinking as part of my conditioning. I need to lose a few pounds and I need to be pulling all the old levers to see what helps. I no longer consider what works, just what helps. Still, I’m down 15 pounds so far for the year. It’s a slow pace, but I’ll get there. Besides, slow is the name of the game in ultras.
It occurred to me this week that I’ve never run a 100K ultra. I ran a 50K (31 miles) about ten years ago. That was fun. This should be twice as fun.
I’m considering the Bandera 100K in the Texas Hill Country in January. Where the sotol cactus sing and the runners scream. Seriously, runners have to sign a waiver to not sue the race organizer after bleeding out from sixty-two miles of slashes from the sotol cactus that line the trail. Sotol isn’t actually a cactus, but it’ll take you out if you fall into one.
Thinking that I could run a 100K is pretty wild dreaming at this point, but I’m excited thinking about it. I ran a local trail today that has characteristics of the Texas Hill Country. I might not commit until I see how I do in the Boulder Marathon in October, but for now, it’s good to have goals. Ran ten Friday evening and nine this morning on the rocky Wapiti Trail where I imagined I was running through the Hill Country.
My brother spied a BMW M440i xDrive online Friday night and just had to have it. Problem was, he was in Austin and it was in Spokane. No problem for a single guy though. He hopped on a flight and purchased it from the dealer by 7pm Pacific time. I’m not a gear head so I don’t quite get that. My neighborhood is rated 62 walkable and 69 bikable on Zillow, so Karen and I have been a one-car family for years. Steve and I walked to breakfast this morning.
He stopped by my house in Colorado this am on his drive home. I didn’t think to take a pic so here’s a photo of us together a few years ago at Gueros Taco Bar.
I couldn’t wait for Steve to leave so I could get my run in. With all the rain, the irrigation ditches are running strong. Perfect for dipping my hat into to cool off.
Brit ran a two-hour half marathon Saturday from the Loveland ski area to Georgetown, termed the Slacker Half because it’s mostly downhill, but it’s also quite high in elevation. Meanwhile, her husband Eric paced his buddy Matt through the Western States 100 mile ultra in Tahoe. It’s a running family.
Karen and I took care of baby Margot in a comfortable townhome in Keystone while Brit ran. Great location just past Loveland Pass. When I drove Brit back over the pass for the race start, we saw deer crossing the road at an actual road crossing sign and a herd of big horn sheep near A-Basin. It was a good day for running.
I think Margot and I were both falling asleep in this photo. I can tell you that she lasted maybe ten more minutes with me stroking the back of her head. I’m still tired, but that’s age.
I’ll tell you what this cool weather and rain is good for. Running twelve miles on the LoBo Trail. This sign was my six-mile turn-around.
The rain has been good for the grasses too. Everything is so green. It was a good run.
Ellie texted this photo of her painting to the family chat and said it was going to be a painting summer. None of us are quite sure what she meant by that and we haven’t heard from her since. But, knowing what kind of summer it will be helps me to plan.
It’ll be a runner’s summer for me. I ran 8 miles today on the East Boulder Trail under an infantry of cloudlets marching toward the Front Range. The trail looked muddier than it was. The bridge is back over Boulder Creek, for pedestrian traffic but not for horses. The cement is still curing. I recall the old bridge to have had wooden planks. This is like a sidewalk.
Of course, in Colorado, Mother’s Day weekend is also about planting flowers. Or in the case of what we did today, hang flower baskets. Summer is coming.
I don’t normally do public service announcements, but in case you don’t subscribe to AllTrails.com, this is an East Boulder Trail update.
I ran the three or so miles out to the bridge over Boulder Creek, despite having read the bridge-outage notice at the trailhead. I didn’t really know what the sign meant, if the creek was indeed passable. I needed to check out that bridge.
I would say the creek is passable. I didn’t care to climb down the slope and get my trail shoes wet, so I turned my planned eight-mile run into a six-miler. Boulder Creek is passable if you have to get to the other side, it’s not dry. In the photo above, which trail over my head do you think I ran?
I ran the outside loop, with the perspective of the straight, crushed gravel trail as my anchor.
My day always begins with a fresh Margo photo to the family chat. Well, more often than not, it begins with an exchange of Wordle outcomes, but quickly followed by a ray of pictorial sunshine. A joy I could never have imagined fifteen years ago, pre-iPhone.
And on weekends such as this, I read, I run, and I write. Although we mixed it up this morning by listening to Ian play Bob Dylan at the Winot Coffeehouse. It was good to get outside today. The sun and air conspired for perfect running weather.
I’ve been working out fairly well over the holidays, but mostly indoors on the elliptical. I got outdoors today, the last day of the year. It was a gorgeous day. The deep snow was slow and exhausting, but I got in six miles. I have big running plans for 2023 that include three marathons. I can’t run a marathon just yet, but it’s still 2022.
I’m making the most of 2022’s final day. A friend is coming over tonight to celebrate the new year. And I’m watching the Michigan vs TCU game now. It’s getting interesting in the 3rd quarter. I looked for Rice but they don’t seem to be playing in a bowl game.
Christmas, for me, started early in the month, on some weekend when I watched Girlfriend Cult perform Christmas songs. It was my stage job to watch Margot Fay. This was when it started to feel like Christmas to me.
So, like anyone else on holiday, I began drinking eggnog every day from my moose tumbler.
I didn’t need anything for Christmas and failed in my task to share gift ideas, but I got some great presents. Tracksmith running gloves, a Tracksmith shirt, a desktop lamp, and a novel that I’ll read on my return flight. Oh, and eleven hours of sleep Christmas night, which is a modern day record.
I got in a Christmas run on Boxer day down on Town Lake.
Ellie strolled Margot while Brit and I ran a few miles.
Margot was tired because she’d been up at Aunt Nancy’s house since 3 am.
We walked along South Congress after our run and stumbled upon a Luddite movement among the hipsters.
While we were on the east end of the lake, my buddy Rob and his wife Sue were strolling through Barton Springs. They were on their way from Durango to South Texas.
We took Chad out for his birthday to Dos Salsas, but I’m pretty sure we made him pay for his dinner. Happy birthday, Chad.
The cousins spent quality time together.
And siblings got to catch up on what they’ve been doing the last 60 years.
With weather-induced flight delays, our Christmas time in Austin was too short, but we got to see family and that’s what Christmas is to me.
The thing about day drinking is you hope you don’t run into anyone you know. That Shoes and Brews also has a retail outlet where they sell running gear, lends plausible deniability as to one’s motives for attending the establishment. That she was exiting the bar door as I was entering the bar entrance erodes some of that delusional story. I’m certain Beth and Ken were Christmas shopping for local crafts. Chris and I were there for local crafts as well, which we found in ample supply at the bar.
Running sweats are never out-of-fashion at Shoes and Brews, so I was in a safe place wearing my daily uniform. The barmaid wasn’t impressed by Chris’s stash of free drink coupons. Hope we tipped well enough. I know we brightened up the barstool with our clever banter. At least, that’s how I felt after a local craft brew I can’t recall, followed by a Weldworks Upward Spiral west coast IPA at 6.6% ABV.
Chris and I spread Christmas cheer throughout the bar/runners shoe store for a couple of pints. We’ll meet up again for classic cocktails at the Stockerts in the evening.
The danger in running the East Boulder Trail is the full sun exposure. In the cold air that welcomes winter, the full sun exposure is nature’s gift that supports running in shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt.
The brown-on-brown fields were soft and gentle, when they weren’t pure mud from the melting snow. The neighborhood 5K turkey trot yesterday was fun. I’d been planning to go into Thanksgiving dinner with a calorie deficit. The post-run donuts and mimosas doomed that plan.
The lake is still far from frozen over.
Stopping to take photos of the coming winter helped me to run farther. I was enjoying myself so much, I didn’t notice I was four miles out, until I was four miles out. I thought it best to turn around after my discovery.
The snow typically offered the best traction. I would choose the snow over mud on some hills, specially where the deep ruts formed fairly technical tracks. Snow was always a better path over mud.
Some of the prairie dog fields looked like a dead part of the world. I have two words for those fat prairie dogs – over grazing.
Some trails were pure mud with few choices to navigate around. Other times I was forced to run over the slickest ice to avoid the mud.
Today’s conditions were amazing. Sometimes the snow-drip mud is too much. Today had the perfect mix of elements. I ran super slow but my form felt good. There’s an art to running slow.
Depending on where the texture of the snow sits on the melting spectrum, sometimes it’s like running on a sandy beach. Exhausting. Glad I got out this weekend though, despite the temperatures. November is the month to get acclimated to the cold air.
It was shorts and sweatshirt running weather this weekend. I even started out wearing gloves the first mile on Saturday. The trail was lit by such a beautifully soft sun. I only ran four miles but it was my best run of the year.
I have a death plan. I bet you don’t have one of those. I’m not talking about a living will, although I sort of think death plan would be a more apt name for those documents. I’m referring to my grand exit strategy.
I know that dwelling on such thoughts is morbid. And I can lean melancholy at times, but I’m goal oriented. I had a really good six mile run today and I still feel the vigor from the trail. And yet, I couldn’t help thinking about how I intend to die over the course of those six miles. And I think that’s perfectly normal for a sixty-year-old. A cancer here, a heart surgery there, the passing of one’s parents; whether you measure it in years or miles, it starts to add up.
I’m going to die gloriously on the runner’s field of battle. During a marathon or perhaps a mountain trail run. Ideally, a well-planned race so that there will be paramedics standing by to collect my body. My heart will be beating at max, until it’s not. My eyes will be wide shut, staring at a mountain sunset. I’ll lay down to rest in an alpine meadow and know the race is over.
I’ll admit, I’ve been planning this for a while. I think about it every time I sign those waivers as a part of online race registrations. Every time I run with abandon down a steep mountain trail slope. Stumbling over a rock is one thing running uphill but tripping over a tree root on the downhill can be a death-defying tumble. I somersaulted into a ravine once while running down the amphitheater trail in Boulder, shirtless with my car key in my hand. Fortunately, a bed of poison oak broke my fall.
To be sure, this is a long-term plan. I’d like to enjoy a few more podium finishes before I go and at my current pace of conditioning, I’ll need to still be running and racing in my eighties to win my age bracket. But like I said, I’m a planner. I have three marathons on my calendar for 2023 – Austin in February, the Colorado Marathon in May and the Boulder Marathon next October. Any one of those could finish me off, but I feel like I have many more miles to go before I sleep.
Karen and I spent a couple of days in Buena Vista, researching potential retirement ideas. I’m interested in someplace with trails. We took the interstate instead of Hwy 285 because it offered more options for lunch. We drove into October clouds at Loveland Pass and soon found ourselves in a whiteout of sleet. Winter comes early to the mountains.
*** Colorado Trail ***
I first drove to this trailhead on segment 12 of the Colorado Trail in 2011. It’s a few minutes west of Buena Vista on CR 365. You could scrape by with a low profile vehicle but there is already snow on the last mile so consider 4WD in October. I launched northbound from here to Harvard Lakes.
The first mile was steep but offered up some nice views, both of the Arkansas River Valley to the east and more mountains to the west. Unlike the drive in the previous afternoon, the skies were clear with bright sunshine. The cold air was a bit of a shock though at 25°. The trail was dusted with snow but my Hoka Speed Goats provided good traction.
One Mile
The snow deepened a bit at one mile, but the trail flattened out and I was able to start running. At this point I wondered if I should had brought along trekking poles.
Two Miles
Further into the darkness of the forest, around two miles, the snow deepened to four inches. The trail was still runnable but my ankles began to get cold and my feet became wet. Gaiters would have been brilliant but I wasn’t expecting snow.
I wasn’t thinking of my discomfort though. Rather, I was wishing I wasn’t experiencing this spectacular day and trail by myself. I lean toward introversion. There are times I like to be alone, times I need to be alone, but never when I’m experiencing something so wonderful. I like to share times like these. This trail was just so perfect, I wished Karen or my girls had been with me. I felt guilty being the absolute only hiker running this trail. I felt like I’d stepped into heaven and was stealing from God.
Creek Crossing
There were two creek crossings in the third mile. This log bridge was fun. The snow deepened even further as the third mile rose higher in elevation and the trail became tougher to spot. I lost the trail once but steered back on by watching for cut logs.
Harvard Lake
I was enjoying myself so much that I could have kept going for hours, but turned around at Harvard Lake per plan – right at three miles. And it did actually take me a full hour to reach my turn-around point. The snow governed my pace as much as the elevation gain. Just a section of the Sawatch Range, the Collegiate Peaks earn their name because they contain 5 fourteen thousand foot peaks named after universities – Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Columbia and Oxford. The Colorado Trail, joined with the CDT, loops around both sides. The eastern loop is perfect for running. The western slope is less pedestrian, mostly above tree line.
*** Broken Boyfriend ***
Arkansas River
I ran the trails across the eastern side of the Arkansas River the next morning. These are almost urban trails for BV, similar to the trails that loop around Ouray, but more extensive and much more runnable. There are numerous loops. I crossed the northern bridge to start and climbed up the Northern Trail.
View of Mount Princeton
Everywhere, even on the climbs, the trails undulated with fun dips and graceful switchbacks. The Northern Trail connected with Broken Boyfriend which side-hilled south where I descended back down to the river on the Southern Trail. The Bridge-to-Bridge Trail brought me back to my start. There were other connectors and options to run further, but I had to check out of the hotel and return home. I had a great two days of running in the City of Trails – Buena Vista.
Life starts at sixty. Everyone knows that. Which is why I had heart surgery a week ago, quit my job, and plan to go trail running this week in the Collegiate Peaks. I’m focused on new beginnings.
My heart 2.0 has been operating fairly smoothly since the ablation. I track it throughout the day with the fourth frontier EKG chest strap that displays metrics to an app on my iPhone. I can track it for hours. It was recordings from this app that I was able to share with my primary care to begin diagnosing the problem. Cost about $500 but very cool tech. There’s an online dashboard for EKGs but below are before and after surgery EKG summaries from my app. Until today’s run, I’d yet to record A-Fib post surgery.
A-Fib 85% of the time on this run before ablation
A much nicer looking chart post surgery
After a week of taking it easy, I ran four miles today and recorded some A-fib for the first time – which is normal so it didn’t bother me. My pace was slower than normal though. Time to get back in shape. I’m registered for the Austin Marathon in February.
4 miler
Everything is of course new to Margot. This is her first halloween and we took her to Munson farms where we took Brit and Ellie for their first pumpkin patch experiences.
Munson Farms
Margot was hard to keep up with as she romped through the pumpkin patch
Karen finally caught up to her.
It was a bright, sunny October day.
Margot picked out a pumpkin her size and no doubt dreamt of witches and goblins last night.
Point zero on the Trans Canada Trail (AKA Sentier Transcanadien) starts in Victoria BC. Literally a couple of miles from my condo along the coast. I know because I was there today. Just past St. Ann’s Academy and through the middle of Beacon Hill Park. This initial 4.5 mile section is termed the Dallas Road Waterfront.
I didn’t have to cut through Beacon Hill Park, but with a maze of endless grass trails that pass fragrant flower gardens, why would I choose a route along an urban street? I ran up over the hump of Beacon Hill itself for the view it provided of the Straight of Juan de Fuca.
The Straight of Juan de Fuca
The Dallas Road Waterfront trail is asphalt, not as bad as cement, and it is an urban trail after all. What I found more amazing than the view was the dog park that ran alongside it for a good mile.
Dog Park by the Sea
This park for pampered pups didn’t end until it literally collided with the ocean. And that is point zero of the Trans Canada Trail.
According to tribal history, the Ute people have roamed the lands of the Routt National Forest since the beginning of time. They were the first peoples to inhabit Colorado and eons before they adopted the horse from the Spanish, they formed the first human Colorado mountain trails. This weekend, Eric and Anthony relied upon the Ute spirits to give them strength as they roamed the trails above Steamboat Springs for the Run Rabbit Run 100 mile ultra.
The start to the tenth annual Run Rabbit Run
Anthony brought Ellen along for the trip. They went to school together with Eric at Beloit College. Ellen ran on the women’s track and cross country teams while Anthony and Eric ran on the men’s teams. Anthony and Ellen married in 2019, just like Brit and Eric, as if they’d predicted the pandemic. Ellen is a nurse in Minneapolis, studying to be a nurse practitioner. Anthony is a biologist/ecologist, studying to be a mechanical engineer. They say you never stop learning.
Across the creek at Fish Creek Falls
Brit, Margot, Ellen and I crewed Eric and Anthony at the first aid station we could reach, Fish Creek Falls. It’s a three and a half mile drive outside of town. Eric came in a few minutes under pace feeling strong, not in the top ten, but after ninety minutes of running, within range. He didn’t ask for all the gels he’d planned to consume, which left us wondering if he was running too hard.
Anthony at Fisk Creek Falls
It’s funny Anthony looks to be running by himself above because he was with a large pack of other runners at this point twelve miles into the race. Like Eric, he was essentially on his planned pace. True to his analytical nature, Anthony would run the entire distance to plan. Eric was another story.
Siobhan and Tracy
The women were fun to watch run through aid stations or out on the trail because they shared such strong camaraderie and spirit. A couple of 40-49 year olds are pictured here crossing the bridge over Fish Creek – local trail runner Siobhan Pritchard from Steamboat and Tracey Larsen from Breckenridge.
Addy Rastall won the women tortoises race
Addy Rastall, also of Steamboat, paced neck and neck the entire 100 miles with Heidi Farfel from Carbondale. They would eventually finish first and second – top ten overall. I’ll finish the women theme with the pair below with Fish Creek Falls in the background. Their bib numbers aren’t visible so I couldn’t get their personal details.
The race timing provided online tracking at a dozen checkpoints, counting the finish. This allowed us (the crew) to meet up with our runners at the few aid stations where we were allowed to crew without having to hang out all day waiting, because we could estimate their arrival based on their pace. Eric hit the Dry Lake aid station about two hours under pace and in fourth place. We panicked upon this discovery but beat Eric to the Olympian Hall aid station a good fifteen minutes ahead of him. This was where I planned to join Eric as a pacer for the segment termed the Lane of Pain – a twelve mile segment with an 8% grade for the first three miles.
While waiting for Eric’s arrival, the wind kicked up and the rain fell hard. I looked for Eric under a tent like the boy in Cat in the Hat staring out the window thinking if the sun will not shine, it is too wet to play. I shall sit under this tent on this cold, cold, wet day. But Eric showed up still in fourth place and ready to run up that steep, muddy hill. I was more dead weight than a pacer and couldn’t keep up with Eric. Three miles later, I reached the summit about a minute behind him. He continued on for another three-plus mile loop while I waited for him at the aid station.
We knew I wasn’t fit for the full twelve miles and planned to rejoin Eric for the drop down the six mile descent back to the Olympian Hall aid station. The Lane of Pain route was a figure eight with the aid station at the intersection. The descent was twice as long as the ascent, but consequently much more shallow with generous switchbacks. Eric paused for maybe one minute at the aid station and launched back down the single track as the darkness of night replaced the light of day.
I couldn’t keep up with Eric on the way down the Lane of Pain anymore than I could going up. He left me in oxygen debt almost immediately. Just as well as my headlamp didn’t provide enough lumens for me to run too fast. I ran as fast as I could in the darkness but fell three times. Once by tripping over a tree root. I fell hard on that one. Then by slipping in the mud. Lastly, I rolled my ankle. Fortunately, the mechanics of my ankles allow me to run again right away. A blessing for trails. Eric reached the bottom in third place. With over half the course behind him, he was running fast and we were concerned he might blow up and DNF. A couple of hours later, Ellen and I crewed Eric as he completed the Lane of Pain.
Ellen crews her husband
We drove Matt, another of Eric’s running buddies, up to the Dry Lake aid station on Buffalo Pass to pace Eric for the final thirty-plus miles overnight. His original pace would have had him finish at 8am. With his competitive bid, we were now projecting a finish between 4am and 6am, assuming he finished at all.
Fortunately for the crew, Eric crossed the finish line at 6am – after twenty-two hours and twenty-three minutes in first place for the tortoises division. The only person to complete the course ahead of him was the first place finisher for the hares division which started four hours after the tortoises. Eric would have placed twelfth had he competed with the hares, something he’ll have to consider for his second 100 mile ultra.
In an event where it’s common to drop out, Anthony finished as well at the more gentlemanly hour of 12:30 in the afternoon. Both runners felt strong to the end as they completed their very first 100 mile ultras. They celebrated by purchasing leather belts in town to go with their customary award belt buckles.
I ran four and a half miles yesterday, my first exercise beyond walking in the last two weeks. It felt so good. The soreness in my legs this morning is a welcomed sign that I’m back on track to train for a marathon. Maybe not an October marathon anymore, but one while I am still sixty. I have until next April.
I met with my cardiologist Friday and she assured me my heart is healthy. She scheduled more exams and visits with other specialists to determine what triggers my irregular heartbeat, but other than it forcing me to walk on some runs, my health isn’t in danger. She cleared me to run again. She’s a runner. She gets me.
After a couple of melancholy weeks, I left her office almost manic. I can imagine how the importance I assign to running might appear juvenile to others, but it’s my North Star. It’s been a constant throughout my life. My successes and failures running mirror other aspects of my life. Having this almost inane abstraction to real life helps me cope. I’m a runner. There are worse habits.
My next big running event won’t really involve me running. I’m going to serve as crew chief for my son-in-law as he runs the Run Rabbit Run 100 miler in Steamboat next month. It’s an elite event with some of the world’s best ultra trail runners. The photo above is of Addie Bracy, the female winner of last year’s event. With a $75,000 overall purse, $15,000 will go to each of the men and women’s winners. As crew chief, I’ll have unimpeded access to all of it. Life is good.
Summer is over. This weekend’s weather was meant for running. I sat on the couch this morning with the doors wide open so that my one dog who doesn’t like to go outdoors when the grass is wet from the overnight rain could enjoy the cool air.
I’ll meet with a cardiologist next Friday. She’ll review what I’ve already seen with my untrained eyes. The anomalous electro cardiogram readings. Video showing the valves of my heart push blood via a sonar-generated echo cardiogram. She’ll diagnose the likely cause, tell me my condition is mild and suggest treatment for what my ignorant readings have already led me to believe – I’ve enjoyed too much coffee in my lifetime. I cancelled my online auto-delivery of a coffee and chicory creole blend this morning. I’m struggling to find a decaf version.
“Childhood living Is easy to do The things you wanted I bought them for you“
When I was young, healthy and strong, I imagined myself a race horse. It wasn’t a stretch of my imagination. I ran NCAA track and cross country. I lived in an athletic dorm overflowing with Texan football players. I thought of us all as race horses. Tirelessly trained and running for the entertainment of others. I didn’t feel cheapened by it though, I imagined my body was that of a powerful animal and I liked it.
I sometimes still recall how I used to consider myself a race horse. I try to reimagine myself that way. The daydream is different now. I’m no longer on the track racing alongside other stallions. I picture myself as a wild horse galloping through an alpine meadow. I’m alone now, having left the younger horses to sprint and fight and mate. I’m looking for a place painted with wildflowers where I can lay down to watch the younger horses sprint and fight and mate.
“Wild horses Couldn’t drag me away Wild, wild horses Couldn’t drag me away“
The last twenty-four hours have done their best to kill running as I know it. First, a local running hero for me, who regularly runs extreme, elite events around the world, who writes a top-rated running blog and is invited to those world class events all-expenses-paid because of her influence, who does everything I’ver ever wanted to do as a runner and for that is my hero, fell down while cleaning her dog and broke her arm and ribs and punctured her lung. Apparently she’d exceeded her limits washing her dog. Then, this morning, my doctor told me to stop running.
***Insert expletive here***
I mean, running is what I do. I’m a runner. I’ve been writing a runner’s blog for over ten years. It has several hundred subscribers. That’s what I use to promote my novels. I was training for a marathon in October. I’m still sort of processing. I have to take a daily baby aspirin now.
***Insert a more creative expletive here, the first one was insufficient***
To be fair, I only have to stop running until I complete a more exhaustive cardiology exam and treatment, but that marathon is now out-of-reach. Hopefully I’ll be fit enough to run the half marathon since my sister is flying into town to run the half. I know this is actually good that I learned a thing or two about my health condition and it’s all temporal, but I went in there this morning expecting to be told to lose some weight. I was ready for that. Not this.
Yesterday, I completed week one of yet another ten week plan to prep for the Boulder Marathon. I’ve been down this road before. Seems like just last year I trained for this marathon with only ten weeks of running. There’s more riding on this one though. This time around, I’ll be running a marathon at sixty years of age.
Like last year, I’m not starting completely out-of-shape. Last year I’d been running weekends. This year, I’ve gone a full month without running, but I squeezed in some good hiking in July. Those four days of backpacking with Rob in the Mount Zirkel Widlerness Area set me up directionally for marathon training. I’ve lost three pounds since that hike. So, I feel like I have a leg up on these ten weeks.
I setup a mileage plan. Not overly aggressive, I won’t strive for over seventy miles in a single week. And really, I doubt I’ll run more than fifty. The primary goal though starting out is consistency. I targeted thirty-five miles this first week, and next, but the bigger goal was to run every day. I hit thirty-four miles. Close enough. I ran all seven days and that’s the victory I’m taking out of week one.
One particular run, Tuesday I think, felt pretty good because the weather was a bit cooler. Several of the runs have seriously sucked. Saturday was one of those. It was also my longest run at seven miles, but I walked a bit in every one of those miles. Not sure why. Could have been heat and humidity. Maybe I didn’t recover fully from Friday’s late afternoon run. My heart kept racing to over 170 beats per minute and I just had to stop running.
I developed a pattern of running for two or three telephone poles and then walking one. I relabelled my run an interval workout. If you’re going to establish hard-to-reach goals for yourself, you need a few tricks like that. I don’t have a coach looking over my shoulder so I take some liberties. I’m trying not to get too psyched out about not being able to control my heart rate. It felt horrible though. At around 170 bpm, my legs forced themselves to walk. Then my heartbeat would immediately shoot up to about 180 and I’d feel dizzy and nauseous for 10 or 20 seconds. My heart rate maxed out at 185. That’s kind of scary when you’re sixty.
The weather will be cooler though in October for the marathon. And I expect I’ll be a few pounds lighter. It’ll be hard to maintain my consistency with some upcoming travel plans – Austin later this month and British Columbia in September. I’m mapping out my running routes now though. Nine more weeks to go.
I ended the day babysitting Margot. At ten months, she can stand and take a few steps. And she loves stuffing her cheeks with avocado.
I dusted off my hydration pack this weekend. With 102° yesterday and 90° today, without hydration, running was an existential life choice. With a belly bigger than Dallas, I feel the choice was made for me. I had to get out there and acclimate myself. This summer’s not trending any cooler.
I have only one tank top to my name, a TrackSmith racing singlet gifted to me over Christmas by my brother-in-law. I chose wisely to wear it Saturday for the really hot one. I’ll need more if I hope to survive this summer.
I ran five each day, walking roughly two miles of them. I shamelessly count my walking as part of the run distance. I’m conditioning myself for a sixty-mile backpacking adventure next month at altitude. Should be cooler at twelve thousand feet where these fields of blooming bindweed and prairie dogs will be replaced by alpine buttercups and mountain goats. Ah, summer.
A Runner's Story 