Gear: Altra Superior 3.5

When I lived in Brooklyn, NY, I worked at a (then) locally-owned running and triathlon store. It was like Cheers but with gear instead of booze. The manager had been there for 9 years, and was king of the neighborhood. Kids stopped in on their way home from school. Loyal customers brought cookies on holidays. Regulars showed up for group runs in the pouring rain. Even though I had been teaching higher education for more than a decade, I learned more in the running store than I had since I bagged groceries at the local co-op during graduate school. Everyone should be required to work retail or an otherwise low-wage job as an adult: humanity might be saved. 

I specifically remember when we were introduced to the Hoka One One (pronounced oh-nay oh-nay). I took a picture of a quarter next to the height of the cushioning, and rolled my eyes for months. We were at the tail end of the minimalist craze, and I felt embarrassed to even have it in the store. I treated the Hokas as sort of a joke: whenever I brought it out for a customer to try on, I said something like, "And then there's THIS!" Other employees made a note of telling us all if they sold a pair. We'd wager bets on how soon a customer would return them.

Fast-forward...I've been wearing nothing but Hokas (Cliftons) for at least 2 years. After finally breaking down and buying my first pair, I couldn't get over how light they were, and how 100% injury-free they made me. Now they're everywhere. I even saw a photo of my cross-country coach wearing a pair! (Go Tigers). 

But, when I started getting serious about trail running a few months ago, I started tripping on rocks. I know this is largely (if not entirely) human error, but I wanted a new shoe: something with a low drop and more traction. I found the Altra Superior 3.5. Like the Hoka, this is a unique shoe, and certainly not for everyone. It is "minimal" in that it is zero-drop, but it's nothing like a racing flat. The cushion is perfect and the grip is incredible. I haven't tried the rock plate that can be added because I love it as-is. My foot doesn't move around at all, despite the "foot-shaped" toe box.  

Altra is built on the ample-forefoot room (their motto is "embrace the space,") which I love. I recently put this shoe to the ultimate test. Horsetooth Mountain in seriously muddy, foggy, slick, rainy conditions. I ran a little over 6 miles with 1,600 feet of climb and descent. This shoe was amazing. Even thick mud didn't stick to the lugs on the sole: it transitioned well from mud to rock to grass. (For a long time--like, 7 years--the Mizuno Wave Rider was my shoe; but my main complaint with that shoe was that "stuff" constantly got stuck in the wave plate: snow, mud, rocks...) With the Altra, I went through puddles and streams and even scrambled up some rock, and never slipped or collected the trail in my shoes. While the upper isn't waterproof, necessarily, I never felt uncomfortable despite being covered in mud and rain. At the end of my run, I sprayed them off with the water fountain at the trailhead and the grime washed right off. While mud and rain haven't ever been my ideal conditions for running, they might soon be with the Altras.  

Do It: 12,183 Feet

High Point on Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park sits at 12,183 feet, which makes it not only the highest pass in Colorado, but also the highest continuous motorway in the United States. More than 8 miles of the road are above 11,000 feet. Each spring, for a few weeks, Trail Ridge is open to cyclists and pedestrians, but not to cars. This time is spent readying the visitor centers, getting water pumping at the restrooms, and generally maintaining the park. It's also, obviously, the best time to be up there. 

I recently biked from the entrance of Rocky Mountain National Park (which sits at 8,400 feet) up to High Point, and around the top area--which is like being on another planet. The trees disappear, the snow on both sides of the road grows higher than can be seen over, and the air is thin. A little over forty miles and 5,000 feet of gain all in. There was some wind at the top, but I've driven the road when the wind was far worse. Overall, it was the quiet that impressed me. 

The majority of other cyclists I saw at the top were women, which is not usually the case on the roads that I frequent. I met a group of 3 women who (like me) were biking it for the first time, and another woman who was going all the way from Granby to Estes on a bike that looked to weigh almost as much as she did. She had clearly been camping for a while. A thing I've learned is that women in Colorado are not afraid to do challenging feats alone. 

I bought an annual pass for Rocky Mountain and all the rest of the national parks when I entered. Now more than ever, it seems vital that we maintain and support these treasures. I only live about 30-miles from Rocky Mountain, but every time I enter the park, it feels like such an escape. And any time spent above 11,000 is just automatically dream-like. It's important to be in these places: to feel small and get a little scare from the sheer size of everything else. 

Nutrition: Home Brew

Most people have something that they're willing to spend money on, even when they don't have money to spend: small vices--things that make us feel extravagant. Cigars, alcohol, chocolate, shoes. For me, it's kombucha. (I mean, I spend money I don't have on plenty of other things, too...usually cycling socks, cycling caps, and sunglasses). But kombucha is stupid expensive, and I buy it. On-tap, some of the cool new places in hip mountain towns charge more than $5 a glass! I rationalize it by reminding myself that I *don't* smoke cigars, drink alcohol, or care much at all about a shoe collection. Still, once I became the person buying the family-sized bottles of kombucha at Sprouts, I decided I should try my own hand at making it. 

Back in the day, my mother made her own yogurt, so I figured I had it in me to do this. Some friends gave me a "scoby" (symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast) or "mother" and that's maybe the best gift I've ever received. The scoby is...super gross: slimy and unappealing to look at or imagine ingesting in any way. And it grows. But also, it's super amazing! When put in a broth of tea and sugar, it creates a delicious effervescent beverage that's claimed to help everything in the body, but at the very least just tastes good.  

I've experimented quite a bit over the last 2 months. The first batch I tossed entirely. It was like pure vinegar. I hadn't put enough sugar in. The second batch was better but I didn't let it sit long enough before refrigerating, so it was mostly flat. But now it's getting good. I've been brewing 5 tea-bags of earl grey black tea with at least a half cup of white sugar. I let that sit for a day or two and then add it to the scoby. I test it with a straw after 10 days, but it can sit for up to 2 weeks. Then I add a little honey to individual bottles (recycled from purchased kombucha before I was in the brewing biz). I pour the 2-week-old concoction into the small bottles and let it chill. The earl grey and the honey work really well together. Next I'm going to start adding some fruits to the 2-week sit. 

I'm making a gallon (or 6-8 small bottles) of kombucha for less than I was spending on one at the store. Which is nuts. I've also started making my own hummus in big batches. So...I guess it's clear that I live in Colorado is what I'm saying. And that now I can buy more cycling caps. Let me know if you have any tips for kombucha! I'm excited to try new ideas/flavors. 

Do It: Open Water

Until I moved to Colorado, the only open water "swimming" I did in my lifetime consisted of dips in lakes and rivers, and occasional trips to the ocean. Always a source of refreshment, rarely a source of endurance. When I worked summers on a ranch in Montana, the snow would melt and feed a fast-moving creek that eventually ran into the Yellowstone River. On scorching July afternoons, everyone would line up on a bridge over the creek and try to work up the courage to jump in. Instant pins-and-needles cold. You'd get just enough time submerged to desperately want to feel the heat of the sun again. 

In Colorado, though, open-water is sport. Last June, my first triathlon was a sprint: on the first Saturday in June. I rented a wetsuit a few times in May to test things out. Each of my trials lasted no more than 10 minutes. The first time I went in, the water was 48-degrees. I instantly thought of the creek in Montana. On race day, the water was reported to be 60-degrees, but I think that was an exaggeration: it still very literally took my breath away. 

After that first race, I purchased my own wetsuit, and swam many, many more times: I joined an open-water club. By the time I got to my final triathlon in September, I felt like an old pro. My favorite open water swims were early mornings at Carter Lake even before the fishing boats were out. The water was calm and cool and quiet. This year the local lakes are already reporting in at 67-degrees. These days, in general, I'm less afraid of the cold and more intimidated by the heat. I dipped my toes in with my pup the other day, and it was far warmer than pins-and-needles. The pup is just barely a year old: we adopted him last August, and he was too small to really get in the water then. Last week, though, he was VERY excited to splash and play. I'm looking forward to taking him to some early-morning swims. I'm looking forward to spending even more time in Colorado's beautiful water. 

Do It: Gold Hill, Colorado

Ten miles outside of downtown Boulder, Colorado is a step back in time. Mapleton Avenue changes to Sunshine Canyon Drive; after about 6 miles of winding pavement, it switches to dirt, and then gravel. By the time you reach Gold Hill, you've climbed over 3,000 feet. A sign greets travelers with all the relevant statistics: Established in 1859, elevation 8,463 feet, population 118. There's a store and an inn and a school. There are old dogs wandering the road. There's probably some lingering snow piled up. Cyclists know to stuff a jacket in their pocket as it's usually 10-20 degrees cooler up top. 

There are several options up to the old mining town: a road from all four directions. I've climbed up two of the roads, descended one, and still have one on my list. Lickskillet is the steepest county road in the United States, and after going down twice on a road bike, it's still solidly outside of my comfort zone. Even riding the breaks the entire way, you slide and skid down the gravel. It's one-mile of between 15-20% grade. But, it empties onto the smooth-as-pudding Lefthand Canyon Drive, where coasting back to town at 30 mph feels absolutely luxurious. 

I recently "raced" the pavement of Sunshine Canyon, which means I went all-out and had an average pace of just 8 mph. Then I meandered the rest of the way on the dirt to the top. I can't really explain why I love these mining towns so much. The thin air, the reminders of striking it rich, the old general store that's been selling coffee and treats for over 150 years: it all feels like a treasure--like I've done something impressive just in getting here. 

I can't wait to keep climbing these roads. Eventually I'll make it up Lickskillet. Eventually I'll take the longest route and hit two mining towns in one trip. There's still gold up here: even just in the experience of the trip.  

Something I Learned: Slowing the Pace

Trail running has always sort of intimidated me. But, anything I'm not really good at intimidates me. I tend to be a one-pace person. That pace has changed over the years, but generally I go x-minute miles with only about 20 seconds difference. Ever.

I grew up running with no devices and never really worried about numbers. When I went to college, my father got me a Timex watch that had one feature: a timer. I went out for between 40 and 50 minutes each morning during the week, and 80 to 100 minutes on the weekend. I ran every day and didn't even know how fast I was going. I drove routes in my old Chevy Lumina, in order to have some idea what the milage was. When I started running cross-country, everything was new to me. Tempo, fartlek, repeats. The only "speed" work I did with my father was sprinting to the end of each run: maybe 100-200 yards. 

Because speed work wasn't how I was born into running, I feel like I always sort of dreaded it. Each first day of practice after a break from school, my college coach would have us run a timed mile. I never stopped running during breaks, so it wasn't a big deal for me. But my teammates (whether they did their own conditioning or not) would run so hard they'd vomit. I never got that: I never went that hard. 

I've given trail running a few chances here and there, but recently I think I'm finally GETTING it: like being a kid again. Pace doesn't really matter. Or, not like it does on flat land. There's zero consistency. Get up the hill (or, mountain), recover, and fly down the other side. It's. So. Much. Fun. I've been getting up earlier and earlier to be the only one at Devil's Backbone in Loveland, Colorado. The first-light sun on the rocks is always stunning. There are several different trail options, and all give way to views of Rocky Mountain National Park--namely, Long's Peak. 

I like the concentration of being on the trails: it's actually freeing. There's so much to think about (rocks, foot placement, climbs, mud, grass...rattle snakes) that you can't get wrapped up in anything else. Nothing can clutter the mind except the trails. And I'm totally fine with my miles spanning at least 3-minutes on the trails: it all balances out. 

Something I Learned: Swim Stroke

Swimming is like writing: most people have been doing it in some capacity since they were children, so they assume they know everything there is to it. Not so. Both take a lot of practice. With both, you tend to be surprised that you've been doing something wrong your entire life. 

My brother and I took swim lessons from the time we were very young. We pretty much lived at the pool--indoor and out, winter and summer--with our house just blocks away from an athletic club. All the workers knew us by name. Then, when we were a little older, we took private lessons and even diving lessons (I never did really nail the back flip). Over the summer of 4th grade I joined a team: I entered every event listed and came away with blue ribbons most of the time. As I got older, swimming became something I only really did when I was injured from running, which meant I started to look at it as punishment. Where running and biking were adventures, swimming was always just a workout. 

When I moved to Colorado, I became more serious about triathlons. Which meant I had to really consider how much I knew about my stroke. I started improving pretty quickly, mostly because my husband swam in college and often gave me things to think about, and occasionally wrote my workouts. 

But it wasn't until I joined a Masters team that things started clicking. I took a private lesson and felt like I was in grade school all over again. I watched video of my position in the water, and a few times we even put mirrors at the bottom of the pool to see the full stroke. The other game-changer was investing in FINIS Agility Paddles. I found out that my literal weakness was not following through with my stroke. In a lot of ways, I was going through the motions but not really putting my muscles to the test. With my stroke, it's as though I've been riding in the small chainring for years, and just discovered the power of the bigger ring. Today we did a lot of pulling: the FINIS paddles are so nice because they're just slightly larger than your hand but they force so much more work to happen. Swimming is finally (almost) as fun as biking and running. 

Gear: Fulcrum Racing Quattro Carbon wheels

I've got friends who seem to buy bikes more often than I buy running shoes (and I buy a decent amount of running shoes). I get the whole N+1 theory, and there are certainly bikes I'd like to buy, but instead of purchasing a whole new package, I decided I'd upgrade my current frame a little at a time.

Twelve years ago, I purchased my first decent road bike: a Fuji Roubaix 1.1. I studied up, talked to local shops, and then was fitted for it at a locally-owned store that I trust. Then...I moved to NYC. After less than a month in Brooklyn, my bike was stolen. When I went to the police, they essentially laughed and told me that professional thieves can pop a U-lock in between 2 and 8 seconds (they showed me how). Professional thieves? I was heart-broken: my first NYC scar. I bought an all-black $500 Fuji Feather single-speed with zero bells and whistles to commute on, and a $90 Kryptonite lock. I used my bike for transportation only. 

After a few more years in the city, I decided to look into road bikes again. I tested several out, but really just wanted my Roubaix. I found a Fuji dealer in Manhattan and they got me my bike. I vowed never to let it out of my sight: never to lock it at all. If I had to go indoors anywhere, I carried it on my shoulder. I started doing some bigger rides up 9W and with the local Rapha club. 

When I moved to Colorado, though, that's when I really started biking. That's when I fell in love with big, long climbs. I live between Fort Collins and Boulder, which means access to some of the best roads/hills in the Front Range. I met some great people via Strava, and got some advice on parts. Over the past several months I've added the following: SRAM Force Outer Ring, SRAM Powerglide Inner Ring (34Tx110mm), Shimano Ultegra RD-R8000 Rear Derailleur, Shimano Ultegra CS-8000 11 speed cassette, Fulcrum Racing Quattro Carbon wheels, Specialized Power Expert saddle. This setup is like a new bike, but with the frame I've come to, and continue to love. I can't recommend the Fulcrum Racing Quattro Carbon wheels enough. Fully carbon wheels are insane. Basically, no matter what bike you buy, unless you're spending more than I did on my last car, you're probably going to get crappy wheels: it's how bike manufacturers save/make money. Straight up: the wheel upgrade is the best thing you can do for any bike. 

Something I Learned: A Brief History of Rain

Growing up in Ohio, my family took a trip to Lake Erie each June, as soon as school was out. I loved swimming off the dock, sailing the little Sunfish sailboats, biking up and down the path around the cottages, and sitting outside the deli with an ice cream cone. But also, I loved the storms. Lake rain seemed different from rain in suburbia. It was mesmerizing. I've still never seen such purple lightning as those strikes on the lake. 

Years ago, I spent a couple of summers working a ranch in the Crazy Mountains of Montana. There, it usually snowed into early June, and then settled into hot afternoons and cool evenings. Bill, the old cowboy who owned the ranch used to say, any day that it hasn't rained after the 4th of July equals drought. One time, when I was in town on a supply run, after weeks of no rain, the skies opened up. Everyone stopped what they were doing and started clapping and cheering. 

In my 4 years in New York City, I probably went through two dozen umbrellas. NYC rain always seemed to come with wind. And it always caught me when I hadn't checked the weather. I'd be sitting on the subway and people would run on, soaked. Thus resulting in a closet full of bodega umbrellas.  

I've been in Colorado for 2 years, and we get a shower every once in a while, but rarely all-out rain. I don't own an umbrella at all here. Many times I've been out biking and gotten caught in a shower, but have almost always ended up dry by the time I got home. On Tuesday it was supposed to rain, so I stuffed my jacket in my jersey and set out. It ended up beautiful and hot. But for the last (almost) 48 hours, it has absolutely poured. It's good: we need it. I just planted strawberries and vegetables last weekend, so I couldn't have scheduled it better. But generally, people in Colorado don't know what to do in this weather. I will say, the flowers are absolutely drunk on it, so that alone is worth the disturbance. The weekend looks clear and hot; certainly it won't be long before we'll be wishing for another good soaking. 

Do It: (Goals Set, Races Entered)

It's full-on spring in Colorado. Which is to say, we're still getting the occasional snow shower, followed by days in the 60s and 70s. Flowers are blooming. Bugs are waking up. The pup is learning to run at a fast enough pace that he can stick with me for 4 or 5 miles. Lakes still seem like they'd be dangerously cold, but a fellow Masters Swimmer told me he'd be in by the end of the month!

I'm finalizing my race calendar and getting excited for training and competing. I'm only entering one repeat race from last season, and ready to try some new challenges. I've started adding some group rides and underground fondos to my training, which makes me seriously humble (I don't have a ton of speed in my legs yet). 

My first event will be the Lory Xterra Trail Triathlon. (Check out the video of the route) I've put in some serious miles on my gravel bike, but still need to ride and run these trails. 

Next up is what I'm kind of putting my whole self into: a repeat appearance at the Boulder Peak Triathlon. I did this last year and it was crushing but awesome. I've been climbing my ass off already, and will continue to train on a ton of hills. The highlight of this race is a huge climb up Olde Stage Road. Hopefully it won't be quite as hot as last year...

Parker Reservoir 2.4 mile open swim, a trip to Hawaii in early August, and biking Pikes Peak. I'm still looking to add something at the end of the summer/early fall. I'd love to race at sea level. Let me know if you have any suggestions: in Colorado or beyond! Happy training!

Ling: Light

March 10th at high noon, Walker Ranch--Boulder, Colorado: Micah Ling and Douglas Light. 

A week before the wedding (aka a gathering of 4 friends, their kids and dogs, on a ranch in the Rocky Mountains), I was getting my hair trimmed and a woman in the chair across from me was getting her hair "done" for her wedding that night. It was elaborate--she had very long hair--involving dozens of pins and curls and tucks and products. The stylist said, "Now give it a good shake, who knows how much dancing you'll do and we do NOT want this to come out." My only thought was, I'm so glad I'm not doing anything that involves pins or getting upset if my hair comes loose. I'm so glad I'm having a wedding without having a wedding. 

March 10th was bright and beautiful and windy, as is the custom for spring in Colorado. I ran 6 miles at sunrise, and then had breakfast with Douglas and Ten Paws as usual. We drove to the ranch and stopped on the way for flowers.

As I opened the door at the ranch, to greet our friends, the wind slammed the screen and pinched my hand. My knuckle bled and bled. To some, this would be a bad sign--or even, would ruin the day. But I got a Star Wars band-aid and was sure to get photos to prove the wound. Imperfections--things you can't plan for--are what make things interesting, memorable, and lasting. 

We had lunch at a favorite spot in Boulder and made our way back home. The next morning, Douglas and I flew to California to spend a few days exploring Catalina Island and generally relaxing. We hiked, and biked, and breathed in the sea-level air. All in all, I couldn't have had a better week; and luckily, this is just the beginning. 

It's Winter!

So far, winter in Colorado has been something like 5 days of spring, 2 days of winter, but for the past couple of weeks we've actually had several days of winter in a row (still usually followed by 2 or 3 days of spring temps). I can't complain! I haven't gone more than a few days without getting on a bike, which is kind of amazing. But it's also given me an opportunity to take advantage of how awesome Colorado is with snow. I picked up some pretty decent, lightly used skis from Craigslist. Because...in Colorado, everyone is constantly upgrading and thus selling their still-totally-usable skis. They're great!

My teaching schedule this spring has given me the gift of Tuesdays and Thursdays with no classes, which doesn't exactly translate to entirely free days...but I'm trying to make it that way. I'm doing everything I can to jam all of my work into Mondays and Wednesdays, so that I can just play on days when I don't teach. 

I'm also newly determined to take full advantage of Colorado. It amazes me how many different activities I can do in one week (especially with a mild winter). Last week alone I was able to do a road ride, a gravel ride, a hike, and went skiing. (Not to mention the local 4-mile Sweetheart Classic road run with white-out conditions and necessary Yaktrax). I want to keep my eye on variety.

We're looking ahead to spring and summer plans and goals. Lots of boxes to check, but one that I'm especially excited about is hiking some 14ers. Mt. Elbert--Colorado's highest peak--will be our first big hike. Already conditioning for that. I also want to bike Pike's Peak, which is tricky because of weather. I'm starting to climb a bit more on the bike, so that my legs can handle it. There's literally no telling what March and April will bring to Colorado in terms of weather, but I'm stoked to keep playing!

Due thanks

Even though I said I'm not doing any recaps this year, I am feeling especially fortunate, and want to shout-out the ones who helped me so much in 2017. It was our first full year in Colorado, and we wouldn't be here without Katy Welter and Rick Bieterman.  

It was my first year as a "triathlete," and I couldn't have done it without such a great race series and amazing local support. I got a ton of super helpful advice from my friend and superstar athlete, Lydia Dobbs! I also got a lot of (unknowing) support from the professional female athletes that I admire so much: Linsey Corbin, Rachel Joyce, Rachel McBride, Flora Duffy, and Shalane Flanagan. And some much needed and appreciated knowledge from Triathlon Taren. Above all, I have to thank Douglas Light for his ongoing incredible support. He gets up at ridiculous hours to drive me to races. He makes me delicious meals after long rides and runs. He forces me to go to the hospital when I'm so dehydrated I can't even keep water down (oops). He teaches me how to lift weights to get stronger. He cheers for me, and never, ever stops saying "I know you can do it."  

Here's my year in sports: thanks to Strava for making these cool videos! 

Also, big thanks to All Aboard Rescue, for bringing Ten Paws up from Texas so he could make our lives even more hilarious and nonstop. Onward! 

It's the end of the year as we know it

I've written a lot of end-of-year lists in my day: a lot of reviews and recaps. I'm not at all against celebrating accomplishments and labeling things "good," "better," even "best." But this year especially, it feels like we've gotten a little lost in the line between art and commerce: the distinction between necessary creativity--creativity for survival--and product. Artists (maybe especially writers?) have long been asked about process, and that's fine. Humans are wildly curious about humans. When do they wake? What do they drink? What do they write with? What do they listen to as they revise? Are they a dog person or a cat person? But, aside from curiosity, that stuff doesn't matter. It seems like a lot of us have gotten too hung up on the people behind the thing. 

So, instead of a best-of, this year I'm focused more on looking ahead. Last year around this time I was pushing to become stronger: digging in to what could better the world. The news of Trump was still new and stinging, and that hasn't really changed except that we're in the middle of its embarrassing reality now. This next year will be even more of that finding strength, I hope. Do even more: physically, mentally, creatively. But beyond that, my goal is to let go of more. To stop comparing: to stop wasting time. To keep ears and eyes open. I want to try new things, constantly. I want to push myself outside of comfort in order to learn as much as possible. 

I've got a written list of goals for 2018 that I'll put up somewhere where I can see it each day. It's well known that Shalane Flanagan wrote in her planner "win NYC marathon" months before the race, and looked at it every day. That's not to say putting the words in ink won the race, but there's something about seeing the thing. Every day. 

Create for the sake of creating: write in order to read, read in order to write. Climb the mountain for the sake of the experience. Learn for the sake of knowing. And generally try to have the attitude of a puppy. 

Mild Temperatures and Masters Swimming

Dirt roads, snow-capped mountains

I must have done something to please the weather gods, because the fall has continued to be amazing. The thing that Colorado is really good at is the 30 (and sometimes even 40)-degree temperature span. These last few weeks have been mornings in the 30s and afternoons in the 60s. Save for the sun beginning to set at 4:30pm, it's basically perfect. 

I've done a few morning rides in lobster-claw gloves, and even more afternoon rides in short bibs. The afternoon sun is glorious. I've also been riding a lot of dirt, which means almost entirely empty stretches with incredible views. There are ways for cars to easily avoid these roads, so they do. Seeing the snow-capped Rocky Mountains has not gotten old. 

But, winter is coming. Ski season starts next week. The magazine that I test products for is sending me waterproof, heavy-duty gear. I should, in reality, be praying for precipitation. So I joined a US Masters Swim club. Approximately 30 people, ranging in age from 28 to 70, gather at 5:30am at a (really nice) high school aquatic center Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Some are religious about it. Others show up once a week at best. I'm averaging twice a week for now. I have to say, these folks can SWIM. I did my first 3K test and was humbled at how fast some can swim that far. I've got some new goals, for sure. 

Sky on fire, post-swim

And, it's not bad walking out into the sunrise after swimming 2-miles of drills to start the day. You get to see the sunrise, for one, and have that good-exhausted feeling going into work. If I can hang with my lane for the entire winter, I think I'll be a lot stronger come spring. And, what else is there? 

ColoRADo Fall

It's full-on fall in Colorado, and I'm once again reminded that this is my favorite season. I think I truly fell in love with the end-of-summer transition into colder weather when I ran cross-country in college. Days started with early-morning miles at sunrise--just for the sake of miles. Practice was at 4pm, which meant hills, drill, sprints, and race strategy, followed by huge team meals. I was running more than 70-miles a week back then, and didn't feel stretched thin. I just loved going as far as I could go.

These last few mornings in Colorado have felt like those CC days. You pick up the pace because the air is crisp and clean, and you just want to go faster. This morning I ran tempo--10x(2 minutes up, 2 minutes down). I tried to keep my ups between 7-flat and 7:15. The humidity was right around 30%. Weather like this makes it easy. 

The first ski slopes open this weekend. As much as I'm looking forward to winter--to becoming true Colorado and getting on skis more than twice this year (AND FAT TIRE BIKING)--I could hang onto fall for at least an extra month. Maybe I'll get my wish. The next 10 days look to be sunny with a high around 70 and a low around 40: literal perfect weather. Hopefully even faster splits. 

Thanks for spoiling me, Colorado! I just raked a few huge piles of leaves, and plan on playing in them with the pup!

Race Report: Harvest Moon Long-Course Tri

And so the race season comes to a close. For now. I'm endlessly thankful that I signed up for the 5430 Boulder Triathlon Series instead of an Ironman race. It was so great to have a small field with local athletes who love their community. Plus! Ironman doesn't have that sweet, sweet slip-n-slide finish! And maybe it's fitting that I completed the last race of the 5430 series in 5:43. After a 3:03 finish for the Olympic race (with tons of hills and heat) all I really wanted for the 70.3 was sub-6.

A month ago, when we were hitting the 90s each afternoon, I said I'd do anything for a race-day high of 70 and a low of 50. Yesterday was exactly that. The air temperature for the swim was 50-degrees and the water was 65. The bike was brisk and perfect. The run was warm, but not oppressive. 

The bike route was 2-loops on mostly empty country roads. 2K feet of gain over 56 miles, which I found to be perfect. Small climbs and awesome downhill rewards. The run was also 2 loops on a packed-dirt course. Around 400-feet of climb, which took its toll on me. I had to run a lot slower than I prefer, but I was thrilled with my swim and bike performance, so I can't complain too much. 

I'm stoked to rest a bit. Training up was awesome and exhausting. I've never slept better than I have over the last few months. I've also probably never eaten as much! A couple of weeks "off," then onto some trail cycling this fall! 

Puppy in the House!

The first order of business after buying and moving into a house, was to adopt a puppy. So we did: the day after the move. Ten Paws is a boxer-mix, and lives up to his name. He will box you. He will bite you. He will puppy his way into your heart. Three-weeks in, and I already can't imagine life without him. 

We took our first road-trip this weekend (with Ten Paws): 3 hours into the mountains, where it was cool, and calm, and perfect. Ten Paws met our friends' dog, Muddy (aka Mud Man). Mud Man will always have a special place in my heart: I remember when he was a pup. Things went well. I've had dogs throughout my life, but never a puppy. The absolute truth is, a tired puppy is a good puppy. With free run of a 170-acre ranch, Mud Man wore him out (and vice versa!) 

It was sweater weather in the mountains!

Ten Paws' floatation vest just arrived, so we'll go swimming tomorrow. Like with any version of a baby, life is full of firsts. And firsts are always good. 

Details

Right now, the only thing in the pockets of my shorts are my keys and my Chapstick. I generally feel pretty safe if I know where my keys, wallet, phone, and Chapstick are. I just finished teaching an intro to creative writing course, where my primary focus was on the details. Most intro writers want to embellish their life's story with elevated diction and a wild abundance of adjectives and adverbs. This is predictable, and fine. So I set out to have them think only about small, concrete and/or sensory details. It sort of worked. Or, it worked for me. I've been thinking about smaller and smaller details in my own writing. 

I've also been volunteering at a wildlife rehabilitation center. We take in just about anything except birds of prey (there's a different place where those go), bats, and skunks (both carry dangerous diseases). I've been trained to feed/care for squirrels and all kinds of birds. Each shift I work, I gain a huge amount of information. And each time I feed a tiny thing, I notice all the small details. If you reach your arm into the cage of barn swallows, they'll line up on your arm; they'll line up on anything. 

I'm not (yet) allowed to feed the corvids, because they're so smart. If a person makes eye-contact with them, they'll remember the eyes and try to find that person once they're let free. I'm not kidding. My general advice is, never do anything to piss off a crow. They will tell their friends about you, and you will have problems. The only way for a farmer to get rid of crows is to get a dead crow and put it out on their land. The crows will come and have a funeral, and then avoid that area because it's obviously dangerous. They will spread the message far and wide. Because of this, if farmers come across a dead crow, they pass it around. 

Generally, robins are the only polite baby birds: they wait their turn to be fed and seem to appreciate it. The rest are just nonstop, "GIVE ME FOOD!" When they get older, and are off the formula, they get a varied diet, but they all looooove meal worms. 

I'm (hopefully) teaching creative writing again this fall (if it fills). I so wish that I could just have my students work at the rehab center and write about it. Caring for any tiny thing gives a whole new perspective on how things work: what matters, etc. I appreciate that there are so many people who are dedicated to giving these little lives a second chance. Animals usually end up at the center because of some human-related mishap. I'm glad we get a chance to redeem ourselves in the larger cycle of things. 

Race Report: Boulder Peak Olympic-Distance Triathlon (with hill climb)

Check out my Boulder Peak Race Report for 2018!

When I signed up for the 5430 Triathlon Series back in April, *one* of the things I was worried about was the heat for the July race. And rightfully so. Still, this race is awesome. Last year, the event was canceled because of wildfire. The fire didn't directly threaten the course, but all of the county's police resources needed to be not directing traffic for a race. Last year would have been the 25th anniversary, so it was especially sour that it didn't happen. But! That meant extra swag this year! The swag-bag was stacked! Race morning, the pros went first, and it was fun to see the beach-run launch; but as each minute passed, the sun got higher and the temperatures rose. 

My wave took off at almost exactly 7:30am. The Boulder Reservoir tends to be choppy but manageable. Back on land in 30 minutes, I was glad to get the wetsuit off (although, I'm totally in love with my Roka). I still suck at transitions. I don't know how the pros do it in 58 seconds. Maybe some day my T1 will be under 3-minutes...

The ride was the highlight. From the start, it's uphill. And keeps climbing without rest for 8 miles. As we approached the steepest part of Olde Stage Road (14% grade), someone said, "I'm jealous of that road bike right about now." Tri bikes are not made for climbing. I passed at least 12 tri bikes going up. (But they passed me back as soon as we were on flatland).  On the descent, everyone's eyes were glued to their devices: we couldn't go over 35 mph. There was a sheriff with a speed gun. The rest of the ride was rolling and fun. 

The run...was slow. Like, really slow. I passed a lot of people, but a lot of people were giving up. It was 90-degrees when I started the 10K. At the finish, I took full advantage of the slip-and-slide. The guy spraying it down assured me that I needed way more momentum going into my slide. Next year! For now, onto doubling my distances.