The Taciturn Scribe

1 Dead. 1 Acquitted. 1 Euphoric.

2011-01-20T06:51:00.020-07:00

It's been 18 months since I've "published" anything here on my blog. Work gets hectic, life gets strange, family issues weigh you down. Everyone knows these feelings. But last Thursday morning, something clicked. And I need to reinstate a creative outlet to my life. I need to write. And so, I write.

1 Dead. 1 Acquitted. 1 Euphoric.

A couple weeks ago, I found out an old acquaintance of mine from high school commited suicide. 1 handgun and 1 lost soul later, there's a dead young man. And alot of questions. And a much more sordid history to his family. Greg Marchese and I played drums together back in high school, but probably hadn't seen each other in 20 years, basically since graduation. I saw Greg's Dad, Carl, a little over 5 years ago at the funeral of one of my close friend's Dad. I asked Mr. Marchese how Greg was doing. He humbly stated they had a falling out years before and had not spoken to nor seen each other in that time. Wow, I was speechless.

During high school, I remember Greg was a good guy. Involved in theater and music, he was a "fringe" guy in the stereotypical world of the Long Island mainstream (eg - high school sports and academia). But a good guy. While we were in high school together 20+ years ago, his older brother Chris also took his own life (or so it was speculated). Within a year or so of Chris' death, they lost their Mother to cancer. All this is horrific in its own right, but Greg's Dad is still alive, back in Mineola. He has to deal with all of this. Might I add to this that Mr. Marchese remarried many years ago, so he did have someone close to spend his time with and share life's ups and downs. Tragically, his second wife passed a year or so ago from illness. And now his youngest son has taken his own life. The timing is eerie - his first wife and oldest son pass within a year or so of each other. More than a score later, his second wife and youngest son pass within a year or so of each other.

Life is short, but not worthless. We all have our troubles and tribulations. And we all have someone out there to listen to us and lean on. And those are the ones that are left alive after you senselessly take your own life. Mr. Marchese - you are very much on my mind and in my thoughts. May you find peace and calm in this tumultuous, horrific time.

1 Dead. 1 Acquitted. 1 Euphoric.

So, last Thursday was my first day back at work since Monday (MLK Day). Why? Jury Duty!!! I had been called thrice before - once in NY and twice out here in CO and always managed a postponement. Not this time. The dreaded Courts summons served via the almost-outdated USPS with no fanfare, just wrapped in with all the junkmail and unsolicited solicitations in the soon-to-be-antiquated physical mailbox. YOU have been selected!! Woo-HOO!! How comes it's never the winning Publisher's Clearinghouse entry? Anyway, I showed up at the Courthouse in Boulder as instructed last Tuesday morning. I'd guess there were about 75 of us. I brought one of my favorite re-reads of all time, A Walk In the Woods from Bill Bryson. I figured I'd get through about 3 or 4 chapters, questioned, dismissed as another long-haired idealist from hippieville, and that's it. The Clerk brought us up to speed on the day's fun: 3 new trials (one criminal, two civil) needing a total of 25 jurors. "Cool, odds are with me today." Or so I thought.

First up, the criminal case - Christian, the law clerk for Judge Gwyneth Whalen called 35 names. And up I stood along with 34 other lucky Boulder County residents. After some instructions, a background on the case, a little legal song-and-dance, and a strange, almost old-fashioned "passing-of-the-list-of-names-on-not-so-old-parchment" by each of the lawyers, they had their list of 13. By now, I'd say there were 25 or so of us left. I still have a 50-50 shot to be outta here by lunchtime I thought. The Judge read off the names..... Mr. Butler..... huh, WHAT?!? But this is a gun case! I have cousins who are lawmen and police officers, judges and lawyers! I told them that. I have long hair and a pseudo-goatee and an earring! I didn't have to tell them that. Isn't the defense counsel afraid of what someone like me means for him and his soon-to-be-convicted client?!?!?! Well, apparently I was deemed impartial. And so it went. We sat for just shy of 2 days listenting to the courts, the defense, the prosecutor, 4 witnesses, looked at a gun and a rough sketch of apartment life, listened to the 911 call. Mom has 16-year old son, mom remarries, stepdad is a gun "enthusiast." Less than 6 months after the vows and the empty promise of "till death do us part," stepdad is accused of pointing his .45 at his new stepson. Cops are called, lives are forever changed on both sides. Thankfully, no shot was fired, no one was physically injured or killed. All lives were left on this Earth in this instance, but lives were changed and a different outlook will be had by those involved.

Ultimately, the burden of proof proved to be too burdensome, in this humble juror's opinion. As it did also in my 11 other temporary peers. But it was not lost on me that as I sat there with 11 other strangers-from-yesterday, we discussed a man's fate. Seriously?!? We could send this guy down the river or we could disappoint societal norms and send him on his not-so-merry way. And we talked. And we argued. And we discussed again. After a little under 2 hours we unanimously agreed - this guy ain't gonna win stepfather-of-the-year award, nor model citizen, nor was he exactly a role model to the new teenager in his life. But by our legal standards and the instructions of the honorable Judge Whalen, we found him not guilty. Acquitted.

1 Dead. 1 Acquitted. 1 Euphoric.

And so it was less than 12 hours after I was 1/12 of the entity that acquitted a man who allegedly pointed his pistol at his stepson b/c he loved to tote guns around with him (including from his bedroom to his living room, just in case), and so it was a week after I found out about Greg's premature and violent death at his own hand, that I was lying awake at 2:30 in the morning, snow had just stopped falling peacefully outside, and the fucking snow removal company scraping and plowing our deck and sidewalks waking me out of a sound fucking sleep. Morons. You need an ATV with a plow to clear our 3-foot wide sidewalk. Really?!? Lazy asses. At least wait until 5 am or so, just so I'm not losing half my night's sleep. As I started wasting time playing on-line Texas Hold 'Em at no-man's-hour, I thought to myself, WTF am I doing here?!? Death, guns, war here and there, and a fake online card game. Fuck this. Stop the self-pity you monkey! There's a full moon out there being wasted.

Checked the temperature - 14 degrees.

Hmmmm...... donned my running pants (a rarity for those that have run with me, usually with me wearing shorts, regardless of temps), two base layers and an outershirt, and my fave green Windstopper jacket scored at TransRockies 2010. Grabbed by Brooks Cascadia 5s, checked the clock - 4:55am, and stepped out into the frigid late night/early morning air. I figured to go out for 30-40 minute to wake myself up - a brief jaunt around Wonderland Lake, perhaps out towards Mt. Sanitas. And I started running.

Then something happened.

All of the shit that goes through one's mind and builds and builds and builds over time, came out. Maybe it was the crisp temps, maybe the jury thing, maybe Greg's suicide, maybe the early hour, maybe the full moon. I thought of many of the people I've known and lost - lost to cancer, lost to their jobs, lost to drugs, lost to inner conflict and battle, lost to life. And it came out. And I howled at the moon. And I kept running, all over the snow-covered trails and landscape. It was practically as bright as day outside and my inner being was lit up from here to somewhere far, far away. It was magnificent. No, it was FUCKING magnificent. And as I was heading back in 45 minutes or so later, I bumped into Jamie and Terry out for their early Thursday morning romp. So, I turned around and ran with them for a few more minutes. But them bastards were too fast for me this fine morning, so I turned around to head back in. And as I approached the Old Kiln Trail, there were no tracks on the way up it. None. Not a human, not an animal, not any spirit known to this world. So, I did what any self-respecting runner would do. I made them first tracks for my own benefit. And I kept running. Up and Up and Up. In and out of the moon falling behind the foothills. Bright, dark, bright, dark. And I kept running. And I got to the top overlooking Lee Hill Rd. And I howled at the moon again, and again, and again. All that emotion and realization coming out in many magnificent bursts on this finest of mornings.

It was getting bright in the eastern sky. Back to the real world I thought. So, I headed back down, crossed Lee Hill Rd.......... but I didn't make the turn back to our place. I headed back into the foothills for more and howled some more.

Eventually, of course, I did go back home. A little shy of 6:30 at that point. But time is irrelevant. Mileage definitely irrelevant. Heart rate? Absolutely irrelevant. Sense of place and spirit and experience? And complete euphoria? Relevant.

1 Dead. 1 Acquitted. 1 Euphoric.

Yup, that's why I do this thing called trail-running - to get a grasp on life. Attempt to keep it within my realm of reality. For that once-in-awhile glance SO deep into your inner self and soul that euphoria overtakes you. And your outlook on life is changed forever. But it is still life.

VERY happy trails to you all - thanks for reading.

San Juan Solstice weekend is upon thee

2009-06-17T10:22:00.013-06:00

The wife and I leave tomorrow morning for Lake City, CO. Yup, the time has come the walrus said. Thankfully, it is to run, to challenge thyself physically more so than I ever have before. It is the weekend of the San Juan Solstice. (almost anyway). Here is a snapshot of what I am up against:

My fears and anxiety have gracefully and thankfully given way to hope, excitement, and understanding. A clear picture of what I should do, but not necessarily what I will do. Always the dilemma to what is and what should be. The weather looks normal and reasonable for this time of year. The support and inquiries I've been receiving have been great and MOST welcome. All that's left is to execute.

And that's all I ask of myself. Try hard, run easy, execute properly. I will have an Experience Report up next week sometime (I shan't dare say a Race Report for this one). I expect to be quite humbled, somewhat dizzy, always amazed, and absolutely accomplished. I look forward to what greets me, no matter the ease or difficulty of the situation.

BTW, looks like they'll have live results available starting Saturday afternoon, HERE.

I'm off to the races.........

A New Beginning, to Prevail

2009-05-14T20:46:00.012-06:00

So, I've been a work in progress the last several months, not to mention this little blog thing I got going here. Hence, no time, no energy for this kind of thing. But there should be, right?!? There has to be. Work and life can be all-consuming, so what happens when an example for a creative outlet (this) also tends to become all work and life? I dunno. Perhaps it's a question that shouldn't even be posed.

Regardless, I have decided to ditch all the "works-in-progress" - save a few for potential future consumption and revision - and simply not stress about them. But more race reports, adventures, and soapbox-y type are to follow.

Over the last many months since I have seriously written anything, many things have happened. Only some are worth mentioning. And without belittling life's lessons and many curve balls, I shall attempt to bring you up to speed on me, and hopefully this boring, but truthful, outpouring may inspire my brain to spew some stuff over the next few months and years. Unfortunately, it will only cover one topic, OK 2 - death and cancer.

Cancer, cancer, cancer. The word alone never agreed with me, but now it's personal. As many of you know, I lost my father to cancer just over 5 years ago, in May 2004. He was on the wrong side of 70 years young. I wrote about him earlier on, many times, and you can find one here. But love prevailed. We lost our dear, sweet feline Stink, last October 2008. She was on the wrong side of 10 years young. We found out she had lymphoma last August and she did not even make it three months. Watching a poor defenseless, sweet creature like a house cat suffer for even three months is brutal. It made me wonder, over and over again, how my mother took such incredible care of my Dad. And love prevailed. My dear friend Stuart Kent, who I used to work with at may last job at Earth Tech, passed in late January after a 5+ year battle with renal cancer. He was on the wrong side of 50 years young. He was the kindest, gentlest soul imaginable. He was also a Baltimore Orioles fan, which I will never hold against him :) In fact that was a basis for our friendship, baseball. He will be missed by all that knew and loved him. So, love prevailed.

Cancer has now taken my Dad, one of my first 2 cats, a dear friend, my paternal grandpa, aunts, uncles, other friends and neighbors, and countless others who I never knew, nor ever will. But should we get mad or angry? It seems as if we can be more constructive working with passion as opposed to anger or frustration. Donate, volunteer, work with others, take care of yourself, and let love prevail.

And lastly, thankfully not a death, or a cancer, but a life and a tribute to a good, long, healthy life: 109 years ago today, my maternal grandfather was born. Joe Sheehan was born on May 14, 1900 and what a dude he was. When he passed away in March 1996, many, many lives - young and old - were affected. Family, friends, neighbors, etc. But it comes down to good people and good healthy, fulfilling lives. Can we all strive for more? Perhaps. But have that good effect on your human cohorts at the very least.

While I mainly speak of cancer here, do what you can to combat anything that can have a negative or detrimental, a stressful or dire impact, on your life. Do it now, take a stand, be one of the good ones, let a new beginning, and life, to prevail.

Optimism

2009-01-18T12:17:00.003-07:00

Perhaps a new year brings a renewed interest? I dunno. I'm still here, just been a bit too busy and genuine lack of creativity. I know, blogs don't have to be creative. But at the same time, I'd rather not throw simple statements and general trash up all over the internet.

For now, just enjoying the weather and looking forward to getting into serious training for my first 50-mile trail race. Details here:
http://www.lakecity50.com/

In the meantime, I have about a half-dozen threads/stories to finish up (or trash) from last year.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Cheers everyone,
Dave

the (over) 2-month hiatus

2008-08-30T10:07:00.002-06:00

So........ all's OK. Not great, not terrible. But all-in-all, it's all too busy and too much. Lots of work and related travel, a bit of fun travel, running and biking, etc. Due to a whole crapload of obligations, I simply have made no time over the last couple months for this creative outlet. I hope before the end of September I will be back in action.

In the meantime, apologies for the hiatus. Hope all's well with everyone.

Dave

On the eve of our MS-150 (or 173) Ride

2008-06-27T20:31:00.004-06:00

Hey all--so the wife and I are getting ready for our big weekend with the Left Hand Brewing Team riding in the MS-150 (or the MS-173 with the Century Option on Sunday. Please keep all the folks out there suffering from MS in your thoughts this weekend and in the future. I'll have some semblance of an account up about the ride by next week. Cheers!

Joe Colton 10-miler - RACE REPORT

2008-06-26T12:33:00.007-06:00

Howdy peoples! What's happenin'? I realized last week that I overlooked my latest race report from the Joe Colton's Off Road Adventure Run on Saturday, June 14. It was really more to be a state-of-my-legs run as opposed to a race as I was only a week removed from my first 50-K'er. Plus, the current program that I'm participating in through Fast Forward Sports is a summer trails and racing program. Joe Colton was on their suggestion list. It's a nicely different twist than building up to one specific race a few weeks or months down the road. It rocks actually. I feel as if I'm finally building up to some more speed-on-the-trails work rather than the golden target a few months down the road or longer and longer distances (though I'm trying to build on that as well).

Anyway, the Joe Colton race is one I've done 2 years-in-a-row now. It's superb and the epitome of a Colorado community coming together. It takes place in Rollinsville, CO every Father's Day Weekend. Joe Colton was a young Rollinsville boy who passed away at the age of 6 from the flu back in 2001. As tragic as that story is, the community has pulled together and amongst other things, they do this race every year to keep a positive memory alive and give back to all involved. As usual, the race is superbly organized, holding a 5K, a 10K, a 10-miler, and a 15-miler, all starting at the same time. And to keep the families involved and going, there is a 1-mile family fun run that starts about 2 hours after the main races. It's always great seeing familes and friends, new and old, conversing and interacting before, during, and after. So, instead of going into the self-indulgent details of my race, I will simply summarize by saying, I ran the 10-miler almost 6 minutes faster than last year, I enjoyed myself immensely, and every mile or so, I thought about a young boy I never knew, Joe Colton.

Having spent his 6 years of life in a place as beautiful as Colorado is amazing enough. Having got to relax and live in Rollinsville and have the spectacular views and access to trails and outdoors as they do up there...... wow. While the premature ending to his life was undoubtedly sad, shocking, terrible, etc., the way the community has come out to not let his memory fade is wonderful. Way to go Rollinsville! And thanks to the memory of Joe Colton for starting such positive events around his beloved hometown.

Realization, Part 1

2008-06-15T19:26:00.003-06:00

As I looked back upon my entries for the last few months (OK, most of this year), I had a realization. Most of my posts are about some outdoorsy-type fun (mainly runs or races)...... which means I'm severely limiting my potential readers (not to mention the attention spans of those I love and want to also keep in contact with). Brilliant conclusion, eh? But then I realized, it hasn't been writer's block (like earlier in my stellar blogging career), so much as time? No. Money? Definitely not. Work? Well, that always gets in the way.

Anyway, the realization of diversity hit me. And not just in concept or symbolism. In one's life. And not what the current moral/political/media-driven/societal norms environment says. In one's life. Your own life. Independant, thought-driven practice. Imagine that. It seems to me that while catching headlines of the latest celebrity scandal or star-gone-mad that we are seriously drained as a world, a society, a community. Perhaps community would thrive again if we stopped paying any mind to the expected world drivel and moved on with our own train of thought?

OK, now I'm just rambling, but I wonder about me and about diversity. And how specific interests or thought-du-jour can drive our lives, unknowingly and definitely unwittingly. What else is out there? How does one discover? By adventure, by reading, by discussion, by travel. Life goes on and time ticks by, no matter our small-world distractions. Live! Life!! Feel!!!

Sage Burner 50K - RACE REPORT

2008-06-12T23:48:00.010-06:00

Might I caveat this entry by saying that this is more like a trip report/race report. They seem to be mutually exclusive here.

Saturday, June 7 marked the inaugural Sage Burner 25K and 50K in Gunnison, CO. Sponsored by Western State College, this was a smashing success from start to finish (at least in my legs and feet and back).... but I digress. It also happened to be my first 50K attempt. I drove down Thursday afternoon hoping that an extra day at altitude (above 8,000' or so) would slightly acclimatize me. I'm sure it did more to relax me than to give me any benefit as far as more efficient red blood cells. But so it goes - it is a delightful little town. I checked into my room at the Gunnison Inn in late afternoon. Extremely affordable rates, pleasant (and new) management, and a vision to turn their newly purchased Inn into a "Green" hotel - a selling point that will always draw me back their way. New owner Kip said it's a calling that prompted him and his wife to move from Palmer Lake to Gunnison, almost on a whim.

Having checked in and unloaded my truck, I thought to acquaint myself with the local organic/health food store for some fruit, almonds, and other tidbits I forgot to bring with me. As I drove down to the store, I realized that practically everything is walking distance from where I was which quickly endeared myself even more to this small southern Colorado hamlet. I noshed lightly for dinner, turned the TV off, and fell asleep rather quickly dreaming that in 30 hours or so, I'd be waking up to one of the most challenging physical endeavors I'd ever attempted.

On Friday, after a broken night of sleep, I was too jazzed to stay in bed so I drove up to Hartman Rocks, the site of the race. Only having a 2-wheel drive truck, I decided to only go up the first road to a fantastic overlook and quickly found the orange signs and yellow course markings of the race. My breath was temporarily taken away as I gazed at the course map. With trail names like "Kill Hill," "Skull Pass," and "Rattlesnake" I began to question my intentions. And my sanity. Wow, this is going to be a humdinger.

I left Hartman and proceeded to drive up to the beautiful ski town of Crested Butte for lunch, about 30 miles up the road. Relax, relax, relax I told myself as I drove along the Gunnison River raging along the winding route. After lunch at the Paradise Cafe, I sat in the nice warm sun doing some good old-fashioned people-watching on Main St. I could get into this kind of Friday. I decided to call it a day and drove back to Gunnison for a little sunshine siesta to complete the relaxing kinda day.

As I woke up around 4pm that afternoon, I felt my way around the artifically darkened motel room to the bathroom. On my way back to the wall with the light switch, I felt a bit of a pinch in the bottom of my foot. It morphed into a slight, persistent burn, then a full-fledged sting.... WTF IS THAT?!?! I reached down and off the bottom of my foot grabbed a gi-normous, hairy/fuzzy honey bee of some sort that had just greeted me with a disagreeable stinger in the bottom of my freakin' foot. I quickly ushered the little bastard out of my room back to its outdoor habitat. I should also take this time to tell you that I am allergic to bee stings. Not deathly so, just annoyingly so. Lots of swelling and irritation type stuff. As I stuck my foot under cold running water, I realized I had no Benadryl to ingest, so back off to the market I would go. As I slipped my Teva on, it just hurt and panged; I felt like there was a lump on the bottom of my foot. A stinking lump. Oh wait, there was. And I have to run 31 miles on this foot in the morning.... hmmmmm.... how would this work out?

An hour and 2 Benadryls later, I found myself out at Garlic Mike's sucking down a glass of a tasty house red wine attempting to further numb my lumpy, stinging foot. Some good pasta, excellent service, and some more local-watching brought me to a sense of peace and readiness as I walked/limped out with 12 hours to go to the start command. Another Benadryl and foot-icing later, I hit the hay again hoping for a solid night's sleep. Nerves won out, as usual. I woke up at 4:30 on my own deciding to simply get myself up and ready. The foot felt good. There was a tiny little non-stinging lump still there - nothing that a 31-mile pounding wouldn't take care of. Phew - that was a close one. At 6:25am, I left the motel and proceeded back to Hartman Rocks, this time for the real deal, not just a recon drive. A couple dozen cars parked and a few more people milling about, I (re-)introduced myself to Chris Boyack who I'd met briefly in Fruita, a recent acquaintance of Kirk (aka - Funky Legs) and exchanged brief pleasantries. See Chris' race report HERE. We both went back to our pre-race routines and got ready. A bit before 7am on this beautiful late spring morning, one of the RDs brought us all together to give us a quick pre-race spiel.

The 25K course is actually slightly longer, the 50K course actually slightly shorter, follow the orange signs/pink tape, don't die, etc. Oh yeah and Duncan Callahan, (local trail runner extraordinaire, 20-hour Leadville finisher in 2007, and 2007 winner of the 50-mile Spring Desert Ultra in Fruita) had run the course in preview a week or two prior and proclaimed, "Man, that runs like a 40-miler." With that the RD drew a line in the ground with his heel and said, "uh, well, go." I LOVE these understated beginnings. 66 of us headed off up Kill Hill and Tail Pipe trails on a perfect morning for a run.

As usual, I felt rather fine cresting the first hill and enjoyed the relatively quick descent through the first stretch of semi-technical (but not really) terrain. I was flying - or so I thought.

After an hour or so of simply trying to monitor my breathing, I finally took true note of my surroundings. Chris who I mentioned earlier was still in easy sight range after 7 or 8 miles. Hmmmm...... I started WAY too quickly I began telling myself. Or did I? I was still groovin' - sorta. The 25K/50K split passed by as did the second aid station. I settled into my first semblance of an easy pace and let several folks pass me by. I'd rather intentionally let them pass me here whence I was still feeling OK. If they flew by me at mile 25 or 30, spirits, egos, and motivation would be crushed. Now, not so much. There was sage surrounding, oxygen in the air, sand under foot, accomplishments to be had. The third (and fourth) aid station quickly came about bookending Skull Pass with both its first and second showing being mighty welcome. The cute touch was that of some local beast's skull substituting for a rock cairn about halfway through the 1.5 mile loop. Oh, joy.

The ascent out of the 16.5 mile aid station was none too pleasant for me. I just nailed the proverbial, the physical, the all-too-present..... wall. But why? No idea. The cramps and doubts began. Let the gaddamned mind games commence.

It was almost 6 more miles until the 22.25-mile aid station. By that time, no one had passed me - I had actually passed one other poor soul. The 2 dudes at that aid station were awesome. Jay Hunt and I lumbered in there together. He left before I did. I hung a bit, shot the shit, ate more potato chips and pretzels than I normally would've. It was a good decision. I found out that Tim Parr and Duncan Callahan (Msrs. numero uno and dos had passed through about "an hour-and-a-half ago"). Impressive I thought. At that point in time (my frame of reference), they were about finishing. Wow. I took off - more relaxed but still with a sense of urgency. I still had no desire to be out longer than 6 hours. I was still within range.

The next 4 miles or so saw more sage, gorgeous singletrack, trail repair (thank YOU volunteer folks -- YOU ROCK!!!), I managed to accidentally trip, and in turn, pass the aforementioned Jay - sorry man, I hit the asphalt for a 1/4 mile or so, then hit t....h....e...... effing hill. Jeeeeeezus Criminy guys, what kind of cruel joke is this?!?!?! Up, up, up..... ugghhhhhhhhhhhh. More sage, more rolling, more ups and down both physically and emotionally. I caught two more in my sight. I caught them both at the 26.25-mile aid station - as they were leaving. I was just rolling in. Similar to the previous aid station, I chit-chatted with the wonderful volunteers a bit longer than I normally would have. After all, it was the longest I'd ever been out. Then, the final true climb. Three figures on the rise to mark and pass - I would take out 2 of them before it was all said and done. And ohhhhhhhhhhhh........... the rise. Never-ending. But I persevered. And persevered. And persevered. The crest. The apex. The climax. Was I finally "here?" Yes, at least at the top of the final climb. But there was still a couple/few more miles to go. And so I went.

Bomb down, struggle up, pass the guy in the white shirt (Brian perhaps?). Concerned glances exchanged, we each assured each other we were OK. I passed easily after his quote of, "yup, I've become a salvage operation." He re-assured me he'd make it. I pushed on. I soon-after passed an older gent, I believe him to be Jim Mykelby from Leadville. An honor at that. He also assured me he'd be OK. As he had been strong the whole race until then, I decided to "empty the tank" as there were only 2 miles or so left. I decided that as I'd passed a few people since the halfway point that noone else would pass me at this point. And I would make sure that happens. Up, down, and all around - the undulations continued. Christ, it's never-ending. Some mountain-bikers pushed aside for me to pass. I think I told them thanks - if not, I did mean to. Thanks guys. Was I still lucid? Was I still making sense? How the HELL do people do 50M, 100K, 100M or more?!?!? Jeez. The tape and signs continued until I crested some rocks and saw the back end of the parking lot. I'm almost home I thought. Down, down, down some technical trails, over some rocks..... starting to flatten. Oh good, the cramps are back. Perhaps a final venture into my body reprimanding me. Eff you body. The finish line was in sight.

A few delightful volunteers ushered me down and around the bathrooms to the "black tape" that was the finish line. I crossed, and I headed for the shade, the water, the treats. I saw the familiar face of Ryan Burch (of Northern Colorado) and re-introduced myself (met him in Fruita). We chatted for a bit - he was waiting for his lady who was close to finishing her first 50K. Yup, the parallels continue.

I confirmed my finishing time of 5:58 (17 out of 35 overall) and took off. 50K, or 31M "conquering" 5,200' of elevation gain and loss. Rockin'. I got back to the hotel around 2:15 or so, popped a beer, did a cursory wash of my feet and legs, and walked down to the awards at Virginia and Main - a casually pleasant 10-minute walk from the motel. Yup, I'd done it. I spent an enjoyable hour or so hangin' with Chris and his trooper son Malcolm who had waited for him for over 5 hours. Way to go Malcolm - pleasure to meet you! Thank you both for the company.

This race needs to be put on all serious runner's schedule. Anyone who wants a quality, well-run, challenging, and down-to-earth 25K or 50K need to be here next year. Congrats and a job well done to the folks at Western State - the race director committee of Scott Drum, Jake Jones, Christine Beckham, and Chris Martinez (PLEASE let me know if I have any names wrong) and all of their superb volunteers. I will be back next year. Thank you to one and all. And thank you for not dropping me in the sage, somewhere, anywhere...... though it was nice to get lost in it for awhile (proverbially only, thankfully). See y'all next year.

Cheerio,
Dave

Desert Solitaire

2008-06-09T17:30:00.003-06:00

So, I was down in Gunnison, CO over the weekend for a race. As I had purposely extended my weekend for some additional downtime, I brought one of my favorite books along with me. Ya know - one of those books that you have to re-read every year or two? And that book is Desert Solitaire, by Edward Abbey. It is such a delightfully refreshing read, I must recommend this to all out there who love nature, our National Parks heritage, and a good read. Though the book is 40 years old this year, the book still holds such truth and honesty of his experience as a Park Ranger in Arches National Park in Utah in the late 1950's.

That's it. Pick up a copy of it why don't ya? Let me know what you think.

Bolder Boulder - RACE REPORT

2008-06-01T20:29:00.002-06:00

Hey there - I ran the Bolder Boulder 10K this year along with 54,000 others. It was tons o' fun. I PR'ed by 3 minutes - fininshed in 47:09. Cool. I strongly advise everyone to do this for themselves, just once. My silly little race report will not do it justice if you've never experienced this event before. But I share with you some easily, and happily recovered memories, from last Monday.

I sang with the Blues Brothers, again.

Thank you Glen Delman for smacking me on the back and saying, "Don't give up now Butler" after I had zoned out and comfortably settled in behind some slower runners.

I did not do the slip 'n' slide.

I did salivate (again) for the third year in a row when I smelled frying bacon.

I did drink a free beer before 9 in the morning, on Memorial Day, for the third year in a row.

I did almost freeze my butt off hanging out with the good folks from Fast Forward Sports for almost two hours after I finished.

I became rather agitated while waiting almost an hour for a damn local SKIP bus to head home to North Boulder.

And I vowed never to run this race again, for the second year in a row. Talk to ya next year......... next up - my first 50K next weekend. Stay tuned.

Balarat Trail Race - RACE REPORT

2008-05-20T22:17:00.000-06:00

A beautiful day for a trail race, let's run 2. OK, technically that slogan refers to a doubleheader in baseball, but why can't it relate to other events and activities? This was, essentially, a perfect day for a May trail race. Driving up Left Hand Canyon leaving Boulder saw the sun and a warm morning turn to overcast and windy in the very short drive up to Jamestown, CO. The race was the Balarat Trail Run, a benefit for Denver Public Schools (DPS). DPS uses this facility for its outdoor education program. Hence, a worthy cause near and dear to my heart.

I've run this race each of the last 3 years now, and for a 10K-type length, it is far from your typical 10K. It loses and gains over 1,000' of altitude in its short span. The organizers have it right as they included both an uphill start and an uphill finish, using essentially the same location for the start and finish - very impressive course with spectacular views and gorgeous meadows.

The weather was a bit iffy - typical in May in the mountains. When the sun came out, short sleeves. When the sun was clouded over, long sleeves. When the sun was clouded over with wind, long sleeves - perhaps a jacket. When the sun was clouded over with wind, snow, and sleet...... anyway - you get the picture. We hit several different types of weather and as long as you stayed running, you were fine. Hence my decision to go with strictly long sleeves, no jacket or base layers. A little motivation to stay running is always welcome.

So, the last couple years, the distance I've run in this race has always been fewer than 6 miles due to one thing or another. I've never broken an hour on this course. So, I was hoping this would be the year. And that I would run the full distance.

The uphill start is a great warm-up. You're not going to fly out the gate unless you're a typical (not me) Colorado runner freak (like about half the field). As the road gave way to the first stretch of singletrack, several folks who started behind me buzzed past me, already huffing and puffing. I thought to myself: It's gonna be a LONG 5.5-6 miles for those folks...... I passed them easily on the first descent and made up 3 or 4 spots on some others. Never saw them again. As the trail dropped us onto the first road, the course flattened; I felt surprisingly strong. Cool, so I pushed up the first beautiful road climb and peaked out at the first view of the meadows and first couple stream crossings.

It was the kind of day and scene where if you could build a log cabin, you would. No matter the cost or the energy, it would be worthwhile to be able to watch the moon rise and the sun set with this kind of surrounding from here on out. Just gorgeous. Rarely do I not find the courses I run beautiful in some capacity. All the more reason to find new race places and return to the old faves.

So, you continue through the undulating terrain and then I heard it. They started the music early. And through the trees with the birdsong and the sky with the wind blowing, this delightful bit of finger-pickin' bluegrass and downhome fiddle-totin' humans. Very cool. Moments like that enable me to push a bit harder. And I realized how well I was running when I spotted a familiar shirt in front of me - Torin (one of my coaches) was within eyeshot. Interesting.....

I pushed and pushed and actually ran two of the uphill sections I had never run in previous years. Unfortunately for me, Torin is a monster downhiller and he quickly disappeared after that final descent. Then the inevitable uphill switchbacks proved to be a bit too much to catch my two targets in front of me and..... a sub-1:00 finish. My official finishing time: 60:01. You have GOT to be kidding me. One of the rare instances where a watch would have actually helped me come in at 59:59. Oh well, there's always next year. Hope you can all join me!!!

Desert R.A.T.S. Trail Running Festival - RACE REPORT

2008-04-25T21:58:00.016-06:00

Saturday, April 19, 2008. The Western Slope of Colorado, Mack exit off of I-70. Looks innocent enough, almost uneventful. But one weekend each year, the good folks from Gemini Adventures and a few hundred of their closest friends take over. Silly. Happy. Partially, or perhaps, completely insane folks. Like trail runners. Ya know, those who voluntarily would rather suffer (or freeze) in heat (or snow) than be on their couch watching netflix; those who view mountain ascents as a run in the park only to be slowed by the inevitable force of gravity (no, gravity works better going down dumbass!!!); and if beer could hydrate and sustain a body over a 25-mile, or 50-mile (or more), course...... these races would be sponsored by Left Hand, or Breckenridge, or New Belgium, or Avery, at least in Colorado.

But I digress. When I did this race last year, it was the first of its length that I had ever attempted. And it felt like it. I finished in 4:58:47, 53rd out of 142 starters. Not great, but not too shabby for a first attempt. It hurt. I crashed and almost burned nearly thrice throughout the course. I had nothing left on the final approach to the finish line with some severe calf cramps to boot. Yuk. I'll never do that again, or so I thought. Back for more, in 2008. Training went well, except for the 2 weeks off in January b/c of bronchitis/cough/cold/fever. And the 15 days I spent in Oklahoma for work in late February and early March. Ever try and do hill repeats or rolling fartleks in North-Central Oklahoma??? But one perseveres. Visualization played a larger part this year, along with familiarity with the course. I set my goal at a sub 4:45 before all of the sickness and travel. I thought to amend it at times. Then I lost site of the goal. And re-gained it. And then lost it again.... then regained. So, there I stood at the start line, around 6:25am this past Saturday. No turning back now Dave.

The start conditions were ideal, picture perfect – 40s, clear blue sky with the eastern sky beginning to ditch the oblivion of night. About 200 or so crazies (several of which will probably be the only companionship over the next several hours) start eastbound down a dirt road paralleling the I-70. You’re off, over one of the most beautifully challenging courses and challengingly beautiful race courses one could imagine. The route then turns off the road and starts you going up, and up a little more, then up and down and all around, until you wind into the first aid station at mile 5.9; it’s called Moore Fun. Sick sons of bitches.

And so it goes. The next 3.3 miles to the Pizza Overlook aid station went by quickly and I almost chose to run through the aid station. I still had about a half-bottle of Accelerade-laden water to go and thought...... I can do it, only 3.3 miles or so until the next aid station. But it was getting warmer and logic somehow won out. I quickly stopped with my water bottle top unscrewed ready to top off the hand-held. "Water?" I asked in a hurry. A benign finger pointed to an unmarked orange container - I was in and out in less than 15 seconds. Then about a half mile down the trail, I pulled open the spout and shot some liquid into my semi-parched mouth. UGGGHHH!!!! HammerHeed. No offense guys, this stuff tastes terrible. Ya know when Lucy gets kissed by Snoopy in Peanuts? Yeah, surprise, surprise. I gagged and spit a decent amount of the stuff out on the trail in front of me. Heed germs, get me some hot water and disinfectant. Anyway, I lived through the moment, chuckling about it not 2 minutes later when I slugged my next sip - this time ready for the fun. Not too bad I chuckled. The guy ahead of me probably thought I was already losing it - talking to oneself and laughing out loud less than halfway into a 25-mile trail race.

But I felt good. Really good. And at that point, I started psyching myself up for the approach to, and departure from, the Crossroads Aid Station at my halfway point (Mile 12.5). From last year, I remember a hill heading out of there. A big hill. A hill where last year I was already hurting physically (poor nutrition I determined), and I then let the visual aspect of the climb defeat me mentally. It sucked big time last year. I struggled through each step and then another hill rose beyond that descent. And the you start the up-down-and-all-around pattern again. But this year, I was ready. One simply perseveres, ya know?

I cruised into the aid station having passed about a half-dozen people since the last aid station. Water bottle open, pre-portioned dose of Accelerade in hand, add water, shake and mix. Pop down a couple Hammer Endurolytes - these are good stuff - easy on the stomach, unlike your cousin Heed. Suck down another GU. "Another one" I asked myself? Had I been eating enough? I felt great, but don't remember eating anything except for about 3 or 4 Shot Blocks and some pretzels and chips at the aid stations in the first half of the race. I took a quick inventory of fuel - I had (seemingly) unconciously already downed a whole package of Shot Blocks and a GU in addition to the 3 or 4 plus GUs I remembered. Wow, I may have loaded myself up just right with fuel and food placement in my pockets and handheld pouch. Sweet, right on nutrition schedule. I cruised up that hill, so unlike last year. It was like a different uphill to me (and I am not a very strong uphiller). I was going to do it. I was going to do that sub-4:45 I had imagined.

The next 4-5 miles or so was a blur of beauty, of easy breathing, of challenges unsurpassed, and of comfortable pace. I was passing people and getting passed by noone. What the hell? Stop the self-induced hinderance I thought. Just go with it. And I did. Until about mile 17 or so - part of the Troy Built Loop. That's when, in a 5-minute span, my stomach (GI cramps), back (lower lumbar PAIN), and hamstrings (guitar-string tight), all decided to show up and have a crash-Dave's-race suaree. The trail then turned northerly, then easterly, right into a warmer sun than I could ever had realized AND that warm wind they were talking about. Not a cool river breeze, but a warm nasty wind. My mind joined the squalid suaree. And so it went, a battle of wits and rancorous spirit that threatened to derail my day. If I let it. I was doing my best to fight it, but I was letting it win. I talked out loud. I exchanged shallow WHY ME glances with the hallowed flows of the Mighty Colorado as the main channel disappeared from view hoping the view of nature would remind me of my good fortune just to be out here. Or maybe wishing I was on a lazy raft ride with a cooler of beer and some good company. It worked, cause then it happened - I saw the interstate and knew how much closer I was to the final full aid station at the base of Mack Ridge. I cruised the last half-mile or so into the aid station. As long as walking wobbly and running haggard was a cruise. At this point it was, compared to the inevitable ascent up Mack Ridge.

Mack Ridge. A huge hill by sea level standards. An anthill compared to true mountain running. But a hill nonetheless. I started my own pharmaceutical distribution center at this aid stop, at the base of Mack Ridge. 3 Advil, 3 Endurolytes, a borrowed salt tablet, cola, and a banana. If that ain't the breakfast of champions. If my stomach and body couldn't handle that cocktail, I was done. But really, I felt as if I was done if I didn't try this. I don't know what possesses one to attempt a race that has this type of hill at Mile 19, but you realize it is truly a matter of perspective. A very painful perspective. But telling and truthful. Whoever drove the dozer/road-flatter-outer on this stretch needs to be fired. Or sober next time they drive this stretch of "road?" Holy crap, what were they thinking?!? But you persevere, still.

I ascended, surely. Continuously. Don't stop dude. I hit the couple flats along the way. Brief reprieve. Very brief. By mile 22 or so, I felt good. Really good. I picked it up. I started running again. I pegged the guy in the yellow shirt (my guess is either Joel Arellano or Mark Christopherson) as my first target to pass. We hit the rolling top of Mack Ridge en-route to the descent to the final stretch home. I tailed him through and unto the descent. We passed our first 50-miler (Allen Belshaw) around Mile 22-23 or so (very rough estimate). Ryan Burch soon followed. Freakin' studs these guys are. As we started our descent, I thought of passing him now. I restrained myself. Just as we were about to hit the last turn onto the road, a couple wonderful ladies sat on a rock cheering us on - "Let's go yellow." - "Come on Fast Forward Sports" - a fellow Boulderite training person. "You're almost done - you're a mile to done!!!" Nice, enthusiasm. I waved. The stud in front of me said, "or a mile to the halfway point." Huh?!? I'd been pushing to keep up with a 50-miler?!? Crap I tell ya. Colorado breeds freaks - and I mean that in the best way possible. We exchanged pleasantries. I looked over my shoulder once, twice, thrice. He asked what was up (or back). I told him that last year (2007), at this point, my studette friend Michelle, who I had been leading for over 24 miles of the course, promptly, efficiently, and effortlessly, "chicked" me. She finished 0:37 in front of me. With that ghostful vision, I wished him luck and took off.

I hit the road and promptly picked off 2 more people (at this point, I didn't care if they were 25- or 50-milers). Here came the first 50-mile female (Helen Cospolich) and then my buddy Kirk (heading out for his first 50-mile attempt ever). We exchanged high fives. I accelerated and thought to myself, kick it in like you're being followed by a person possessed...... it worked. There were the tents of the finish line. Wait, did the digital timer read 4:58:xx??? WTF??? I was already behind last year?!? Crap. I still didn't let up, it couldn't be right. About 20 yards further, I focused again. I saw the timer flip from 4:38:59 to 4:39:00. WOW!!! I could come in under 4:40, not just 4:45. I picked it up. I crossed the finish line at 4:39:59 - almost 19 minutes faster than last year. Wow. Sweet. I felt freakin' awesome. I did it. As Lyle Lovett has said, "I love everyone."

Until next year. When I try the 50-mile version of this. Any takers?

THE CHALLENGE: 50 to 50......

2008-04-21T17:59:00.001-06:00

...... lbs to kilometers that is. Yep, I am close to the end of my drop 50 lbs in order to run 50 kilometers challenge. Not that I had publicized this. In fact, it only jumped into my brain a few weeks ago.

So, three years in May-June 2005, prior to beginning my running exploits, I was tipping the scales at 225 lbs. WAY too much. Not that I had such exact goals or such a challenge in mind, I just wanted to get down to 200-ish. I am now about 178 lbs. And on June 7, 2008, I run my first 50K running race (that's 31 miles for those conversion-challenged out there). So, I have about 8 weeks left to drop my last 3 lbs. Very doable. I think.

Many of you know that I simply began running to "lose weight." I had no inkling I'd be back down to high school weight (180 lbs) at any point in time. Much less, less than high school weight. Wierd. But, I've seen too many instances of our culture where the emphasis is not on health and nutrition. I did not want to be one of those "too many instances." So, I did something about it. Will you?

Stay tuned.......

MS150 Ride -- 2008 Version

2008-03-26T21:54:00.011-06:00

Multiple Sclerosis (MS) is one of those all-too-common things many hear, but few know about or understand. I figure between now and when I die, me or someone I know and love, will be diagnosed with MS, or cancer, or CP, or a host of many other brutal diseases and debilitating conditions that inhibit one's life and ability to live. While we are healthy and able, let's do something. Make a donation, volunteer, speak out, raise money, make a positive difference any way you can and know how. Every year across the US, thousands ride their bikes one weekend out of the year in cities east and west, north and south, to raise money for MS.

Last year, Veener did this ride. This year, I am joining her. We are riding on the same team, Left Hand Brewing with Captain Mick.

Please click on this link to simply educate yourself about MS. If you are so inclined to donate, thank you. If not, I understand - but do educate yourself, please.

To donate, please click on this link:

And then click on my name.

Thanks for reading, donating, and being educated!

Dave

PS - If I get $500. in donations, I will do the Century Option (100 miles instead of 75) on one of the 2 days. If I raise $1,000. or more, I will do the Century Option BOTH days. Make me work people!

Home? Or Home?

2008-03-23T12:12:00.000-06:00

So, the lady and I returned from a New Year's trip to New York back in January and I started this post not long after. New York is the state where we were both born and raised. I left New York in 1995 when I was 23 years old. At the time, I simply needed to experience something more than "The City that never sleeps." Or the Island that sleeps in lieu of New York City. Anyway, here I still live, two time zones and 1,818 miles away (according to Google Maps).

One of the most common questions I seem to hear is, "Don't you miss the ocean?" And the honest answer is no, I do not. The ocean is magnificent, beautiful, and powerful. I appreciate it when I see it. And I dare not speak to the negative about the qualities of growing up on Long Island - it's a great place to grow up. But I can honestly say, I LOVE being landlocked here in Colorado.

The second most common question I seem to hear is, "Do you ever get homesick?" Hmmmmm, I thought I was home here in Colorado. We own our home here. We work here and pay taxes here. I thought this is home. Or is it? Where is home? What is home? And is "it" what you make it? In this day and age of folks jet-setting and moving to and fro all willy-nilly, one cannot help but wonder, where is home anymore? And is "it" truly what you make it?

I thought this post was going to be much longer and require a whole bunch more thought - philosophical or otherwise. But perhaps not. Perhaps you can just toss your thoughts this way. Start one of them good ol'-fashioned discussions.

So, where are you from? And where exactly is "home?"

A Run Through Time - RACE REPORT

2008-03-17T12:48:00.014-06:00

Saturday, March 15, 2008 in beautiful Salida, Colorado. I love this place and not just cause of its beauty and serene nature. This particular race holds strong sentimental value for me - it was my first half-marathon ever, and I've gotten to participate in it each of the first 3 years this race has been in existence.

REWIND: Two years ago in 2006 was the inaugural "Run Through Time." I had been training with one of the local half-marathon training groups from Fast Forward Sports as they prepared for the Canyonlands Half Marathon. It was my attempt at understanding myself as a runner and determining my capabilities. After a month or so, I realized I could do this distance. So I went to sign up. Too late, all sold out. DOH!!! So, my quest to find an alternate half marathon led me to Salida, CO that March for the inaugural Run Through Time. I finished that year in 2:08:38, 26th overall out of 88 starters.

Last year, I was coming off 2 straight weeks of field work in Utah and felt pretty tired on my drive down the day before. The morning of was not too much different than normal. The start at 9am was prompt, and by about 9:05 up and over the first small hill, I knew I was in trouble; I was miserable. The stomach cramps started around mile 4 but subsided by the turnaround at mile 6.5. They returned with a vengeance around mile 11. As I came down the final homestretch, I was doubling over and Kirk thankfully brought me in the last 1/10 of a mile or so. I crossed in excess of 2 1/2 hours. Uggghhhhh..... so this year, I had some time to make up and some demons to ditch.

Kirk was doing the full marathon this year and I figured we'd be good pace partners to start. We stayed together for the first 3 miles or so and then he inevitably took off. His stride was comfortable and easy and I figured he'd have a very good shot at cracking the top 10 (I think he ended around 12th overall). I wondered if I'd have as good a day trying to bury the fatigued ghost from last year. We had driven the course the night before which helped immensely. I'm not a watch-wearing guy or a techno-looney (like most runners I know), so knowing landmarks (the pavement to dirt transition, the forest road cattle guard, etc.) was invaluable. The ascent up was comfortable; I stayed in a comfortable Zone 2-3 and hit the turnaround at roughly 1:11-1:12 (if I heard the guy in front of me correctly). I thought that a 48-49-minute descent over the last 6.6 miles would be possible to crack 2 hours, but this being a tune-up to gauge fitness and progress for my 2 ultimate goals (the SDU in Fruita in April and the 50K Sage Burner in Gunnison in June), I did not feel this was the time to fly. I was happy. It was a great day and I was thinking more about how fortunate I am to be out here at 9,400' in March, in shorts, with my lungs and heart working slightly overtime, but all told in sync and in rhythm.

I descended relatively easily, though pushing myself somewhat to make sure my effort was sustained and even. And I did NOT want to get passed at all on the down. I turned that into my goal and to pick off the 5 runners that had passed me at my uphill pee break. I passed one of them around mile 10 with the other four in my sights, but to no avail. We all seemed to be pushing the 7:30-ish pace. But noone passed me from mile 5 through the end. Truly, the minor victories of a race are internal. At least in my eyes.

As I crossed the line at the 2:01:10 mark (a PR by over 7 minutes!!!) in Riverside Park, local Jon McManus handed me a very tastefully done Finisher's notecard with some local history and anther gracious volunteer grabbed my tag as my hands decided to not grip that little piece of paper required to rip. Wow. I was woozy. I then saw Kirk's wife Aspen and their sweet little boy Nick walking towards me. I was so delirious, I exclaimed, "Hey Luke!!!" Luke is my dear nephew who was 1,900 miles away in New York. I guess I was slightly hallucinating. I realized my silly error and apologized, assuring Aspen that it was the highest of compliments to think I was looking at my dear nephew. That strange wooziness turned into an afternoon-long runner's high. Sweet.

Saturday, March 15, 2008 proved to be a great day. For me, hopefully for all who were out and about. And next year, 2009, I have my sights firmly set on doing the full marathon up to Turret.

Thanks to Chaffee County Runner's Club for once again putting on a spectacular event.

High, and fun, running,
Dave

And back again.....

2008-03-16T10:33:00.002-06:00

OK now. For sure, this time I mean it. I am back BABY!!! (said in the vein of George's father on Seinfeld). Work trips are history, recovery has almost taken place, and life as I know it is about back to "normal."

Thanks for your patience during my hiatus. Look for several posts and a slight page upgrade over the next few weeks.

Cheers,
Dave

Still here.....

2008-02-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

..... I hit that all-perfect, all-knowing perfect storm of blogging and running: I got sick, work's been crazy, and oh yeah - not to mention the writer's block. Oh, the writer's block. I sit at the computer staring at the screen like a jackal without prey (I know, poor analogy - see what I mean?).

Apparently my gray matter has taken a hit in addition to my alveoli. Hopefully it'll all return soon. But first I gotta stop hacking!!! Which is why I missed my first 2 scheduled races this year - Frosty's and the Screamin' Snowman Crap. Anyway, this weekend is a beautiful Hall Ranch run. Perhaps I'll hack up that final bit of particulate matter that's been inhibiting my full lung capacity lately and be on my merry way. And be back on my merry blog. Cheerio!

Race Schedule - First Half 2008

2008-01-13T22:17:00.000-07:00

Well folks, for those who are interested, here is some semblance of my race/run schedule for 2008. Subject to revision after revision, of course.

Sunday, January 20 - Frosty's Frozen 5, Chatfield in Littleton, CO, distance undecided, probably 10M

Sunday, February 3 - The Screamin' Snowman, Eldora Ski Area, 5K

Saturday, March 15 - A Run Through Time, Salida, CO, 13.1 miles

Saturday, April 19 - Desert R.A.T.S. Trail Running Festival, Fruita, CO, 25 miles

Saturday, May 10 - Balarat Trail Run, click on "Balarat Trail Run" left-hand side of page, Jamestown, CO, 6M

Monday, May 26 - Bolder Boulder 10K, Boulder, CO (if I'm bored - otherwise, just a willing and eager spectator. This is just NOT my distance, but it is one of the most fun races around).

Saturday, June 7 - Sage Burner 50K, Gunnison, CO

Do we really need studies....

2008-01-11T07:54:00.001-07:00

..... to show us THIS or THIS or THIS or THIS one from 1997???

Enough already. I understand in this new world order and fast-paced world we now enjoy as our own, some view their cell phone as a necessity. Fine, just don't use it while you're driving. No, you're really not "just as good a driver" while using a cell phone behind the wheel. I took the bus from Boulder to Denver for almost 6 years while suffering through my last term of employment and the observations I made from the relative safety of a bus were frightening. You, and that one phone call there, are really not that important when you're endangering a dozen or more people around you on the roads.

Just hang up and drive - click here to get a bumper sticker stating just that from one of my favorite talk show duos.

Click here for a comprehensive list of current laws and/or restrictions by state. Call your local and state representatives and get cell phones off the ears and out of the hands from that not-so-good-a-driver-anymore. And once again, just to illustrate that the US is chicken shit when it comes to this kind of thing, we are well behind the curve of the rest of the world on yet another public safety/human health issue.

Insomnia, Part 2

2008-01-11T06:55:00.000-07:00

I suppose this inevitable condition that seems to crop up every so often is unavoidable? Or is it? I dunno. This time, no coherent thoughts or pressing concerns struck as I lay awake at 2:15am. Still fairly relaxed from our trip back east, work is work (read: BLECH!), we had a good dinner, got to bed before 10pm. WTF?!? And here it is, 6am and time to "get up." Wait a tic, I've been up damnit. Now, I'm supposed to function all day? Good luck with that. TGIF folks. TGIF.

A Return to New York City

2008-01-11T06:02:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I didn't have to travel to get to the Big Apple. Just a simple train ride on the Long Island Railroad from the Mineola station. Last week, the lady and I did travel back east from Colorado to see the family. Now that they've moved up to the Hudson Valley, we have the easier arrival at the Albany, NY airport than one of the Big 3 Metro airports (read: hell by air). But on Friday, January 4, we boarded the Amtrak in Rhinecliff on the 8:56 and headed down to Penn Station. The wife gently asked me to see the City "through my eyes." In other words, fresh, expecting eyes. She grew up in Syracuse and has not spent any appreciable time in Manhattan or any of New York City. Years ago, I became a bit negative about the hectic nature of the City, people on top of people, craziness abound, etc. So, I moved to Colorado. And this particular day, I said, yes - I will look at the place with a new outlook.

As so we walked out of Penn Station through the hallowed halls of Madison Square Garden. Ahhhhh, the memories came rushing back. Except, what was this? Fun thoughts. Positive reminiscence. The Cult at the Felt Forum (1987-ish?), the NY Rangers' Stanley Cup, Dunkin Donuts (as always, better than Krispy Kreme), REAL NY slices........ Could it be? Perhaps, but only the day would tell.

We walked out onto 7th Ave. Ahhhhhh, the City. We headed for Macy's as we were both a bit famished and Veener could not comprehend the concept of an 8-story department store. The highlight of this was not the "stuff" - but the old wooden escalators. We rode all 8 stories down these old gems and then proceeded through the delightful "fragrance" section - I forgot the grandeur of the chandeliers lining the ceiling. Freakin' cool. Having had enough of consumerism for the morn, we headed out towards Herald Square. The rush of people was overrun by the delight of the cold January air. We walked through Bryant Park and over to The New York Public Library and its incredible entrance. Wow, I forgot how incredible that facility is. Marble galore, a grand third floor rotunda and reading room, and more nostalgia and beauty than is available in any building of recent times.

Next up, a walk down to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas Tree in daylight hours and the Saks Fifth Avenue Holiday Window Display. Very cool.

We headed over to St. Patrick's Cathedral. And even being a "recovering Catholic," this place is magnificent. It's a place to worship and for worshipping. Of course, in the days when the Church truly served a higher purpose, such structures were possible. To build this kind of architectural marvel in this current day and age in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world..... probably not so feasible anymore. Hopefully, places such as these will be preserved forever.

Now, over to the original thought on this sojourn: Serendipity 3. Unfortunately, there was an hour wait and we were starving. SO, we crossed the street and split a really freakin' good $22. calzone at Patsy's. Yummy. But there was still ice cream to be had, so back to Serendipity 3 we went. After 2 hot fudge sundaes serving the proper purpose of providing a much-anticipated tummyache, we set back towards Grand Central Station as our day was growing short. We headed over to catch a quick view of the south side of Central Park and to see the Rockefeller Center tree once more, this time in the dark. While skating was not to be had this fine day, it was nicely festive throughout the area. Then, over to Grand Central to catch a Metro North up to Poughkeepsie to finish out our day.

I'll tell ya - it was a delightful day in a phenomenal city. While I am not a city guy and certainly could never live there, there is something to be said about history; various reminders of culture and society long past (long gone?). But to be able to experience it in this modern age is something special. Will we be going back? Sure. But who knows when? Only time will tell.

Another year gone by.......

2007-12-31T18:40:00.000-07:00

So, I've had a couple new posts in the queue for a week or two now, but haven't been energetic enough to complete to my satisfaction. So, as a goodbye to 2007, I have the following random thoughts/self-indulgent brainstorming list to present:

--> I officially start my 2007 training season on Tuesday, January 1 to accomplish the 25-mile version of The Gemini Adventures-sponsored Trail Running Festival. Giddyap. This basically means I cut back on my consumption of beer, booze, refined sugar, and saturated fats for the next 4 months - all the while running about 25-40 miles a week. Wait, WTF am I doing?!?

--> I hope to do my first 50K, or perhaps - 50-miler - later on in the spring or summer. Suggestions anyone?

--> I look forward to a new baseball season. One not shrouded in a drug-induced haze. It'd be nice to feel like I'm 10 again. And could someone please tell Jose Canseco to shut the eff up? No one cares about him anymore.

--> I look forward to my runs in the snow. And my runs in the wind. And my runs in the heat. And sun. And clouds. And summer storms in Colorado. To running - period.

--> I look forward to a new president-elect. Jesus H., save us please. Get this war-mongering, self-indulgent, power-grabbing, all-too-consequential, excuse-making, track-covering, poor-excuse-for-a-Christian, crooked, lame, not intelligent AND lacking common sense, craptacular "president" out of what used to be (before his "election") the most powerful and respected office in the world.

--> To weather of all kind. Regardless of the all-too-apparent global cimate change upon us. It is nature after all - and can one on either side of the argument truly prove it one way or the other? Really. And besides, in Colorado - you don't like the weather? Wait a minute or two.

--> To some really good new music. And to the reunion tour of Van Halen. And your favorite local act.

--> To ever-enduring optimism and love abound.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!!

Happiness, Part 2: Ode to Father: Some More Happiness

2007-12-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

Tears of laughter and tears of joy. Such the contradiction.

Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles - thank you George Bailey. Always a journey life is. And thank you dear Father of mine, Matthew Anthony, such a journey your life was - you are missed every day and night, weekend and weekday, year in and year out, holidays. And your memory always makes me Smile. And Cry. And you can always make me think a bit more. Still. To this day.

Tears of laughter and tears of joy. Such the contradiction. Such the confusion.

It's a bit odd at times to move forward in life mustering the energy to do the mundane over and over and over again. Why do we do it? And for what? Pride or a point? A paycheck or a pittance? But you taught me something. Happiness is unsurpassed. Somehow. Me, the stubborn one you taught. And you stood by me with knowledge unsurpassed. And patience unfailing. Always push on to do your best. And never let down on your principles.

Thanks Dad. For all the happiness your instilled in our lives. Still. To this day.

Happiness, Part 1. What Makes YOU Happy?

2007-12-17T23:01:00.000-07:00

So, I sit here pondering nothing in particular. Because I can. And I'm not ready for bed. The Gomez song "See the World" just came on and made me smile. Then came Jimi's "Voodoo Child" and I got chills. Is there a better intro to a song than that guitar riff?!? Top 5, all-time for sure. And now Sugar's "Going Home?" Very cool. But it's not just about music. Though music surely does speak volumes, and on many levels. So many emotions. So little time.

What makes YOU happy? Besides music and the arts? Me, I dunno - lots of things:

Warm weather with a cool breeze and cool weather with a warm breeze.
A packed meeting hall with familiar faces and a vacant remnant reminiscent of days gone-by.
A wide open trail with activity abound and a deserted single track where nary a soul exists for hours.
A sunrise stroll and a moonlit run.
A sunrise run and a moonlit strool.
Sweet summer rain and light 'n' fluffy winter snow.
A long weekend's outing and a short month's vacation.
The crack of a bat and the smell of freshly cut infield grass.
A perfectly-poured pint of Guinness and a fizzy, frothy hefeweizen (with lemon).
The buzz of a city and the hum-drum calm of a long, country road.
A calm, cobalt-blue ocean and an ominous, black&stormy sky.
A fresh plate of homemade pasta from Gondolier on Pearl (formerly Cafe Gondolier). That's it - just pasta. It is SO good, you can eat it by itself.

This could probably go on forever. But now slumber does call. It's always nice to put pleasant thoughts out there for sharing. And for sleeping. Sweet dreams to all, however that comes to be for one and all.

The snow, the snow, the snow.....

2007-12-11T21:26:00.000-07:00

I am not some sort of crazed snow bunny - waiting all year to hit the slopes with the first snow or first tracks even. Nope, but I love the first snow. And the second. And the third. Etc., etc., etc. The fog looms a bit longer, the sun must work harder to warm our bones. But the solitude and the peaceful nature of the hills and sky. Ahhhhhhh........... the calm. The always soothing calm. Just lovin' the change in seasons.

And I'm particularly looking forward to my run in the morning. It will be bone-chilling cold. They're predicting a low in the single digits overnight. Hopefully the clouds will lift tonight pulling the warm cover off the landscape and a nice north wind will kick up to boot as sunrise approaches.

And I'll be wearing shorts. Excellent. See you on the trails.

Innocence Lost

2007-12-10T07:50:00.000-07:00

December 7 has been a day that has lived in infamy since 1941. While the importance and magnitude of that day has never (or should have never) subsided, it took on a new meaning and brand new, unwelcome infamy in 1993 in the New York metropolitan area.

I grew up in the Village of Mineola, NY, on Long Island, about 25 miles outside of Manhattan. It was a great place to grow up. I was able to safely walk to every school I attended from K-12, into the village for a loaf of bread and milk. The local pizza place was also accessible by foot. And, as the years went on, so were several fun local watering holes also available without driving - beers and wings every Sunday while watching Sunday night baseball or football. Not too bad a place at all.

One of my main hobbies while growing up in Mineola was playing drums - stage band, concert band, pit orchestra, marching band. Yup, I was a band nerd. But I was a drummer, so it didn't matter, cause I was freakin' cool. DRUMS!!! While many people (parents, brother, teachers, peers) were supportive and helped nurture my musical life, one person showed me a particularly impassioned view of them. DRUMS!!! Rich Nettleton. That dude could hit a drum louder and harder, and more rhythmically comprehensive than many folks twice our age who had been playing for all those extra years. He was my brother's age, so three years older - in fact, he and my brother were great friends growing up. When I was a freshman, he and my brother were seniors, so thankfully I had my own protector squad as a little freshman. Alas, I was still shy, still vulnerable. But with the nurturing and love of a brother, Rich pushed me and pressed all the right buttons to get me to be a drummer, a leader, a lover of all things drums. DRUMS!!! He freakin' rocked.

So, on December 7, 1993, the day that I found out my band (Nuclear Cream Cheese) scored our first gig at the now-defunct Right Track Inn in Freeport, NY, after telling my brother and parents, I had one person to call: Rich. At the time, my Dad was also commuting into and out of the city, but was already home by the time I went to call Rich. I knew something had happened, but did not understand the severity of it. I remember it vividly, my heart beating in anticipation of his reaction, trying to think ahead a couple weeks to the night of the show. His Dad answered. He sounded a but flummoxed and asked me to call back, because of..... the thing..... you know Dave, the thing on the train. He hung up. It took me a minute or two to comprehend what may have (did?) happened..... Rich was on the 5:33 out of Penn Station. Oh.... my.... god. That kind of thing doesn't happen in our little bit of suburbia, does it?!? No way. Oh, how naive I was. How ignorant and unaware I was. How innocent.

And 14 years ago today, December 10, 1993, we were all trying to come to grips with what had happened. Rich had been killed along with 5 other innocent humans. 19 others were injured before 3 good, scared (I'd figure) samaritans tackled the crazed gunmen down to the floor. Wakes and funerals abound. Tears and disbelief. Sorrow and pain. My (everyone's?) innocence gone. A horrible dose of reality that still stings to this day. The anger and hostility is thankfully long gone, though I fought with those emotions for a long time after that. It just did not make sense then and still does not make sense now. These were people simply commuting home from New York City after another day of work, like they had done for many days, weeks, months, years before. Some were probably sleeping when the first shots rang out. Others had no or minimal time to react. Uggghhhhh, the anguish of many because of the rage of one.

And my innocence was lost on that December day in 1993. Gone. Poof. But my life goes on; all our lives go on. And we must cope. And we must make ourselves better people. And hope that others are able to do the same. Some days are full of hope and others are horrible reminders of the fact that people still are enraged, or insane, or have simply lost hope - like last week in Omaha or this past weekend here at 2 different churches in Colorado.

It seems like it may follow only you, but it follows everyone regardless of the geographic locations of these horrific events. And we must all move on, and work at tirelessly, and hope that perhaps someday, the world you once wished for to live in for yourself, is available for your children and grandchildren. Perhaps someday. A brilliant songwriter once wrote and sang, "Imagine." How tragically ironic the way his life ended as well, almost to the day, 13 years apart, of another impassioned and incredible musician that I knew and loved personally.

Imagine people. Imagine.

Grand Canyon R2 (or R3?) - October 2007, Part 1

2007-11-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

This is Part 1 of my written account (penned on Halloween night) of a Grand Canyon R3 attempt on October 26, 2007. Due to its length, I've split it into 3 separate posts.

And then there was one……..
October 31, 2007

When I started running in July 2005, I had modest goals: lose some weight, get out a little more, get in better shape. I had lost my way a bit in life, losing some focus of the important “stuff.” I’d just gone through 14 difficult months – emotionally, physically, mentally - after my Dad had passed away from cancer in May 2004. Other than that, I had no huge complaints. I had a wonderful lady at my side. We had just moved into a new place in a fantastically vibrant North Boulder neighborhood 3 blocks from trail access. There were great neighbors everywhere. I had a good job, though too far from home for a reasonable daily commute. Then I started trail running utilizing the close proximity to the beauty of the Foothills to regain focus and reground myself. I was never good with patience, but I knew I would need to commit to the long haul (literally and figuratively) for this trail running thing to work out. Patience, not one of my stronger suits.

So, it was with great amazement that less than a week ago I found myself at the Grand Canyon, in the parking lot of the South Kaibab (SK) Trail at 2am on Friday, October 26, 2007 under a full moon. 40 degrees or so, no wind to speak of, starry-bright sky - perfection. Standing there with 2 former co-workers, Kirk and Chris, we were about to set out on all our first R3 attempts.

We had water and a varied assortment of runner’s nutrition and energy products with fun names like GU, shot blocks and Clif Bars. If successful, we would cover about 45 miles each. We would descend over 10,000’ total; and more daunting was the fact that we would ascend about the same. I figured we were looking at somewhere between 12 and 18 hours. But how would I know? I’d never done anything quite like this before. The longest run I’d been on was about 5 - 6 hours, though I’d been on 10 – 12-hour day hikes before. I’d been over 12- & 13,000’ mountain passes and 14,000’ peaks. And I had just finished 2 12-day stints in Oklahoma for work in a little over a month’s time; I figured I was on my feet for upwards of 12 hours most of those days. All those places were/are familiar – I knew what to expect; friends, peers, coaches had brought me through all those experiences – slow and methodical. That should prepare me, right?

Kirk and I started running around the same time, and he’s developed into a phenomenally talented runner taking full advantage of some incredible natural abilities. Chris has been running a bit longer and is the beneficiary of good genes (his Dad was an ultrarunner) and a recent finisher of the Bulldog 50K Ultra in Malibu, CA. Me, sure I’d done 20+ miles a few times. I had done a couple back-to-back 15+ mile training runs over the last couple months tacking on 30+ miles in a weekend. I had fooled around with hydration and nutrition and pace and breaks during these training runs, but no watches or monitors. A techno-gadget guy I am not. More stuff to concern myself with – I have trouble enough with hydration and nutrition.

Grand Canyon R2 (or R3?) - October 2007, Part 2

2007-11-27T18:55:00.000-07:00

So there I was, 650 miles from the familiar surroundings of Boulder and its hinterland. After some encouraging words from Veener, my wife, (e.g. – “Good luck, be careful, way to go!!!!” and “You guys are nuts, but enjoy – I’m going back to bed.”), we were close to departure. The Grand Canyon. Unbelievable. And here I was, ready to “run” it (or at least cross it, on foot, within a fairly short time frame.) The full moon was out, lighting up everything around.

It's 2am. Under a full moon.

The mules were restless from these human intruders disturbing their rest. Oh, the mules – never will one forget that smell. After a few pictures (see Part 1), we were off, down the SK Trail. The steepness of the SK Trail was about what I’d expected. The distance of the steps however, was unfamiliar and disturbing – they were built for mules. Too long for 1 human step, too short for 2 full steps. I developed a foreign stutter step that made it difficult to establish a rhythm. As downhills have always been comfortable for me, I was already using a little more energy than I’d hoped. Oh well, enjoy the place. Few eyes greet this great abyss under such circumstances. We played with our headlamps – clicking them on and off to conserve the batteries as well as absorb the moonlight naturally. We were able to enjoy several sections with no artificial light polluting our paths. Chris scared some deer or sheep off the trail a bit above the Black Bridge. By about 3:30 or so, we were approaching and crossing the Black Bridge over the mighty Colorado River.

I stopped mid-span to soak it all in. Looking downstream, the moon seemed to have perfectly centered itself over the river just for us – lighting up the walls and the river – casting its light for all to see. Well, for all those who were awake and here at that point in time. Not too many I figured. We watered up at the Phantom Ranch campground and continued on our way. We only saw one person stirring at Phantom Ranch. Ahhhhhhhhh, solitude, I could get used to this.

MMMMmmmmmmm……………. Bacon... 3:45 am, the Ranch-hands are up and cooking as we swing by another mule barn. It took a lot out of me not to stop, introduce myself, and join them for breakfast. I could always continue later, right? But, onward-forward; on to the flattest section of the trail we went between Phantom Ranch and Cottonwood, slowly rolling, ascending and descending gradually, along Bright Angel Creek on the North Kaibab Trail. 2 more folks were passed in the Cottonwood area – brief pleasantries were exchanged as we all continued on our respective ways.

Soon, the Canyon reasserts its magnitude – immensely high walls giving way to no person and seemingly nothing at all, although water will always have its way, given enough time. Almost 2 billion years of geology and history has been exposed through here. Absolutely remarkable when you realize who you are. Though in the moment, we are small creatures, insecure and inadequate in size and significance. We are now at the mercy of everything: a turned ankle or a faulty step; an errant rock or agitated wild beast; fatigue and faulty nerves. The enormity of this whole venture hit me as Kirk muscled on ahead and Chris and I were taking it easy. I was getting tired – probably haven’t been drinking or eating enough I thought. We stopped for some strange semblance of breakfast – some GU and shot blocks, some Accelerade-laced water. Almost gourmet here in the Canyon. I’ll save dessert for later – my sport jelly beans.

It was now about 5am or so. On we go.

Chris now moved out, easily, in front of me. In the high distance, Kirk flashed his light – progress. Venus was higher above us still, but the angle was such that it looked like it was sitting on top of one of the cliffs – it felt like Venus was closer to the North Rim than I was. Perhaps it was? I kept moving. But for the first time, I felt uneasy. I was enjoying the solitude now, but my legs started talking to me – and not in a pleasant tone. I kept going, pushing and exerting more and more energy. Definitely not eating or drinking enough – I popped 2 more electrolyte tablets and a couple of shot blocks. We were well past Cottonwood so I figured we “only” had about 4-5 miles left to the top of the North Rim. What’s 4-5 miles when you’ve already done 16+? And it was getting light out – sunrise. I was able to permanently douse my lights; at least until my return, if it lasted past sunset. That was definitely a possibility considering my physical state. Plus, I knew our two cohorts, Linda and Travis were probably on top, close to the start of their North-to-South R2 attempts. When the Canyon bests me, they will at least be by soon to push me the final few miles. And Johnny O (hubby of Linda) was waiting at the top with his bum hip, selflessly acting as our savior and willing aid station volunteer, radio and camera in hand, cooler in trunk, bananas and precious real food waiting for consumption. Only a matter of time before I arrived there.

But the cramps, oh the cramps. Calves, quads – 2 important muscles to get UP (and down). Ouch. They started controlling me now. My breaks became more frequent, stretching took the place of looking around absorbing the views, the geology, the beauty.

Who’s that up above? Am I about to pass someone? A lone hiker, apparently down for a view of the sunrise a few miles down. His words: “If you’re with those 2 you all are doing pretty darn OK. I’ll definitely lose this race uphill.” Ahhhhhhhh, the always welcome mental boost. Onward, forward - there’s Travis coming on down – fresh and vibrant. He hands me Chris’ radio, we talk for about 2 or 3 minutes. I watch him bomb downhill and over the bridge. I yell out a hoot and a cheer – progress. Soon thereafter, here’s Linda. Same exchange – pleasant and uplifting.

She tells me I’m almost at Supai Tunnel which will mark 2 miles to go – on the first half of my trip. I can do this. Or not. My walking has become increasingly labored and I’m swinging my legs out to get up some of the steeper stairs in the interest of not encouraging my calf cramps – they won’t take no for an answer. Three more very healthy-looking, light-traveling R3-er’s are now heading down my way. I find out later they’re in from Idaho, though I swore I recognized two of them from the Boulder area – the mind games continue. And there is the Supai Tunnel – 2 miles left. I swear the last 2 miles have taken the better part of 2 hours.

It’s now a touch past 7am.

Grand Canyon R2 (or R3?) - October 2007, Part 3

2007-11-27T18:50:00.000-07:00

I look up to the lighter shades of the shales and sandstones of the North Rim – still have to move through an entire geologic period; I hope it doesn’t last that long….. or perhaps I do. Some sections flatten out – I run for 10 yards here, 20 yards there – on the downhills and flats. No chance on the uphills – back to “power” hiking. Not here, it’s turned into a survival walk. The human contact has increased and the temperature has decreased as I near the top. Just keep moving I tell myself, though I realize I haven’t been in the mood to eat since well below the Supai Tunnel. But I notice the trail widen as the flora changes ever-so-slightly. What’s that sound??? A truck. I’m near a road. The North Rim parking lot and entry road? Oh, has civilization ever sounded better? I think not.

And suddenly, a trailhead sign, an entrance sign, a port-a-potty, and a familiar face – Johnny O. And I’m done, for today. It’s about 8:40am.

I decide to call it good at a successful R2. I’ve made it 21 miles, down about 4,700 vertical feet, then up almost 5,700 vertical feet. I’m cramped and cold. I am only able to stretch about 3 or 4 minutes until I start shivering. I take to the warm confines of John’s car. Kirk arrived around 8am and also decided to call it a day; he was crashed in the front seat. Chris arrived at about 8:20. As I got in the back seat next to Chris, he had a banana in one hand, Gatorade in the other, he was recharging his Garmin battery, and had a look on his face that I could not fathom nor comprehend at that moment in time. Without saying a word, he told me he was heading back out to complete his R3. At about 9am, he re-entered the sometimes friendly, sometimes ominous, always Grand environs of the Grand Canyon via the North Rim on the North Kaibab Trail once more – this time reversing everything he’d done over the previous 7 hours.

John then drove off with 2 very tired, but safe, R2 finishers, on our way back to the South Rim 200+ miles away by vehicle (10 miles as the crow flies). And oh, what a ride. We arrived back by about 2:00 or so, I ate some – limped around a bit trying to loosen up. And there in the South Rim parking lot were those 3 R3-ers from Idaho looking rather chipper considering what they’d just done – their first half. We exchanged some gleeful banter (they thought I’d turned around and finished already – that was a momentary ego boost). I ‘fessed up on my successful R2/unsuccessful R3 and they offered some positive words of encouragement for me to keep in mind when I decide to try this divine madness again. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the ladies that we took the Sag Wagon back, Veener had already headed down the Bright Angel Trail to bring me back up the last few miles. The first couple water stops on the trail had been turned off, and being the sensible one she is, had already headed back up. I bumped into her around ½ - ¾ mile down the trail and she did a double-take and couldn’t quite figure how I’d passed her. I was too mentally drained to perpetuate the joke, so I came clean with my one-way-only-journey and we proceeded back up to the top of the South Rim.

I watched The Idaho R3’ers head out and back down the Bright Angel Trail on the second half of their journey – they were making it look easy. Back to our group, I will let Chris fill in his own details of the hours between 9am and 5:30pm, but, as John and I stood on the South Rim, we successfully greeted Travis at about 5pm and at about 5:15 or 5:20, Chris came into view. Gone were his running tights, replaced by shorts (the Canyon floor reached about 90 degrees that afternoon), and a yellow shirt and hat. A successful R3 was had. Linda successfully came in around 8:45 that night as John hiked down to meet her soon after Chris’ triumphant re-entrance to the South Rim at 5:30 or so. All safe, all tired, all sore, all successful. As far as the R3, and then there was one………… congrats Chris!

What went through my head on top the North Rim? I’m pretty sure I could have made it back down the North Rim. I may have made it back to Cottonwood Campground. There was a slight possibility of actually walking back into Phantom Ranch. But then there’s this climb back up the Bright Angel Trail – another 9 or 10 miles covering about 4,300 vertical feet to get back atop the South Rim. That was not happening. The thing is – all those parts are a package deal; if any part of that is not a sure thing (nothing truly is down there), or there is more doubt than realistic confidence, you don’t go back. Period. The Canyon is a beautiful and unforgiving place. If you’re lucky, it will chew you up and spit you out on your own 2 feet with all (most) mental capacity still intact. If you’re unlucky, the Rangers or Search and Rescue will find you and you spend an unhappy night at a campground somewhere. There’s no reason to venture beyond the limits of the former. The employees and volunteers who assist, rescue, or worse – recover – those who were unprepared or simply unlucky, have a hard enough job. It is each individual’s duty to ensure those good people don’t have to assist or rescue you. But to push your own limits, within reasonable boundaries, is fine – just stay in regimented control as long as you can. Oh, by the way, I will be making another R3 attempt next year. And next time, I’ll almost know what to expect, having been there before. But anything goes in the Canyon and one must be prepared.

Happy Trails!

Insomnia, Part 1

2007-11-24T11:09:00.000-07:00

So, after going to bed pretty damned early for a Friday eve (especially on a holiday weekend), I inexplicably awoke at 1:45am this morn. My mind is churning with thought. I tossed and turned until about 2:20 and in hopes of not waking Veener, I figured to get up and do something to quell the thoughts and get back to bed. What the hell was keeping me up??? Oh, evil maelstrom. Then it hit me - I had the new Trail Runner mag (December 2007, Issue 49) sitting on the desk and I haven't setup my 2008 event schedule yet. Obviously.

It's now 11:15am and after cooking breakfast for the hard-working lady and myself, a fresh pan of cinammon buns waiting for the oven, and some new IRA and investment spreadsheets, I still haven't gotten to my 2008 event schedule. Nor have I gotten back to sleep. Drat. Until later....

Giving Thanks for a Winter Wonderland

2007-11-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

I suppose the title could be a slight bit misleading as it's still technically autumn. And there were only a few inches of snow on the ground (if that). But it was Thanksgiving morning and the weather had finally chilled quite a bit. My wife and I have vastly different opinions of when the weather gets chilly, or cold, or frigid. But it was freakin' cold yesterday. Delightfully cold. Thankfully the wind was at a minimum so the bone-chilling aspect hasn't yet kicked in yet. Boy was it gorgeous out there.

I met up with a few friends at the entrance to Eldorado State Park in Colorado about 8:30am. My friend Kirk had come in from the west @ over 7,000' elevation and was amazed at how low the cloud cover was. Coming in from the west and a higher elevation, he had awoken to sun and driven into our local Front Range haze. Hopefully a sign of good weather to run into - quite literally. Scott showed up with his dog Gracie - her paw print (or size) would come in handy a little later in the run to confirm the other local(s) out on the trails with us. It was probably in the single digits and if not, definitely in the low teens. I was forced to put my leggings on - drat. This was about the cutoff for me wearing something other than shorts out on the trails. We set off a short time later up towards the Walker Ranch loop. We weren't planning on doing much more than the 7-mile RT, but anything goes on the trails - good or bad.

It really was a particularly delightful ascent as the snow started piling up a bit more, but there were cracks of blue sky. Excellent. And then Scott looked down ahead of him and noticed the "other" set of tracks on the trail...... we compared Gracie's to the already-established tracks. They were of a cat and significantly larger - on the order of twice the size. So, our local friends, the mountain lions were active and had the privilege of first tracks this particular morning. Thankfully, there were 3 of us along with Gracie; and our other friends Cindi and Dave were a bit further back on the trail, so hopefully enough of our human ignorance spewing about would push them away. We trudged on as our feline friends' tracks would follow the established trail for a bit, then head off in another direction, only to reappear several minutes later. All the while the azure sky coming into view and enveloping our very being. We truly are small creatures out here, albeit thankful ones.

The morning's mountain jaunt thankfully ended without incident and only views and crisp, cold, mountain oxygen molecules were absorbed. But, the constant reminders of our wild neighbors and potentially dangerous trail conditions must stop and give one pause, at least in the mind. I prefer to keep running.

My Blog De-Virginizing

2007-11-21T18:55:00.000-07:00

Well, well, well, here I am. Unaware and unbeheld. Strange feeling really. Never felt I'd have the "need" to feel so vulnerable. But I suppose that's what life tends towards. So, why not grasp it and hang on for the ride? Enjoy it - though you may not comprehend at that moment in time. Nor am I figuring on what I am getting in to. Very strange.

My creative outlet(s) has taken a turn for the nothing in recent years thanks in large part to that so-called "work" thing. The client must be satisfied, much like many different types of situations - it is rarely you that comes first. Not a bad thing. Just a thing that one must come to realize is the norm. And when you get your proper due, have at it. Enjoy it.

Anyway, I plan on writing about many different topics through this outlet, but the majority will be focused on trail running and outdoorsy "stuff" as those are my favorite things to do. In addition, music and general entertainment, social commentary (I'll try and keep that one to a minimum), and travel will also be peppered in here. Plus your gratuitous miscellaneous stuffs when those somewhat out-of-the-ordinary-things-may-occur will surface as well.

Might I infringe upon your many liberties and you share your own as we venture through this thing called life? OK then. After all, we're all in it together.