I don’t look up at summits.  I look over them.  I’ve been struggling lately to increase my distance beyond five mile runs.  I do that by not turning around until after three and a half miles.  I’ll do the math for you.  Were I to complete my runs, I’d get in seven miles.  I keep falling short, having to walk in the final mile.  That makes six for any readers having trouble keeping up with the numbers.

I’m okay with that.  Aiming high and falling short is the best path to the top.  Forward progress is my only true goal.  Today I ran all seven.  Could have been the cool temps and light rain.  Still, I wouldn’t have run seven if I only attempted five.  See how that works?  Bring on more rain.  Tomorrow I aim for eight.

I don’t get out for runs like I used to, but I wasn’t going to pass up today.  The snow flakes falling outside the window were so big, they drew me out into the cold for a postcard perfect run.  I donned my tights but didn’t bulk up too much, wearing just a long-sleeved t-shirt and light running jacket, hat and gloves.  This storm is uncharacteristically humid for Colorado, but without wind, 15° is fine running weather.

After discovering last weekend I’m no longer fit enough for eight mile runs, I planned to turn back at this footbridge.  I continued on though for another half mile to Ogallala Road for a six miler.  Apparently I can still run six miles.  I was able to pocket my gloves after a short while.  I love snow runs.  I’ll be back out again tomorrow for another six.

Ran today for the first time in weeks.  Bronchitis has taken its toll in January.  From running a marathon last May to now, it’s been a slow decay.  By mid summer I was only running weekends.  By fall, just Saturdays.  And January, mostly not at all.

Heading out, initially it was my massive midsection that I noticed.  Like Sisyphus, I powered my stomach forward, enslaved to my fattened body parts.  Twenty pounds heavier since running the Colorado Marathon down Poudre Canyon. I didn’t bother timing my pace.

I ran by Allison, strolling her baby on the LoBo Trail.  I stopped to chat since I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her, and because I didn’t think a full stop would noticeably impact my overall pace.  A half mile later, I soft-tapped a low five to her father Steve, running behind her.

Heading back, after making it to my four mile turn-around point, I discovered my atrophied muscles.  I’d been wondering when my legs would lose their tone.  Overall, my legs still look fit but it’s the high thigh, the quads, that shouted out to me on my return.  It’s the same feeling after about twenty miles into a marathon when those quads begin to melt.  When you’re out of shape, this occurs at four miles instead of twenty.  I had to stop and walk a couple of times, not because I was winded from my heaving belly, but from the pain screaming from the tops of my legs.  Regaining my conditioning is going to be a challenge.  I’m starting over, from the bottom again.

With twelve hour work days this week, there was no running.  A shame because the temperatures dropped and we got some snow.  Today’s run made up for it though.  A gray blue sky that lets you know summer has long passed.  The musk of decaying leaves in the air.  Enough chill to call for a long-sleeve T.  Running past dead corn stalks, their color fading to dust.  Perhaps five days away from the trail amplified my gratitude, but I had a good fall run this morning.

You would think running in 5° would be cold.  Certainly, less than comfortable.  I ran in 5° this afternoon and can tell you it was really quite nice.  Full Colorado sun.  Double sun really if you count the reflection off the four inches of fresh powder.  Absolutely zero wind.  The cold is just better in Colorado.  I ran five miles today, layered for sure but no balaclava or anything extreme.  Felt great.  Might get into the double digits tomorrow.