ya' dig?

 People often talk about lives passing before their eyes in the bracing moment of realization just ahead of a car accident or some other well-this-is-it event.  I'm pretty convinced that all of that playing back of life actually occurs after the fact as adrenaline races its way through the bloodstream and reminds you that "hey, that was one of those times" that just such a thing is supposed to have happened.

As I was rolling ass over end on the descent from Green Mountain on the Ranger Trail just above Boulder earlier this week, the only thing that flashed in front of me was a lot of dirt, too many rocks for a comfortable landing and a fleeting glance at some sparse trees and the valley below.  I may have also, for a microsecond, caught sight of one Sean McCoy who is developing a nasty habit of getting himself a good look at me falling over, puking or wandering out into the world without my pants on (a very different story, I assure you).

I'd taken a serious digger in my attempt to chase down our pack leader, Jon Webb, as he flexed his mountain-living muscle and left us other two stragglers behind.

Just a few short hours later, I'd be on a plane home.  Daddy went to Boulder and all I got was this lousy collection of cuts, scrapes and bruises. 

Maybe that wasn't all I got.

As is always the case, I also managed to collect another precious fistful of memories and the cache of good vibes that is time spent with friends up, up above the fray.

On Monday, I'd risen from bed ahead of my 4:30 AM alarm, hoping that the not quite 3 hours of sleep I'd eked out on the heels of my flight's delayed arrival at Denver International Airport the night before would be enough to get me through the day.

My sense is that the active folks of Boulder are up and at it pretty early, but not so early that I saw another soul as I climbed in the rental car and invested the twenty minutes required to drive up Canyon Boulevard to the hamlet of Nederland and gain another 3,000 feet more altitude on what my lowland lungs are accustomed.

There I met Jonathan who had me follow him a few more miles to the Hessie Trailhead just beyond the ski-style shanties of Eldora.  At roughly 9,000 feet, the thin air immediately shamed me for my recent complaining about the heat and humidity back at my home base of just over 400 feet.  It may have been a little light on oxygen, but the air sure tasted good.  There were a few cars parked at the trailhead, a trailhead I was informed was a buzzy-busy one on weekends, but we had the place to ourselves at that hour of the morning.

It had rained overnight and during a couple of preceding days, adding extra moisture to the snow melt from storms that had continued dumping wintry weather into late April and even earliest May.  Jonathan and I played catch up on life and our kids with just a word or two of work.  Mostly, we just soaked up the beauty of a misty morning in the mountains.  A mule deer doe and fawn lifted heads as we passed but otherwise paid no mind.  Crows and magpies went about morning chores, likely wondering what all the huffing and puffing from the bearded guy was all about.

My guide pointed out numerous trailheads and referenced peaks both near and distant, many of which, unfortunately, couldn't be made out in the lingering fog.  The wildflowers were abundant and beautiful in spite of their colors being muted by the low light.  We crossed over the swollen creek a time or two on handy footbridges before having to choose a spot to fjord back across the thundering cascade to reach the return trail.

As I stepped into the frigid water to follow Jonathan to the far side, I discovered that I'd punched a small hole in my left shin while clumsily climbing over a downed pine tree.  It would be just the first of many scrapes, as things turned out, and I paid it little mind.

After a leisurely five or six miles, we said reluctant goodbyes and made our separate ways back to civilization, both certain we'd picked the right way to start our days.

That night after a full day's worth of product line reviews and business discussions, I slept fantastically, nurtured by exhaustion, a comfortable bed and an incredible dinner at The Kitchen (http://thekitchencommunity.com/the-kitchen-boulder/).

Morning found me refreshed and again awake ahead of the alarm.  My friend and chauffeur, Jon, pulled up in front of the hotel at 5:45 AM to find me grinning over a cup of coffee.  Minutes later we pulled into the lot at Chautauqua Park as first light was creeping over the Flatirons, the five iconic sandstone landmarks that perch just west of town.

The Flatirons inhabit the east slope of Green Mountain which we would be ascending via the Gregory Canyon and E.M. Greenman trails before bombing down Ranger and returning to Chautauqua.   There would be no bombing (or falling) down, of course, until we'd navigated the 3.5 miles and 2,400 feet of gain to get to the top of Green.

Before leaving the parking lot, we chatted briefly with mountain stalwarts Peter Bakwin and Buzz Burrell on their way to scramble directly up the first Flatiron (in the photo above, the first is the prominent slab furthest to the right/North with the 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th Flatties trailing off to the left/South).  Just after Buzz and Peter left, we were joined by Sean who had made an early drive up from Denver to take part in the festivities.

Jon made the ascent look easy right from the start while Sean and I, um, didn't.  We did, however, keep on chipping away, running when we were able and power hiking when we weren't.  Compared to the prior morning, the trails were bustling with activity but there was a kindred spirit among runners and day hikers alike that made for great camaraderie.

As our group swapped stories I couldn't help but reflect upon life's fascinating intersections and my unlikely meeting of Jon a few years ago in Escalante, Utah and, separately, Sean in Cortez, Colorado in the Spring of last year.  In revisiting those introductions, I was reminded that it was while running with Sean during the fourth stage of TransRockies last August that we chanced upon Jonathan and all spent several miles together which had, of course, led to my reconnecting with him just the day before.

Any little diversion from the path that I'd followed both personally and professionally would likely have kept me from ever knowing any of these now good friends and to have met them in the first place, much less to have shared the experiences that we have since then, should not to be taken lightly.  As Jon, Sean and I tackled Green Mountain together, I took a moment to be thankful for, to marvel at, to praise the gifts of friendship.

Not that doing so made it any easier for my altitude-challenged lungs to function.  As usual, however, the body came around and the summit was reached with slow but steady progress.  We soaked in our surroundings, the warmth of the morning sun and were soon joined by Peter and Buzz who had made quick work of the First.  Their effort made our approach seem rather pedestrian, but my body assured me that we'd done work too.

We took one last look north and west toward the parade of mountain tops that spreads out for a hundred miles beyond, called out in detail on the peak-finder that inhabits the summit of Green.  I'd been somewhere out there yesterday, though I was too geographically challenged to say exactly where.

Not too much later, I was airborne with Sean as my witness.  The fall and subsequent tuck and roll hurt, make no mistake about that, but I was too enthralled with racing down the mountain with my friends to do anything more than get immediately back on my feet and resume the so-damn-fun pace that Jon was setting...that and knowing that it was in my best interest to just keep going as opposed to really getting a good visual on the damage done and giving my body a chance to stiffen in response.

The visual confirmation, the stiffening, that would come later in the day and, unfortunately, in the days that have followed.  But for a little while longer, that could wait.

I would wear the evidence of that lousy digger with pride, a badge of honor for having spent time in my favorite of ways with some of my favorite people on the planet.

Ya 'dig?

the weather aboveground.

The weatherperson was hinting at snow in a way that made it apparent that there wasn't actually going to be any.  I can't bear the way weather segments, like everything else on TV or in print these days, needs to vie for our attention with maybe-just-maybe drama angling that rarely proves out.

Don't we just want to know what the weather is likely to be, as opposed to being teased with not-going-to-happen hopes for snow or sunshine or whatever else the meteorologist thinks we'd prefer?  And while I'm ranting (and then I'll move on, I promise), when did the person who was the weatherman morph from a homely character I couldn't help but trust even though he was wrong at least 50% of the time into a surgically enhanced spokesmodel who leaves me doubting he or she possesses proper weather foretelling credentials?

There will eventually be a tie-in to running here, I think.

Sundays are running days and, should that offend anyone, go ahead and consider that for me running is resting and so, if nothing else, I'm honoring my Christian upbringing on a technicality.  Growing up in "the church", I've seen enough bending of the rules to not think that logging double-digit trail miles on the 7th day of the week on our modern calendar is enough to banish me to hell. 

Not all on its own.

Sundays with snow?  THAT is a gift from heaven, but not one likely to happen tomorrow.  Admittedly it was only through a television screen, but I looked right into the eyes of Weather Woman and she wasn't fooling me.

The mild winter has enabled me to get in a ton of miles at varying efforts and I'm feeling really good about my current conditioning.  Tomorrow should bring more miles and build on the endurance that is my current point of focus.

BUT, I'd trade it for a day of play in the snow.

Those daydreams led to me digging through the files on my computer looking for run/snow photos and I found a short video clip from a trip west I took last April.  Down (and it's all relative when the "low" elevation on the trip was 7,000 feet) in Escalante, Utah, the temperatures were brisk and the wind was a constant.  No snow, though.  Which is why I hopped in the rental car and drove an hour further southwest to the beautiful Bryce Canyon.

Never been?  Go.

Starting from Rainbow Point (9,115 ft), I encountered the snow I was craving and it accompanied me for several miles as I descended the breathtaking Under the Rim trail. 

I was nursing an Achilles strain at the time and even running downhill I could feel the effects of altitude, so the going wasn't fast.  Throw in a bit of snow and ice and scenery that made me want to stop every five seconds and that pace slowed even further.

At some point I decided to see what my point-and-shoot camera could capture on its video setting and here's what I got:

Just by getting out tomorrow, I'm going to have a blast.  The time outdoors (time NOT indoors) and shared moments with friends is blessing enough.  But, I know my mind will mull over from time to time how much more fun we could be having if there was just a bit of the white stuff to plow through.

So, cut the crap, weather folk, and bring me some winter before it's too late.

week seventeen.

Let's all agree to skip right past week sixteen.  Treat it like the 13th floor in a high rise.  Per my physical therapist's orders, I did not run one single step.

Week seventeen would consist of a trip to the high desert of Escalante, Utah to attend the Mountain Hardwear Basecamp with the accompanied warning to NOT climb and think hard, really hard, about engaging in running of any sort.  If I could return from Utah no worse than I left Pennsylvania, aggressive therapy could begin on the following Monday and we'd see if working order could be restored.

Breathing in the rugged beauty of Utah while surrounded by the stoking energy of kindred spirits, I found myself lacing up my sneaks and giving things a go.  Surprised?  Me neither.

Still on East Coast time, I had no problems rising early on my first morning at Escalante Outfitters and heeding the directions given the night before to head right down the dusty road towards the nearby state park.  Even on a slight downhill, my lungs were feeling every inch of the 5812 feet of elevation.

Sliding past the trailhead gate, I initially veered away from Bailey's Wash, following instead a broad old farm road that skirted around the ridge line.  Almost immediately, I kicked up no less than 30 mule deer.  Most of the herd vanished over the hill but several remained on the horizon watching my slow approach.  I pushed the herd around two or three more bends before deciding to try to get up to higher ground. 

Huffing and puffing and progressing mostly on all fours (or at least three), I made it to the top of the ridge and turned to look back toward town.  The famed Grand Escalante Staircase was now visible in the distance.

Pleasantly surprised by how my Achilles felt, I dropped into the wash and settled into something more like an actual run.  A few stray sets of human footprints led the way past high red rock cliffs, scrub brush, tumbleweeds and small, silent pines.

I didn't set a great pace in the sandy track of the wash, but was pleased to return to camp with over seven pain-free miles.  With fingers crossed that I wouldn't be hobbled by the end of the day, I popped some Aleve, showered, stretched and joined new friends for a day of hiking along Pine Creek.

I awoke the next morning relieved to find no ill effects from the prior day.  Howling winds helped the easy decision to shelve any further running for the moment.  I spent the day exploring the Spooky and Peek-a-Boo slot canyons and managed to avoid doing anything too much like "climbing".

Knowing that I'd need to leave before the sun rose on Friday, I wanted to make the most of Thursday.  Feeling strong and encouraged by the continuing cooperation of my Achilles, I awoke shortly after 4:00 AM and began a 46-mile drive to the indescribable beauty of Bryce Canyon.

I literally did not see another set of headlights the entire way which was absolutely fine by me.  I passed through the unmanned gates and headed to Rainbow Point at the far end of the park road.  At more than 9100 feet, the point was certainly going to test my cardio.

There was plenty of snow still on the ground and route-finding was difficult as I tried to find and follow the Under the Rim Trail down towards the canyon floor.  The pace was slowed even further by my need to stop every few minutes to soak in the view and bask in the rising sun.

Neither words nor photos will do any justice, so I'll simply say that it was a miraculous day to be alive and I spent that hour and a half marveling at my surroundings and reflecting appreciatively on what a real privilege it was to be where I was at that moment doing something I love to do.

Finally returning to the Rainbow Point parking lot, I made a quick call back to camp to report where I was and that I was on my way.  I grabbed a coffee enroute and felt certain that I still had energy in the tank.

Shortly after hopping out of the car, I climbed into Jon Webb's station wagon and joined a small group headed to Lower Calf Creek for more running.  We settled into a shared rhythm and I didn't hesitate to offer a "maybe a little faster" when asked if the pace was satisfactory.  A moment or two later, I was eating those words as the increase left me gasping for air.  We may have been 4,000 feet lower than Rainbow Point but we were still much higher than what I'm used to and I struggled to adjust.  Jon was kind enough to settle back into something closer to our original pace without any prompting.  Arriving at the end of the path, I found him welcoming me to the amazing spectacle of Lower Calf Falls. 

I shrugged off my initial apprehension after dipping my hand in the pool at the base of the falls and decided to take a swim.  The icy water made it a short swim, though, at the urging of my companions, I did go in a second time in what proved to be a failed attempt to swim out beneath the falls.  The payoff was the shared laughter over the frozen state of my testicles.

Zak and Ed had joined me, Jon and Cory and a kindly day hiker snapped our photo in front of the falls. Soon thereafter, we set out again at a comfortable but solid pace, talking and laughing the entire way back to the trailhead.

Even after two separate runs, a good bit of climbing and a day of double-digit mileage, my legs felt great.  I was extremely thankful to not be favoring my Achilles in the slightest and relished having logged trail time at elevation.

Back in Pennsylvania, April is in the rear view.  It was, by far, my lowest mileage month to date in 2011 and came with several disappointments. It's hard to complain, however, when I was able to close the month with running I will remember, vividly and fondly, forever.