My 30 mile run

Yesterday I ran 30 miles, my longest run ever, as a training run for my upcoming 50 miler. It went really well, and didn't hurt any more than 24-26 miles does. I ran the main commuting path that runs North-South through Colorado Springs, parallel to I-25. I started downtown at Colorado College and ran North, 15 miles to the North Gate of the Air Force Academy. The trail is a false flat (slightly uphill) going North, then gets hilly through the Air Force Academy. It was nice to go downhill on the way back.

It was about 35 degrees and overcast, then got really cold and started snowing at about mile 20. At mile 24 I met my friend Megan at a bike shop on the trail and she rode the last 6 miles beside me. Poor girl was freezing her butt off! She had planned to go on a real ride afterward, but when we finished it was bitter freaking cold and the snow was WET and coming down hard so I gave her a ride back to her car. It was really great to have some company for the last 6 miles. I was able to maintain, and even slightly pick up my pace, rather than finish up with a shuffle like I normally do.

So, here are some technical aspects of the run:


Nutrition: I ran out of my beloved Honey Stingers (chews) and couldn't find any the night before the run so I brought Luna Bars. That didn't work so well. I usually take a Honey Stinger chew every 10 minutes, so in place of that I took a small bite of Luna Bar. The problem is that there aren't enough calories in one small bite, and I wasn't able to eat a big chunk of Luna Bar every 10 minutes because a) it made me want to gag and b) it would have taken too long to eat and c) I would have run out quickly. I highly recommend gels or chews for lots of fast absorbing carbs and calories packed into tiny bites.
I also brought along some potato chips and beef jerky. Salt and protein. I tried Honey Stinger Bars and Power Bar protein bars for other long runs but neither sat well with me. The chips were fantastic. Really easy to eat while running, and being so salty, they made me drink my water right away. It is hard for me to remember to drink water when it is cold and wet outside because I don't get thirsty. The beef jerky sat well in my stomach, but as you can guess is a little hard to chew. I saved that for times that I was slowing down anyway or walking up a hill. It wasn't ridiculously hard to eat on the move, just not as easy as gel or chips. I think having a good protein source is important during and after long runs and this one worked perfect for me.


Gear: The forecast called for rain, snow and a high of 39 degrees. I started out with thin tights, a long sleeved tech shirt and a fleece over it. Also gloves and a wool hat. I had my Nathan Hydration Pack which I love. It doesn't chafe or bounce awkwardly. On my feet, Injinjis with Blister Shield powder. I ended up with a few blisters, but nothing big. I didn't even feel them while I was running. I got hot going through the hilly section and took off the gloves and hat. Then got more hot later and took off the fleece. Then I got cold again durning the last 6 miles, but didn't want to stop for the fleece, so I just put the hat back on and I was fine.


Pace: For my last couple of long runs, I have done a 9:1 run/walk interval. It really helps me feel like I can go all day, but also slows my pace significantly. So for this run, I did the first two 10 minute sets with the 1 minute walks and then decided to drop them. I wasn't sure if I'd regret that later or not. It ended up being just fine. I walked some of the steep hills, and I walked when I needed to fish something out of my pack or take off layers/accessories. Other than that I just ran and felt great. I am torn on the run/walk thing. Having done it on a few 20+ mile runs, I know that it makes the run hurt less in the end. I finish feeling like I could go on, which is what I need to feel because I am going to be running significantly more in the race than I do in training. But on the flip side, it is often hard for me to get going again after a walk break. On my 25 mile run a couple weeks ago, some of those 1 minute walk breaks turned into 2 minute walk breaks because I just couldn't get going again. And sometimes the hills mess with the walk breaks. I would rather walk up the hills, so if the walk break comes once I reach the top and start going down, I get pissed. I think for the ultra, I will walk the major hills and run the rest. There are enough hills there to get plenty of walk breaks! I know that toward the end (or possibly even the middle) I will need to walk more, so maybe I can implement 9:1 or 8:2 then.


Splits: Total time was 4:45:21.
First 10 miles was 1:35 (9:34 pace)
(Halfway, 15 miles 2:24)
Second 10 miles was roughly 1:35 again
Third set of 10 was 1:33:49 (9:25 pace)


So that was my run. The first couple of hours after the run I wanted to saw my legs off! I moved around a bunch to clean the house and make dinner and that helped. I slept in my recovery socks and my legs did not wake me up screaming. They feel ok today, just sore hamstrings. I am getting them worked on today after work so I should be fine. I feel great knowing I've run farther than ever before! I am getting excited for the ultra!

Running should be free, man.

I don't race very much. Sometimes I feel like less of a runner because of this. I hate missing out on local races. I feel guilty about it, like I really should be running all of them. If I'm not racing in my own town's Turkey Trot, can I even call myself a runner? People who don't even run come out at least for the Turkey Trot. If I don't run the Turkey Trot, am I less than a non-runner? It seems silly, but I think most of us, to some degree, feel compelled to race just to maintain our identities as runners.

When you meet people and they find out you're into running, they always ask how many races or "marathons" you've done. I hate that question. If they're less than impressed with your number (which then becomes your status), they'll tell you about their friend, or co-worker, or co-worker's friend who does a marathon every month. The subliminal message is: "THERE! Betcha don't feel like such a runner anymore, huh?" Running several marathons per year, or completing the "50 states" challenge only proves one thing as far as I'm concerned. You have money.

If you want to get really personal, or even if you don't, I'll tell you that my husband and I make ~25K per year (together). We happen to be really good at budgeting and managed to pay off 10K of credit card debt in 2 years, and buy a house on our meager rations. We worked really hard to do that. We said "no" in a lot of places we wanted to say "yes". For me, that meant saying "no" to races. It hurt a lot at first. For a short time, between graduating college and becoming a mom, I had the financial freedom to do whichever races I wanted. I could afford coaching, entry fees, travel expenses, and even *gulp* triathlons! If it was the "season" I was busy racing every weekend, collecting those shiny medals and hoarding wrinkled bib numbers. Who did I think I was? Were all those meaningless trinkets defining me as a runner? Yup. Well, I was allowing them to, anyway. Each race was another notch in my belt. I was compiling evidence that I was in fact, not a loser (even though you can certainly be the technical loser of a race and still get the medal). I needed these things to uphold my "Runner" status. Somehow I missed how simple it really was. To be a runner, all I needed to do was run.

Sometimes I have to catch myself because I start basing my runner-esteem on the races I've done. When I count them up, there aren't too many and I get a little depressed. "I should race more," I say. "I need to catch up. [So and so]'s been running 1/5 as long as I have and he's already done 6 marathons. I've only done 3." I have to consciously draw myself out of these self-depricating chats. I have been running half my life. I'm 26. I'm a runner, and I don't need 2 million finisher's medals to prove it.

In my opinion, road races have gotten out of control. They are too big and too expensive. Do you really need a medal, another tech shirt and a bag full of useless sample products to motivate yourself to compete in a race? Are you even competing? Or are you just buying yourself another medal? I don't want to knock anyone for being out there and getting exercise but when I see people in races, walking and happily chatting on their cell phones or treating the road race as a parade (writing their names on their shirts, waving like political candidates at spectators) I have to wonder if they're missing the point. Or if racing has deviated from its original intent. I mean, it's supposed to be painful, right?

In In the last few years, I have gone down to running one or two main events per year. I live in Colorado Springs, where there is some kind of local race almost every weekend, all year round. I'd go broke if I did all of them. The Pikes Peak Road Runners is a group that puts on many of the races here. For the most part, they are void of nonsense medals and schwag bags. They charge just enough to put on the race and keep the runners hydrated. I like that. We want to run for the competition and the camaraderie, not the goodies. We don't need another shirt, we don't need to be pampered at every aid station, and we don't need to be marketed to at giant, crowded expos. We just need to race. Whether it's other runners, the clock, or just ourselves, racing is what we come to do.

I know that there are as many reasons to run as there are runners. There are as many reasons to race as there are racers. I'm fine with just being a runner. I would do it if races didn't exist. I would do it if Garmin didn't exist. I would run for the same conflicting reasons I have always run: the pure joy and total agony of it. Take away all the glitter and tell me why you really love to race.

I don’t want anyone to do anything except come run, party, dance, eat, and hang with us. Running isn’t about making people buy stuff. Running should be free, man. -Micah True (from Born to Run)

ARTwork

I had my first ART appointment last Monday. ART stands for Active Release Techniques. It is a patented soft tissue treatment based on massage techniques. It treats problems with muscles, tendons, ligaments, fascia and nerves. These tissues are treated through a combination of pressure (like massage) and movement. This breaks down the built-up scar tissue.

I had my hips and hamstrings worked on. My hamstrings have been really tight lately, particularly the right one. Last summer, I ramped up my mileage by about 60% in total defiance of the controversial 10% rule. My body sent me signs that I needed to stop and I ran through them. The biggest sign was that my hip flexors tightened so much that I could barely stand up straight. My right hip was especially tight, so a hamstring injury in the same leg a few months later is the next logical injury.

The LMT that worked on my legs said that my hip flexors were still really tight. He said that my hips had rotated anterior. Picture the hips as a bowl of water. Mine are dumping the water out down the front of my body. I heard from some other athletes that ART can heal your injury in one or two treatments. After one, I'm certainly not "healed" but I am going back this week for more. Thank god for the tax refund, because these treatments run $80 a session! Ouch! I really hope I can get these problems with my body sorted out soon because my ultra is in about 8 weeks and I need to be getting some long runs in now!

"Walk...Run...Walk...Run..." Pacer's Perspective Rocky Raccoon 2010

I had the opportunity to pace and crew for an amazing woman, Tara at the Rocky Raccoon 100 mile race last weekend. I had never actually met Tara in person. We belong to an online group of running moms on CafeMom aptly named, Running Moms. I have been in this group for a little over two years and call many of the women "friends" even though we've never met. Three other women from the group came out to Huntsville, TX to pace and crew for Tara. There was Tracey from Kansas, Cathy from California and Bethany from Austin, TX. It was so fun to meet these girls. They were all just as they seemed online, only now I had faces to put with screen names. To be honest, I was a little nervous about spending a weekend with a bunch of women, as the fairer sex sometimes tends to get a little catty and oh, just a hare dramatic when kept in close quarters. This was not the case with the Running Moms. They are such a positive, encouraging, happy and uplifting group. Even after 48 hours with only 2-3 hours of sleep each, not a single cat fight ensued.

Cathy, Tracey, Tara and I met in the airport and Tara drove us to Huntsville. We went straight to packet pick-up and then checked out the course. We ate and promptly went to bed around 8PM. I don't think any of us except for Tara slept very well, if at all. She was the one who needed it though. her body must have known what was coming! We all woke up around 3:40 AM on Saturday to get to the race early, as we were warned that parking drama could be an issue. We got there, parked, Tara checked in and we waited for the start. I could tell Tara was getting really anxious at this point. She kept quadruple-checking that we crew members knew what to do.

After the race started, there was not much we could do for another 4 hours, when we expected Tara to come into the 20 mile turnaround for more food, water and new socks. Unfortunately Cathy got sick. What we thought might be nerves turned out to be something worse so we took her back to the hotel to rest. After Tracey and I took Cathy back to the hotel, we hit Denny's where we would eat about 12 more times during the trip. Seriously, we became VIPs at this joint! During breakfast, we pulled up the course map on the laptop and reconfigured the pacing arrangements to give Cathy a shorter leg or take her out altogether if needed. We decided I would take the first leg, which was one loop of the course, miles 60-80, then Tracey taking 80-83, Bethany taking the net 12.5 and Cathy the last 4.5. This is the plan we stuck with ultimately.


Tracey and I set up camp in the spectator/drop bag area of the 20 mile turnaround. We made sure all of Tara's food was in place, dry socks and shoes were out, and everything was ready to go. Then we waited. Just before 10 AM, Tara came cruising down the trail. She was surprised Cathy wasn't there, but we hooked her up with water, food and socks, taped a blister and sent her on her way. She was doing awesome, but in hindsight, we should have told her to slow down. During the next 20 miles, Tracey and I went back to check on Cathy. She was feeling fine so we got lunch at Denny's, where we met Bethany, who drove from Austin. After lunch, everyone went back to the course to wait for Tara. I really wanted to see her come in to mile 40, but I was bonking and had 20 miles to run that night so I went back to the hotel and got about 2 hours of sleep. Not what I was going for, but at least it was something!

Tara came in to mile 60 just after 6PM so she was still on pace. The goal was to pace her to run the 100 miles in under 24 hours. We had plenty of leeway. When we started running together, Tara told me she had been walking all the hills. As a pacer it was my job to remember this and to start walking when we approached a hill. Tara and I had different definitions of "hill" and I kept forgetting to walk them. Luckily, she was not too far gone to remind me. It grew dark a few minutes into the run. As night fell, things got hard. Tara needed more and more walk breaks. After several minutes of walking, I worried that the whole loop might be this way. I had to get her moving faster, not just for the sub 24 hour goal, but just for the sake of not being out there so incredibly long.

I asked her to run again and she agreed so I started to play around with different run/walk intervals. 4 minutes jogging to 1 minute walking seemed the most feasible, but even that was hard to keep up after awhile. We were moving slow, but we were moving. The one thing Tara didn't do was stop. At one point I looked at her face and she just looked so tired, so sad and so down. The mom in me wanted to scoop her up and carry her to bed, tuck her in and let her fall into the sleep her body was so forcefully pulling her toward. But out in the middle of the woods, that wasn't an option. I kept glancing at my Garmin. "Run....Walk....Run.....Walk...." I glanced back every now and then, but mostly just listened to her quiet shuffle. I listened to the rustling of her Honey Stinger packages and the sucking sound of her hydration pack and when several minutes had passed without those sounds I reminded her to eat and drink. The chews were making her stomach hurt. I wanted to say "Ok, forget them" but they were all we had until the next aid station. She didn't want to eat, but she did anyway, knowing it was the only way to keep moving.

Pacing Tara was a lot different than I expected. I thought we would talk, laugh and sing the night away. I knew there would be hard times, but I didn't expect the whole 20 miles to be so brutal. Maybe I was a boring pacer. I threw out a few stories and anecdotes where she politely laughed, or grunted her acknowledgment, but for the most part I just said "Run....Walk....Run...Walk..." Maybe I didn't come through on the whole entertainment portion of pacing. Maybe it was Stage Fright. Maybe I just didn't have enough material. Maybe it was the stress of Miles before us and the solemness of Night, but nothing seemed like the right thing to say. Except "Run....Walk....Run....Walk..."

After a couple hours of being on the Run/Walk schedule, I realized it was still early and that Tara was still on pace for a sub-24 hour run. I told her this and she brightened a bit. There was a renewed energy now that the original goal was still up for grabs. I asked her if she still wanted it and of course she did. I wanted to allow Tara at least six hours to do the last lap. I felt this would make the goal more realistic. I knew the last lap would be the hardest, which meant it would also be the slowest. To make room for that, we had to pick up the pace again. I'm sure picking up the pace seemed like the worst idea in the world to Tara, as she had already resorted to the "survivor's shuffle" and there was nothing left in her legs. But she was down with it! We had an hour and a half to get back to the finish line by midnight, thus giving her 6 hrs for the last loop. My eyes stayed glued to the Garmin the entire time. "Walk..Run..Walk..Run.." That last 90 minutes flew by for me because I was so focused on time and intervals. Tara kept on eating and drinking, but now only on my recommendation. She was focused on moving and that was it. Tara's body was done. We had been operating on her mental tank the whole loop and now even that was draining. I wondered what she would use for the last loop.

We made it to the start/finish/turnaround area a few minutes after midnight as planned, and the crew was waiting with warm clothes. Tara told Tracey, her next pacer that she was going for sub-24. Unfortunately that only lasted about 30 seconds. Horrible, death-like fatigue grabbed her and pulled down, down, down, to the point that she was falling asleep on Tracey's shoulder while walking. "Only" 3 miles became the longest part of the race, as Tara stumbled, corpse-like to the Nature Center aid station on Tracey's guiding arm. I don't know how Tracey kept her awake for the hour and twenty minutes that those 3 miles took, but they got there! The crew was waiting at that station and we were worried since they were so late. It was after 1AM when they arrived. Tara needed to sleep. She was slipping away before our eyes and it was scary. We checked her into the aid station and carried her to the car where she napped. She became a shivering, mumbling heap of dry bones in the back of her Honda Pilot. We called an EMT over to check her out. All Tara said was that she was still finishing. The crew knew that, but the EMT shook her head and said something about those "crazy ultrarunners." We got her warm and let her sleep until 3:45.

Tara woke up still looking like sheer hell, but she was ready to finish. Bethany took her out on the next 12.5 mile segment. It was a death march. They trudged on through the night and into the morning, taking solace in the fact that each step was ground behind them and brought them closer to the finish. During this section, Cathy, Tracey and I went back to the hotel for some sleep. We knew this section would be a long one. I think we all felt a little guilty as we laid ourselves down in warm, soft beds. Tara was so far from this. So far from comfort. She no longer knew comfort. Warm shower, soft pillow, bed, it was all so far behind her and so far ahead of her. She was in survival mode.

In the "morning" the crew awoke to a text from Bethany saying that Tara was doing great and they were getting close. It was daytime now, but not necessarily sunny. We waited for Tara and Bethany at the last aid station, where Cathy would take over pacing for the last 4.5 miles. Standing at that aid station for that hour was both disturbing and inspiring. The runners coming through were so broken-down and beat, it was hard to watch. They were so close to the finish, but after 95.5 miles, even 4.5 is a long way to go. They were expressionless, hobbling through, immune to the cheers and uplifting comments that we pathetically chucked at them. An older gentleman came through bent at a 45 degree angle. We cheered him on. "You look great!" I said. I meant it, but he cast me a sideways glance and mumbled "Bullshit." There was no fooling these people. You can't make them think they are in less pain than they are, because they can feel every shard of it. You can't make them think the finish line is just around the bend because it's not. It is still a long way off. There is nothing you can say to effectively cheer these runners. They are miserable and you can not relate. All you can do is watch them go by.

Tara really did look great when she came into this aid station. She had walked the 12.5 miles at an 18 minute mile pace. There wasn't much excitement in her face. There wasn't much of anything there, except weak smiles, probably forced for our sake. I don't know that emotionally, she was feeling anything in particular. Just knowledge of what needed to be done and willingness to do it. She took off with Cathy. We waited and waited at the finish line. We watched a few runners finish, including the bent-over man. I told him he still looked great and at least he smiled this time. I felt relieved to see him finish. Finally we saw Tara and Cathy coming down the final stretch. We cheered, cried (well, I cried) and took lots of pictures. Tara crossed the line in 28:08. It was beautiful.

Before going to Rocky Raccoon, I decided that I wanted to run 100 miles. I have a 50 miler planned for April and it just won't come fast enough. After going to Rocky, I still want to run 100 miles, but it's different now. I have more respect for the distance. I'm not giddy or excited to run it like I was before witnessing 100 miles. I have sobered up. 100 miles isn't something to take lightly. I feel calmer now, but more austere, more bound to the 100 mile run. I have decided not to rush it. I will wait until I am truly ready to sign myself up for one, knowing now that there is a lot to prepare for, a lot to lose, and a lot to run! Some runners say that 100 miles changes you. Somebody once told Matt Carpenter that you don't know who you are until you run 100 miles. He replied "Damned if I'm going to die and not know who I am." I get that.

Thugs don't read "Field & Stream Magazine"

Last week, my garage was burglarized and precious bikes were stolen. The crime was reported, claim was made with the insurance company, and five of the six phases of grief had passed on through. Shock, Denial, Anger, Depression, Acceptance. All in a matter of days. My husband and I had found peace and accepted that we no longer had mountain bikes. In a sense, we were over it.

Monday morning I was driving to work when just blocks from my house I spotted a guy riding my husband's stolen bike! On the wrong side of the road, helmet-less, and in broad daylight, he rode. He shamelessly pedaled along through a school zone, past a cop, on my husband's bright freaking blue, very expensive, custom mountain bike. "This isn't real" I thought. I never expected to see that bike again. I had about 2 seconds of internal debate before I laid on the horn and shouted "That's my BIKE!" The kid looked at me with wide, startled eyes and started spinning like crazy. He was in a low gear. It was on.

I followed him in my car as he took me on a tour of the neighborhood. And no, I didn't menace him with my car, as I am for cyclists' rights to the road. I just followed him around until we came to a dead end. There was a barbed wire fence which enclosed an apartment complex. He hopped off the bike, gave a running start and proceeded to hurl the bike over the fence. I was already out of the car and jumping (my chest on the top of the fence) up to grab whatever I could of the bike. I had a hold of the chainstay and the kid by now was on the other side of the fence trying to yank the bike free. Luckily, the crank had wrapped itself around the barbed wire and the bike was going nowhere. I called Brian with my free hand. While waiting for Brian to arrive, the culprit and I played tug of war with the bike. I yelled at him and then explained why he couldn't have this bike.

I told him this bike was "special" because my husband made it. I told him that it was our last name on the down tube and that the bike was worth more than most of the cars in that apartment parking lot. I told him that stealing this particular bike was a felony and when he told me he bought the bike from his friend for a hundred bucks, I told him that merely being in posession of the bike was a felony. He said "Lady, I really need this bike, I need it." In the scuffle, one of the tire's sidewalls was ripped on the barbed wire. I told the kid that he would never be able to ride this bike anyway because the wheel size is super rare. They are 650B and he would have to special order new tires from a bike shop who would likely turn him in to the cops.

The young delinquent begged me not to call the cops. Then I started to feel bad. This is a huge character flaw, I just don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Even felons. I told him I could get him another bike. "Will it be this nice?" he asked. I assured him it would. I also promised him a ride home and he gave up the fight. I had all but exchanged phone numbers and invited the perp in for tea and crumpets when Brian came barreling down the dead end street, leapt over the fence and punched the dude in the face, knocking him to the ground. I yelled at Brian for a second, then took off, remembering there was a cop stationed at the school zone one block away (duh).

So we have recovered one bike. Honestly, I don't feel good about it. I don't feel complacent or victorious like you usually do when justice prevails. I feel this way, partly because I am beyond paranoid that this kid will gather his friends, gang, or whatever and come back to retaliate. I think my husband scared him enough to stay away forever, but his last sentence to Brian keeps ringing in my head "All it takes is one phone call." People have killed for a lot less than a punch in the face or a bicycle. This worries me. When I came home from work today, there was a strange car sitting in front of my house. I decided not to go home because I was scared and went to Safeway until Brian got home. When he called to tell me he was there I asked if everything was okay. He said "Yes, everything's fine. Thugs don't read "Field & Stream Magazine." Um, what? The car belonged to my next-door neighbor's friend and there was a copy of "Field & Stream" on the passenger's seat. Oh. Well, ya never know...

My aunt, who is a public defense attorney and works with juvenile delinquents reamed me in a Facebook status comment for taking matters into my own hands rather than contacting the authorities. She's right, I took a huge risk and put myself in danger by facing this kid. It's not that the thought of calling the cops didn't cross my mind, it's just that I have no faith in them. It's not them that I don't believe in really, but with recent decreased funding to the police department, our resources are limited and I felt that this situation wasn't reason enough to detract from them. I just knew that if I didn't go after that bike, I would never see it again. I should have been okay with that, but I reacted quickly and irrationally.

Another thing that keeps haunting me is the kid's misfortune. I don't know if he personally broke into our garage or if he bought the bike off of a friend like he said. Judging by the way he reacted when I honked at him, he knew that bike was stolen. A part of me still feels that we stole from him. There he was, merrily riding along when this crazy woman chases him down and rips his bike out from under him and then her crazy husband comes and punches him in the face. Poor kid is now bikeless, bloody and (possibly) out a hundred bucks. What a shitty day!

So far, I'm lucky. No one has come back for revenge on the twice-stolen bike. My bike is still out there somewhere, but I'm not going to go looking for it. I hope that it's spray painted by now so that if I do see it, I won't recognize it and do something stupid again. Sometimes you should get away with things. The thief can get away with stealing my bike if I can get away with the risk I took. We'll call it even.

As a welcome home present to Brian's bike, I am going to take new pictures of it with a non-wrinkly sheet in the background

It's always more fun to get high TOGETHER

Have I mentioned I love my dog, Zeke? He is such a great running partner. Oh, and he's been doing much better with the shoe chewing thing. It's ironic because now I'm thinking he can just have them! I'm really becoming a believer in barefoot running. Yesterday I set out on a hike with Zeke, which turned into a run. I am still resting my hamstring but it was nearly 45 degrees and sunny in January, who could blame me for breaking into a run?

After about a mile I took my shoes off. The trail was smooth in that spot, but grew rockier. I just took my time and stepped as softly as possible. I even ran over several sections of packed snow. It wasn't as cold as it sounds. It's definitely cold if you stop on the snow, but running on it felt great since it wasn't as rocky as everywhere else. The parking lot of Red Rocks Open Space was packed so I knew my bare feet wouldn't go unseen. I was sort of prepared for that. I passed by a couple who gave me funny looks, but didn't say anything. Then a family with two small children pulled over to the side of the trail to let me by. "Barefoot, huh?" the dad commented. And I smiled and said "Yup, just trying it out." Then I heard his kids asking him questions about why I was running in snow with no shoes. Sorry, dude, hope I didn't set a bad example.

Next I crossed paths with a woman about my age who was running and she said "That's awesome." Okay, I felt a little better at this point. Less self-conscious. I don't think being barefoot is something to be ashamed of, but I'm not exactly a beautiful gazelle, swiftly-smoothly-gliding through the forest. I'm more like Homer Simpson falling down the stairs "D'oh! Argh! Er! Son-of-a!" Not something to be entirely proud of....yet.

After about three quarters of a mile I stopped caring who I saw on the trail. I was just really proud of myself because I was running over new terrain with no shoes and I felt like I was on my way to becoming a real barefoot runner. I know it will take time. Years, probably. But it will be good for me, Instant Gratification Girl, to practice that kind of patience.

I love running barefoot with my dog. I'm like "Hey Zeke, look at me, no shoes! Just like you!" and he's like "Cool, I'm going to go chase those deer!" Between reaching a new barefoot milestone, and running for the first time in a week, Zeke and I found ourselves totally elated and just couldn't stop running. I felt the ol' Runner's High coming back and I know Zeke was feeling it too.

losing things

"Riches do not exhilarate us so much with their possession as they torment us with their loss" - Epicurus

Yesterday our garage was broken into and my and my husband's mountain bikes were stolen. I don't want to dramatize the situation but I really feel the need to share a little about our bikes. Maybe this is part of the healing process.

I moved to Colorado permanently after college in the Spring of 2005. I had a little graduation money, a newly acquired Bachelor's degree and an ex-boyfriend waiting on the back burner in case anything fell through. What I didn't have was a clue about what I wanted to do with my life. I did know that I needed a job. I started by getting in my car and driving North on Academy Blvd. I applied to several retail stores as I made my way up Academy, not really caring which of them called me back, as long as one of them did. Then I reached Bicycle Village. When I walked in that store I immediately wanted a job. These were my kind of people. They were all college or post-college age, all fit, fun and intelligent. And they were so NICE. I spoke with the girl at the register for a long time. It was the first conversation I had had with anyone since moving and it felt so good. I loved the idea of being surrounded by bike people. I had a road bike and was into triathlons at the time. My goal was to do an Ironman, and I thought keeping this kind of company would ensure that I didn't let that goal slip away.

I got the job and my entire world opened up. I learned so much and met so many cool people. Being from Kansas, I hadn't a clue about this obscure sport of riding fat-tired bikes on trails encumbered with rocks and roots. I had to learn about mountain biking quickly since my new job was to sell the bikes. I became more and more intrigued with the sport. I coveted the mountain bikes in the store so fiercely that I often had dreams about riding them on the trails my road bike would never dare to brave. Of course, even with my employee discount, I couldn't afford one of these things. Not any of the good ones anyway. That's where Brian came in.

I met Brian at an ice-skating rink. All of the Bicycle village employees had gone skating and one of the girls brought her boyfriend, who brought his roommate, who was Brian. Brian worked for the rival bike shop, Criterium. He said he could take me mountain biking on one of their rentals. I was in! I called him the next week and we planned a ride. It was supposed to be an easy ride since I had never been off-road before. It ended up being the hardest thing I had ever done in my life (including a couple 1/2 Ironman triathlons). We rode The Buckhorn and Captain Jack trails in Cheyenne Canyon. The ride took almost 6 hours and was anything but beginner friendly. I almost cried at the top of the first climb. Brian is a GOOD rider and apparently has a hard time gauging the difficulty levels of trails for ordinary people. Anyway, I was hooked. I went on a few more rides with him on that rental bike and then one night he called me at the shop and said "I have a bike for you." Really? What did that mean? He said it was a loaner, but I was stoked! I went to his house that night where he finished putting the parts on and fit me to it. The frame was his very first mountain bike. It was custom-made for him but he had designed it himself before he knew much about geometry so it was always a little too small. It was perfect for me though. Between Brian and his roommate, there were enough parts to put the bike together for me. Yay!

Mountain biking became my thing. My new thing. I rode it almost every day, even if it was just a short ride at Palmer Park, a sweet mountain biking spot right outside my apartment complex. My skills had a long way to go so I rode every chance I got. My endurance was pretty good from road biking and running, but mountain biking still kicked my ass! I loved working at the bike shop even more now because there were so many experienced riders to push and teach me. There was always someone to ride with, no matter what day, what time or how last-minute it was. That summer I did some races on that bike. I did the Buffalo Creek Xterra, the Crested Butte Xterra, and even won the beginner category at the Wildflower Rush XC race. I also raced the Super-D there, which is a cross between downhill and cross-country. I went over my bars and got this bruise.>>

Over the next couple years, I rode with Brian a lot. We rode all over Colorado together. He really opened me up to this beautiful state and its endless trails. Somewhere along the line we started dating. One thing led to another and I got pregnant. I continued to ride until about 3 months of pregnancy. Since becoming a mother, I have only gone on a handful of mountain bike rides. While my love for mountain biking never faded, running was the more practical activity for a new mom. I dove into running and left my mountain bike hanging in the garage, promising it I would take it out again when I had more time away from the baby. Time passed and I lost interest. I grew more in love with running. I set all kinds of running goals and only thought of my bike when I had an injury or a friend who wanted to go riding. I did not consider myself a cyclist any longer.

When Brian and I discovered our garage had been broken into, we immediately started taking inventory. We have a lot of bikes between us, so it took a few minutes to realize which ones were gone. When I realized it, my heart sank. Oh. No more mountain bike. Since it is winter, and I haven't mountain biked regularly in two years, it is taking some time to sink in. It's not necessarily the bike that I am mourning. If it were, I would have started mourning it when I was pregnant because that's when we really lost touch with each other. I feel like a little chunk of "me" was snatched from my garage. For my husband and I, bikes are part of our identities. Our relationship was founded on a love of bikes. Bikes brought this family together. Brian is a frame builder and he hand-built his stolen bike. It is his baby, his art. I know this is harder on him than it is on me.

Last night after all the venting, cussing and "why-me-ing," Brian hugged me and said that sometimes you have to lose something you love. It builds character. Upon hearing that, I felt a little sense of peace. The bikes were merely this: metal; rubber. Albeit expensive metal and rubber... The important thing is that we have each other. The garage was robbed of the bikes that began our relationship, but our family remains intact and love tenaciously abounds.