My tulips and wildflowers bloomed this week.

They look at the snow as just a cold rain.

Spring in Colorado looks a lot like winter.

You have to get outside in it to feel the wetness in the air that ain’t there in the winter.

With the cool temps, I set out to run the Niwot Loop. I hadn’t made it that far in months.

This sign suggests I made it, six miles in and six to get back. It was a good run.

With seven miles on the LoBo Trail today, I’ve had my first winter’s run of the season. I started out the year with a cold and hit the elliptical during the dark hours of the work week once I could breathe again, so this was a late start to my winter running routine. I could not have asked for a more perfect winter’s day to get outside.

It snowed a couple of times during the last week, so visually, the trail was in season. I wore the wrong shoes, my Hoka Rocket X road shoes, so I had zero traction for much of the trail. That wasn’t ideal but I know now that I need to transition my gear. That’s what the first run of any given season is all about – the learning curve.

Karen and I are talking about snowshoeing tomorrow. Brit has been walking with Margot nearly every day, acclimating her to become a Colorado girl. She’s a little snow princess.

This footbridge is after six miles on an eight miler on the LoBo trail today. My form is still more of a shuffle than a run, but running outside in the Colorado springtime with 50° temps and full sunshine is priceless. I’m as happy as I look. I’m still living the same Saturdays as when I was seventeen running along Town Lake in Austin with my high school buddies. I wonder if any of them remember jumping off the I-35 bridge for a swim. Fortunately that was before cell phones so drivers couldn’t easily call the cops on us.

A better place to cool off around Town Lake was outside the dam on the north end of the Barton Springs pool. The 68° water poured out of the dam like a shower head and we’d take turns standing under it. I wonder if it still pours out like that. So many cool memories of running in Texas. Austin has the best urban running of any city in America, but I had some memorable runs in Round Rock and San Marcos too.

I recall running with my buddy Mike through some rancher’s fields off McNeil road. We kept passing cows and as we did, they’d fall in line behind us. Their numbers kept increasing and we felt like they were picking up speed. Eventually we had to make a decision to sprint for some exit or be trampled under a stampeding herd. I’d read somewhere that cows and horses wouldn’t trample you if you simply stopped and stood there. This was before the Internet, so my reading material was less suspect. It took me a while to convince Mike that this was our best option. It was less a matter of convincing him than knowing we’d already been nearly sprinting for too long and we were out of gas, and there were no quick exits. We stopped and turned to face the stampede. Those cows stopped on a dime, a few feet from our faces, and we slowly walked out of there.

Thinking of runs with Mike, he joined me for a summer semester at Texas State in San Marcos. Even though he hadn’t run competitively for a couple of years, he walked onto the University Cross Country team with me, setting the pace for our Monday half mile intervals, just like he’d done in high school. One morning we went for a fifteen miler on Post Road, toward Kyle and back. Just outside of town, we happened upon a dead body laying in the ditch. Mike actually ran past it for another 50 yards before noticing I had stopped. The poor boy had been walking from a trailer park home to his midnight shift stocking groceries when he was hit by a couple of drunk college boys. The boys turned themselves in shortly after. Having to roll over that boy’s bloodied body and confirm his death was one of the saddest things I’ve ever done.

Ran my first marathon with Mike too, in Dallas. I was sixteen in 1978. We drove around Dallas all night, drinking Schlitz beer we bought from the convenience store I conveniently worked at. Being so youthful, not sure I even noticed being hungover at the starting line. I still remember having to break through the crowd at fifteen miles to vomit behind a tree. Still, that was probably the fastest marathon I’ve ever run. I think we came in a tad bit over three hours.

So many runs, I could go on, but I need a shower after running 8 on the LoBo.

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.

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.

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.

I don’t talk up the irrigation ditch at N. 83rd St. on the Lobo Trail enough.  Back when I ran big distance, fifteen and twenty milers, its strategic location three and half miles from my house was a life saver on hot summer days.  Nowadays, I would argue running seven miles is easier than running six.  Sloshing around my hat in that cool snow melt and putting it back on brings my legs back to life.  More than anything else, that stream brings me back home.

The air is still a bit hazy from the fires down in Durango.  Running a few miles Thursday gave me sniffles and a sore throat.  Risked it today because the weekend is my only chance to get in any real miles.  I think the air is better than Thursday.  My buddy La Plata said it rained good down in Durango yesterday.  Natural hydration.  Helps me on my runs and the best response to those forest fires.

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.