New P.R. at the Denver Rock 'n Roll Half-Marathon

I set my original P.R. (personal record) back in 2010 when I ran my very first half-marathon in New York. I'd put my name into the entrance lottery--there are too few slots and too many would-be runners for that race--figuring I probably wouldn't get in and was a little alarmed when I did. I'd thought it would be a good opportunity to get myself back into running again, but the longest I'd ever run was something in the neighborhood of 9 miles. Doing 13.1 seemed very intimidating. My training consisted of running around Central Park a few times a week until I could comfortably run 12 miles. I had no idea what kind of pace I should set, and so I just ran the race at what seemed like a challenging, but sustainable pace. I was elated to realize that my finish time was a thoroughly respectable 1 hour and 42 minutes.

This uninteresting photo is apparently the only one I have from my first half-marathon.

I have spent the last five years hoping to break that record but not really doing much to actually make it happen. This time, for my 11th (if I'm counting correctly) half-marathon, I decided that I wanted to take training a little more seriously. I incorporated interval work (hard repeats of shorter distances with breaks in between) and tempo runs (slightly less hard middle-distance runs with no breaks) into my regimen of longer, slower, distance runs. I followed the training plan outlined in my beloved book Run Less, Run Faster, and made sure my paces for each workout met the stipulations set by the book to run a race of 1:40, my new goal. I was confident in the book, but less confident, as the race drew nearer, that I'd done everything right. For one thing, the plan in the book is for 16 weeks of training, but I'd started with only 12 weeks to work with and so ended up cutting out four weeks in the middle. For another, our trip to Austria brought my training to a near-total halt; in two weeks there, I did only one long run.

Mary Ann, a very experienced older runner whom I see in running groups several times a week, assured me that I'd easily make my goal. So did Ed, who ran with me a few times leading up to the race. That gave me a little more confidence, but I was still feeling a little nervous.

My nervousness mounted when, about half an hour before the race on Sunday, my trusty GPS watch wouldn't start. (The blasted thing fired up today with no problem at all...) To meet my goal, I was going to have to stick to a certain pace, and that would be tough without the watch. Luckily, there was a 1:40 pace group in the corral behind me, so I figured I could go with them if worse came to worst. And I could use the clocks on the course to get a sense of how I was doing. But when I met up with the pace group, I didn't like their plan. They were going to take three miles to ease into race pace, and I didn't want to start that slowly. So when the gun went off, I left them behind, figuring I could always stay with them if they caught me.

From 2013, but it looked just like this on Sunday.

They didn't catch me, however. From the first few steps I felt strong, well-rested from my taper. I strided through the first mile comfortably, well ahead of the pace group (which was, admittedly, going about 20 second per mile more slowly than they should have been at that point), and looked up eagerly when I reached the mile marker for the clock. There wasn't one. There wasn't one at the two- or three-mile marker either. In fact, the only clocks on the course were at the starting and finish lines. Running blind, I knew only that I was ahead of the pace group. I was sure to meet my goal if I stayed ahead of them, but was I going at a pace I couldn't sustain?

At mile 4.5 or so, a girl I'd seen with the pace group loped up beside me. In a brief, breathless exchange, we agreed that we'd been frustrated by the pace group's slow start. Since she'd crossed the starting line at the same time I had and was wearing a working watch, she called off the mile splits for the next three miles. Each time I was amazed at how quickly I was going. I felt good, but I worried that I'd crash and burn at this pace. Around mile 7, she pulled ahead, and she ended up beating me handily. I doggedly held my pace as best I could.

It turns out that I was able to hold it pretty well. Instead of struggling to make it over the finish line at 1:40 as I'd hoped, I sailed through at 1:37:38, cutting a full 5 minutes off my previous P.R. There's no doubt in my mind that I could have gone faster, too, and I will know for next time that I don't need to be quite as conservative.

I was surprised and pleased by my time, and even more so by my results. Racing in Denver, it seems, is a very different ballgame than in ultra-competitive New York. I finished:

-10th out of 1,002 runners in my division (women 30-34)
-40th out of 5,089 women in the race
-240th out of 7,943 overall finishers

For comparison, the first place finisher ran 1:07:15 and the first woman finished in 1:20:57.

My time is nothing to sneeze at, but it's not all that fast, and I can't imagine I'd have ranked so well in my division had I run this race against competitors from New York. Still, I'm pleased with my time, and I know for certain I can do better. I put a lot of effort into my interval and tempo runs, but I can certainly run more times each week and increase my volume a lot, which will certainly improve my race time. I'm also rather pleased that I ran so quickly on a hilly course at altitude; I'll bet I could cut off some more time easily if I were to race at sea level. I'm eager to see how fast I can go, and will be looking for another half to enter soon.

Boulder-versary

One year ago today, Ed and I pulled up in front of a house on a vaguely familiar street in a vaguely familiar town with a car full of suitcases and cats, ready to start a new chapter in our lives. It was an anxious moment in a lot of ways. Packing up our beloved apartment and bidding our friends farewell in New York felt less final, somehow, than arriving in Boulder. It didn't really hit me that we'd left all that behind until I started to put our things into strange closets and cabinets in our new house. I had no idea what the next months would hold, and while I was enchanted by the charming neighborhoods and restaurants and the beautiful vistas beyond, I felt as though I was looking in at Boulder from the outside. We weren't yet a part of this place.

Today, it's difficult to believe that we have been here a year. There is no sign of the boxes that once filled these rooms, and my calendar is full of social events instead of phone dates with far-away friends. I rarely use Google maps to help me get around anymore, and I can speak with great authority about the quality of various restaurants downtown. Ed and I have landed a really wonderful group of friends, mostly transplants like us. I miss New York mightily, and in some ways it still feels like home. But Boulder is beginning to feel that way, too, and I can't wait to see what the next year will bring.

Grillin' Like a Villain

It's a little embarrassing how long I've dreamed of the day when Ed and I would have our own barbecue. Thanks to a dear family friend who sent us funding for the one we requested on our registry, my dream came true early this week! Ed and I took home this handsome beauty and fired up our first dinner on it that very night. It features four burners under the grill, plus a fifth one on the side for heating up a pan, just in case. We feasted on steak, a veggie burger, corn on the cob, and zucchini, all hot off the grill. Enjoying a beer on the porch while listening to good food sizzle a few feet away felt like heaven.

The Jaipur Literature Festival Comes to Boulder

I was quite excited when I heard several months ago that the Jaipur Literature Festival would be coming to Boulder. Granted, I'd never heard of it. But I had missed going to hear authors read their work and speak from my New York days, and I figured this was at least worth a shot. Plus, it was free.

The Boulder Public Library

The event was to take place at the Boulder Library, which is one of my favorite places in town. The building is beautiful both inside and out, and I looked forward to having a reason to hang out there for a weekend. I was a little less optimistic when I saw the line-up of speakers, however. I'd heard of only one (Anchee Min) of the hundred or so who would be coming, and for someone who follows literature and publishing as closely as I do, this was rather unusual. I figured these must be pretty obscure writers indeed. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to listen to excerpts from a lot of mediocre books. 

Luckily, that's not really what the Jaipur Literature Festival is about, as it turns out. The connection to literature was actually fairly loose. Instead of talking about books, writers of fiction and non-fiction (and some translators, too) converge to discuss all sorts of topics that they've explored in their books, but the goal is to exchange ideas rather than to promote certain works. The festival started in Jaipur, India eight (I think) years ago and has grown to be tremendously popular there (partially, one can't help but suppose, because it is free). In addition to its yearly visit to India, it has taken place in London and several other cities as well. The JLF had never occurred in the United States before, and a local couple approached the coordinators to suggest that it come to Boulder, thinking it was a pretty long shot but determined to at least propose it. To their surprise, the committee was intrigued and sent some delegates to check out the area. They promptly fell in love and the rest is history. I was a little disappointed to learn that the focus would be less on literature than I'd thought, but I figured it might be an interesting event. 

The JLF took place on Saturday and Sunday. There were talks throughout both days, each lasting about 45 minutes, from 10:00 A.M. through 6:00 P.M. On average, there were three or four talks to choose from for every single time slot - in short, a lot of options. Titles on the program included "Rewilding Our Heart," "Cities and Their Shadows," "First Draft: Between Fact and Fiction," and "Matters of Faith." In other words, they were a little ambiguous. Although the website provided more detailed descriptions of the themes, the prospect of clicking through all of them seemed overwhelming, so I think most people just chose the ones that sounded most intriguing and hoped for the best. Most discussions were led by panels of three to four authors with a mediator, with time for questions from the audience at the end. Having just returned from traveling, I was happy to let our friends Diana and Joel pick the first two talks on Saturday, and Ed and I showed up to attend:  

• Against the Grain: In the Times of Groupspeak - Margo Jefferson, Adrian Molina and Ryan Gattis moderated by David Barsamian
• Twilight Zones - Kai Bird, Simon Sebag Montefiore, and William Dalrymple, moderated by Nur Laiq

Things got off to a rather disastrous start. Against the Grain was (as perhaps we should have expected from the title) disjointed and very poorly mediated. Barsamian is apparently a host on a local, uber-liberal radio show, and he kicked things off by delivering a long, meandering monologue, then asking the panelists if they had anything to say (after failing to introduce any of them). They looked at each other in bewilderment, then, after a few tense moments, delivered monologues of their own. Barsamian had prepared no questions, and the "conversation" was difficult to follow and felt like a waste of time. 
Happily, Twilight Zones (which, as it turned out, was about the Middle East) was fascinating and expertly run. All three panelists were historians, and their conversation, expertly mediated by author and Middle Eastern scholar Nur Laiq, was fascinating.  

I was on my own for Sunday, so I chose to attend: 

• Twice Told Texts: The Inner Life of Translations - Antonio Ruiz-Camacho, Arvind Krishna Mehrotra, Christi Merrill, and Linda Hess, moderated by Arshia Sattar
• Jerusalem - Brian Aivars Catlos, Nur Laiq, and Simon Sebag Montefiore, moderated by Sanjoy Roy

Both sessions, thankfully, bore no resemblance to Against the Grain. The discussion about translation was particularly interesting for me, as it's a subject that I've always found fascinating. Two of the panelists were translators of poetry, which I've always imagined must be the most difficult type of text to work with, and there was plenty of lively debate about whether to translate word-for-word as much as possible, forget the words and try to evoke the meaning of the original poem, or try for something in between. Jerusalem was, predictably, fascinating as well, and I learned a great deal about the history of a city I've often visited but known comparatively little about. One of the panelists was a Medieval historian who teaches at CU, and Nur Laiq, who spends most of her time interviewing Arab youth about their perceptions of current events, sat beside him, so we heard very interesting and diverse information. I was so interested that I bought a copy of Jerusalem (the book) in the JLF gift shop and had it signed by Simon Sebag Montefiore, the third panelist. It's a fairly monstrous tome and I both look forward to, and dread, diving into it. 

There is much talk about having the JLF return next year, and it seemed to me that things went so smoothly that we have a good chance. Overall, it was a wonderful experience, though there were lots of local nuts in the audiences. In Boulder, the local nuts are usually the older generation who have been living here since the '60s and are overly fond of tie-dye and conspiracy theories. Oh well, I suppose they just added to the experience. I encourage anyone and everyone who might be interested to keep tabs on JLF Boulder and to come out next year. Our guest room may even be available. Keep an eye out for recordings of the talks, too; I heard that they will all be posted on the website and will be available for public viewing. 

Failed Fourteener

As Ed's friend Dave said to his son over our consolation breakfast in Boulder at 10:30 on Friday morning, "It's not about making it to the top, it's about making the right decisions." That about sums up our experience attempting to climb Long's Peak yesterday. We stayed low, but we also stayed alive.

Beautiful Long's Peak. The bare rock face is known as "the diamond."

Ed has been dying to climb Long's, something he hasn't done since his days as a camper at Cheley. He and his old camp friend Dave, who lives in Denver, planned together for several days, checking the weather, discussing our packing list, etc. Dave wanted to bring his ten-year-old son along, and so the two of them planned to sleep in the parking lot and get an extra-early start on Friday morning, just in case it took Jack longer to make the ascent. We planned to meet them at a feature called the Keyhole over halfway up and continue together from there. Ed and Dave checked in with each other on Thursday night and agreed that the chance of precipitation didn't worry them too much; there was a 25% chance, but there always seems to be a 25% chance.

Ed and I woke up at about 3:15 A.M. on Friday morning, dressed, and headed out the door. The trailhead isn't all that far away, and we were hiking by 4:50. It was, of course, pitch black (there wasn't even much of a moon), and so we hiked by the light of our headlamps, sometimes chatting and sometimes just enjoying the feel of the dark, silent forest around us. At some point, Ed asked if I was seeing raindrops. We were still under the cover of trees at this point, and after looking carefully I realized that I was seeing a drop intercept the beam of my headlamp every few seconds. I was surprised--I had been admiring the view of the stars in the cloudless sky not long before from the parking lot--but not too worried since the "rain" was barely noticeable.

The picture changed pretty dramatically by the time we got above treeline, though. We were about halfway up, and the sky had lightened enough to show us a mountain range cloaked in thick clouds. Worryingly, it was clear that the weather was headed our way. It was getting colder, too. I'd stripped down to a long-sleeved shirt, but since the rain had turned into pelting little ice balls, I called for a stop and reached down into my backpack to extract my raincoat. Out of the corner of both eyes, I saw a bright flash. "Was that lightning?" I asked nervously. A few moments later, we heard a boom. "I think that was about five seconds," Ed said. Yikes. Not right on top of us, but the storm was headed our way and we were above treeline, setting us up to be lightning rods.

Note the white streaks whipping by Dave - ice balls!

We waited for a while to see whether it would clear up or get worse. The ice balls (I maintain that they were not snowflakes) continued to abrade my face and standing still was making me colder and colder. A thick, white layer was accumulating on the ground. Right around the time we heard a second boom of thunder, a group passed by us, headed back down the trail. They weren't taking any chances, they told us. Ed was pretty sure we should throw in the towel, too, but he was worried about Dave and Jack. Phone calls to them were not going through, and he finally managed to get a text message off but receive no response. I was pretty sure no knowledgeable mountaineer would stick around on top of a mountain with his kid in tow in a lightning storm, but Ed was worried they were waiting for us. Finally, after another five minutes of indecision (and another rumble of thunder), we agreed that I'd start for the car while Ed went up the trail to try to find them. I wasn't thrilled about this, but I'd forgotten to bring hand warmers and my gloves were soaked through. I was eager to put my numbing hands in front of the car's heating vents.

Our intended route

The day was predicted to be beautiful after about 9:00 A.M., and it did start to clear as I got lower and lower. Still, it was too late in the day to attempt to summit Long's (afternoon thunderstorms are the norm around here, so it's important to summit early), and we wouldn't have been able to get to the top even if things had cleared up earlier. The ascent requires lots of scrambling over boulders and shimmying along narrow rock passages, which are a little dicey when dry and not to be attempted when wet. I passed hikers headed up as I went down and nearly all of them quizzed me on the conditions up above. Although my report was grim, no one seemed to worried since they were all going to Chasm Lake, which is under the treeline. Several told me that they'd passed a steady stream of would-be Long's hikers sadly trudging back to their cars.

I was thrilled to reach the parking lot and crank up the heat in the car. Ed, Dave, and Jack appeared about 45 minutes later. When they'd gotten Ed's text they had already been on their way down, as it turned out, and so Ed had joined them for the rest of the descent. Disappointed but resigned, we drove into Boulder for a massive breakfast and pity party.

Oh well.

The nice thing about living here is that we have easy access to Long's, and distance won't prevent us from going back for another attempt any time. It may be too late this season, though, so we'll have to be patient. (It is definitely possible to climb in winter when there's a thick layer of snow covering everything, but that requires a great deal of technical climbing and gear and is a whole different ballgame.) One of the most disappointing parts about the day was missing out on the views, both of the land spread below us and the mountains looming in front of us, which is one of my favorite parts of climbing. Everything was just too cloudy this time. But I look forward to many more attempts of Long's and of Colorado's other high-elevation playgrounds, some of which will certainly end in failure but some of which will make me feel as though I'm on top of the world.

A Chilly Rockies Game

The last few weeks in Boulder have been hot, and so when my friend Rikki proposed an evening trip to Denver to watch a Rockies game, I couldn't think of much that sounded better. A warm evening, a cold beer, and a baseball game to ignore while I chatted with my friends sounded like a recipe for happiness. To sweeten the deal, tickets for a section of bleachers called "the rock pile" were only $4. 

Alas, when we met at the bus station to ride into Denver, the weather had other ideas. It was chilly and gray and had been all day, so I didn't have high hopes that things would improve much as the evening wore on. I'd never taken the bus into Denver and was glad for the opportunity to try it out. The trip cost $5 and took about an hour. I found myself wishing for the rail line connecting our two cities which was discussed and approved but never built. 

We waited at a bar at the newly refurbished and charming Union Station for the rest of our friends to arrive on later buses, drinking beer and enjoying the atmosphere. Then it was time to head for the stadium, which was only about a ten-minute walk away. 

I don't know whether it was the damp chill of the evening or the fact that the Rockies are a pretty terrible team, but we found that a pretty sparsely populated stadium awaited us when we finally arrived midway through the first inning. Entire sections were completely empty. My friend Lindsay's co-worker had told her that the stadium personnel virtually never check tickets once one is inside, and so we found some seats sheltered from the drizzle that would have cost much more than our spots on the rock pile. Sure enough, we sat there unmolested for the duration of the game. The night was cool enough that beer didn't sound particularly appealing; I found myself wishing for an Irish coffee instead. Warm food did sound good, but vegetarian options were scarce, and I ended up with a tray of nachos followed by a funnel cake shared with my friend Laura. (Hey, this is why I exercise.)

We saw a home run (hit by the other team, alas), but other than that the game was pretty slow, as baseball generally is. I had a good time chatting with my friends but was ready to leave at the end of the seventh inning when we decided we ought to head back to the bus station. The bathroom stop we made on the way out of the stadium managed to separate our group, however, and my friend Colleen and I ended up on our own, very turned around, jogging through the streets of Denver in search of the illusive bus station. If we missed the bus, we'd have to wait half an hour for the next one, and we arrived, panting, with about thirty seconds to spare. The rest of our group, who had taken a more direct route and arrived ten minutes before we had, was amused but happy to see us. 

I'd certainly be willing to go to another baseball game, particularly if tickets can be had for such a low price, but I'll be sure to wait until the last minute to buy them next time so I can vet the weather first. And I'm going to be sure I know exactly how to get to the bus station before I leave the stadium next time. 

Triathlon in Steamboat

Last weekend, Ed and I drove to Steamboat Springs to join some other members of the Boulder Triathlon Club for a race. There were both sprint and olympic distance races, and Ed was signed up for the olympic distance (1500 meter swim, 23.5-mile bike, and a 6-mile run) for one more chance to race before competing in Austria. We'd assumed, for no good reason, that the drive would be about two hours, but, in fact, it was more like three-and-a-half, made even slower by the road maintenance that seems particularly endless in Colorado. We were very happy to arrive. I checked out the farmers' market and bought some huge peaches while Ed rode the course. Then we joined some of our condo-mates for an Italian dinner downtown before bed. 

Usually, Ed's half-Ironman starts are nauseatingly early. This time, though, the gun wasn't scheduled to go off until a luxurious 8:00, so we didn't need to leave the condo until a little before 7:00. I'm training for a half-marathon and needed to get my long run in, so instead of hanging around and waiting for Ed to finish like I usually do, I was ready to do a little sweating myself. The area was beautiful, and turning my back on all the athletes stretching, sucking down energy gels and drinks, slathering on sunscreen, and squeezing in to wetsuits, it was rather idyllic. Beneath the surface, however, we'd heard that pondweed lurked in abundance, and we could see people wrestling with thick hunks of it as they warmed up in the water. 

I watched Ed start the swim, then headed out on a segment of my long run, heading down the road a bit, then coming back in plenty of time to watch him get out of the water. It was pretty amusing to watch the athletes emerge from the water dripping and adorned with garlands of green weeds. Ed said later that at one point he got so tangled toward the end of the swim that he had to stop swimming and push off the bottom with both feet to get free.  

Ed's heat reaches the first buoy in the distance. The scene is less idyllic but certainly more exciting. 

I set off again after Ed took off on the bike, explored the road a little, then turned around and did the run course that the athletes would do after the bike. I couldn't have asked for a prettier run, but I could have asked for a flatter one. The course itself featured plenty of rolling hills, and the sadist who laid out the route put the turnaround point midway up a steep hill. I was glad I wasn't racing and could take the ascent a little slower. 

As I ran back toward the transition area to wait for Ed to finish the race, I started to pass athletes jogging in the opposite direction who'd started the run course. I yelled encouragement to them as they ran by me and a lot of them cheered for me, too; I guess they thought I was racing myself, which meant they thought I was winning! Back at the transition area, I enjoyed one of the farmers' market peaches and hung out in the shade until I saw a speck in the distance that looked vaguely like Ed. It was. 

In the end, he finished 9th overall and took 2nd place in his age group. Perhaps more exciting, he won a raffle and got a free pair of sunglasses! He was pleased with his bike and run times but furious about his slow swim; we heard this complaint enough that we figured the course must have been a little too long (and the pondweed couldn't have helped either). After collecting his plaque at the awards ceremony, we showered and piled back in the car for the drive home. About half the group was staying another night and I wished we were, too; if we attend this race again next year, I'll vote for that option.

The excitement continued into the next day when we learned that Ed's picture ended up in Steamboat Today, the local paper!

He was a little embarrassed that they got a shot of him right at the end of the bike after he'd already taken his feet out of his shoes, but I still think he looks cool.

First Fourteener: Mt. Elbert

My legs are aching, but my weekend was so much fun that I don't mind. I joined a group of five friends to climb my first--but not my last--Colorado "fourteener," and though I am not literally on top of the world anymore, I feel as though I am.

A fourteener, usually written as "14er," is a mountain that is at least 14,000 feet high. There are 12 in California, and Colorado has a whopping 54 of them. My dad and I climbed 14,180 feet to summit California's Mt. Shasta several years ago, but the peak we chose for this weekend, Mt. Elbert, is even higher. The tallest of all the 14ers in Colorado, it soars to 14,439 feet. Just because it is the tallest does not mean it is the most difficult, however. Actually, Elbert is regarded as one of the easier 14ers to climb because going up it doesn't really require climbing at all. It's really just a very long, very steep hike, and seemed like a good one for our group, which is active but contains different fitness levels.

Our route

On Friday, we drove three hours southwest (should have been closer to two, but we hit the traffic that chokes 70 every Friday when residents of the Boulder/Denver area head to the mountains in throngs) to Leadville, CO (circled in red), where we camped for the night at a very crowded campground. Car camping often leaves a lot to be desired in terms of peace and scenery, but you can't argue with the convenience. We brought coolers filled with food and had a luxurious meal cooked over an open fire before turning in around 10:00 P.M. Sleep, alas, didn't come easily for most of us, as conversations from neighboring campsites were broadcast at us on all sides. We got our revenge, though, when we emerged from our tents at 3:00 A.M. to dress, eat, and prepare for our big day. I packed sunscreen, chapstick, toilet paper, layers of clothes for various conditions, several wildlife guides, binoculars, three liters of water, and an absurd amount of food.

Afternoon thunderstorms are very common in Colorado, and being caught above tree line when they strike can be deadly. Lightning has been particularly pernicious this year, and so an early start to a long, high hike is critical; at all costs, one must be below treeline if a storm hits to minimize the chances of being struck. We blearily drove to the parking lot at the base of Mt. Elbert and started our walk at 4:17 A.M. I can't imagine hiking those first few miles without headlamps, but the full (blue!) moon was bright and two hikers without lamps passed us after about an hour. We were all feeling the effects of the elevation (about 10,000 feet) from the word go, even during the mile it took us to reach the trailhead. We tried to keep the pace moderate and stopped to catch our breaths occasionally. I could feel my heart pounding against the chest strap of my backpack.

We were nearing the treeline when the sun began to rise. This was one of my favorite parts of the day: ahead of us, the full moon was setting over the peak we were bound for, and behind us the lush landscape was flushed with exquisite pink light. We stopped, speechless, to gaze at the nearly unbelievable beauty around us.

About half an hour later, we passed treeline and found ourselves in a sloped, expansive alpine meadow generously freckled with white, blue, yellow, and purple wildflowers. We'd agreed that we'd stop to eat and rest at this point and so, exhilarated by the beauty and the break, we wolfed down trail mix and dried fruit, drank as much water as we felt we could hold, shed layers and put on sunscreen. It was shaping up to be, as they say in Colorado, a bluebird day: barely a cloud in the rich blue sky.

We continued to ascend. Luckily, Lindsay had done lots of research and we knew that the peak we saw ahead of us was a false summit; in reality, Elbert's summit was at least 45 minutes past that. Gradually, the grass and flowers began to thin, replaced by scree fields and dusty gravel. In summer, hundreds of people climb Mt. Elbert each weekend, so the trail is well established. When we paused to peek behind us, we could see a steady stream of hikers lining the trail. Our early start had guaranteed us a few initial hours of solitude, but as a few of the group began to struggle more with the altitude, we slowed and others hikers caught up to and passed us. Nearly everyone was friendly, cheerfully wishing us a good morning and commenting on encountering so large a group of women on the trail.

The trail got steeper and steeper, and our talk turned to discussion of how we were dreading coming back down the slippery, dusty gravel.

Approaching the false summit

The top of the false summit afforded us a view of the nearby second false summit (argh!), but we were over that in short order and beheld, at last, the highest point in Colorado. The so-called "ridge" that connected the two was none too narrow but plenty steep, but adrenaline fueled us up the final ascent and at last we stood on top of Colorado!

Christina, Liz, Lindsay, Rikki, Beth, and Candice celebrate at the top!

The summit was pleasantly spacious, which was a good thing because plenty of people had beaten us to it. After looking around a bit, I found a boulder that seemed particularly large and stood on it, savoring the fact that my head rose above everyone else's; I was higher than anyone in the state, and taller than nearly everyone in the lower 48. Only a person standing on top of Mt. Whitney in California would outstrip me. I had guessed that the views would be unparalleled, but they were even more astounding than I could have imagined. I gaped.

Although it was only 9:45, we sat on boulders and ate "lunch." Most mountaintops are windy and cold, but we felt hardly a breeze in this enchanted place. Several of the girls talked about being tempted by the thought of a nap. But we knew that the single grayish cloud drifting innocently toward us could proliferate at the drop of a hat, and so, a bit sadly, we began the descent.

It was nice to go downhill for a while, but we quickly grew tired of our slow progress. One has to take tiny, mincing steps to avoid sliding down such slopes, and it was both exhausting and nerve-wracking. At long last, the trail became a little more solid, and we breathed a little easier as we passed through the alpine meadows again. It seemed to take forever to reach the treeline, and even longer to get back to the parking lot. Perhaps it was fatigue, or the fact that we had hiked the first hour-and-a-half in the dark, but the way down seemed to be much, much longer than the way up had been. I accepted the sight of a row of parked cars through the forest with the same enthusiasm as a desert traveler spotting an oasis.

All told, we hiked 11.5 miles and gained about 4,000 feet of elevation. Our leisurely pace meant that our total trip clocked in at 9.5 hours, but I'm confident I could have done it in less than that had I been alone. We celebrated with beer and pizza in quaint Leadville, then cleaned ourselves up at the campsite and enjoyed a fire until exhaustion forced us into our tents. The morning found us refreshed but sore, and my aches amplified as they day progressed. Walking downhill elongates muscles in a way that my frequent running and yoga hadn't prepared me for. Despite my complaining quadriceps, I am determined to climb many more 14ers. Lots of people make it their mission to "bag" all of them, and while I'm not motivated by a checklist, the experience was wonderful in myriad ways and I can't wait to have a bird's eye view of Colorado again. Luckily, I don't have to wait long. The same group, give or take a few, will drive to Fairplay, CO next weekend to take on three of them!

Ignite Boulder

I've long been a fan of TED Talks. In fact, when I worked at the Yellin Center, I often tried to watch one during my lunch break if I wasn't too busy, and I went through lots of them while waiting for my jet lag to abate in Israel. Watching fascinating people talk about their ideas is always motivating and exciting. So when my friend Candice described Ignite Boulder as being sort of like TED, I was immediately interested...even though I didn't know what on earth she was talking about.

Ignite Boulder, it turns out, is a quarterly series of talks by locals who volunteer to share information about something they care about. People who want to speak apply, and if they are chosen they prepare a five-minute talk on their topic (which can be just about anything). That's the first big difference between Ignite Boulder and TED: the latter talks can last up to 20 minutes (though many don't), but Ignite Boulder moves at a much quicker pace. Another aspect of Ignite Boulder that's interesting is that visual aids are required. Specifically, each speaker must prepare a slideshow and set it so that the slide changes every 15 seconds. As far as parameters go, that's pretty much it. Several of my friends had been before and all raved, and since the shows always sell out I hurried to get tickets as soon as they went on sale.

We arrived at the event space in Chataqua Park, which, though pleasant, was apparently unusual. Ignite Boulder is typically held in the Boulder Theater downtown. The space was huge and felt like a barn. We settled into our seats and watched the place fill and before long the evening's host took the stage to introduce the event. We learned that this was the 26th Ignite Boulder. After warming up the crowd a bit, the host took his seat and the first speaker stepped up to the lectern.

A terrible picture, but the only one I was able to get.

I enjoyed the evening very much, though some of the talks were, naturally, better than others. One woman talked about her experiences as a movie extra. A man talked about suicide awareness and prevention. We learned about Boulder housing laws, voting, the numerous ties between video games and real life, the impact of mentorships, alternative modes of transportation, the importance of supporting the men and women who serve in the armed forces, weather balloon photography, and gender identity. Some of the talks were funny, some a little boring, and some very moving. Some speakers seemed to have chosen random images that related to their topic which flashed behind them as they spoke, while others choreographed their slideshows to line up perfectly with what they were saying at each moment. There was a brief intermission, and the evening was over before we knew it.
 
It wasn't as sophisticated as some of the events I attended in New York, but Ed and I enjoyed it, and I will certainly attend another Ignite Boulder. I will have to remember that I'm no longer in the city that never sleeps, though. Ed and I planned to have dinner out after the show, and we arrived at a nearby brewery at about 9:10. Although it was essentially a bar on a Thursday night, we were lucky to be handed the late-night menu, as the kitchen was going to close soon. In New York, restaurants would just be getting warmed up...

A (Small) Step Up From a Fire Escape Garden

Now that I've stopped going out of town every five minutes, I decided that there is just enough summer left to attempt to grow some tomatoes. The good news is that just about no one around here is putting in plants anymore, so some of the tomato plants at the hardware store were on sale. The bad news is that the ones that were left were in pretty dire straits.

Still, I felt sorry for them, and I was willing to put a couple of dollars and hours of my time on the line if it meant the chance of vine ripened, homegrown tomatoes. There is a vast, vast difference between a homegrown tomato and the sorry excuses for tomatoes sold in the grocery stores, in my opinion, and I like almost nothing better than a freshly picked tomato sprinkled with salt or dressed up with basil and balsamic. So I picked up three of the the healthiest plants I could find (which is not saying much) and some pots/soil/fertilizer/cages and potted them at home.


I love our house, and we have a beautiful front yard, but one of the major downsides of our humble home is that we don't have a backyard. So I will have to settle for pots for a while. The nice thing about pots, however, is that you can change your mind again and again about the best place for planting long after you've actually planted. I tried them out by our front door first but eventually decided they would do best on the ground by the driveway, which gets a few more hours of sunlight each day.

Transplanting is stressful for plants, and these three weren't looking too hot to begin with. But my hopes are high that with careful watering and plenty of space to grow, we'll get to enjoy at least a few beefsteaks, Valencias, and Lemon Boys (whatever those are) before the first frost.

Tube to Work Day

I met up with some friends for a run along the Boulder Creek pathway on Tuesday morning, and I'm sure glad that I did! We were in the right place at the right time to see people gathering for Tube to Work Day.

Only in Boulder would this crazy event not just exist but thrive. It started in 2008 when two friends decided to float to work instead of driving/walking/biking. Yesterday, about 200 people showed up to brave the freezing waters of Boulder Creek.

I missed the actual tubing part, so these pictures are not mine. 

In advance of the event, the founder advised bringing a wetsuit, a business suit (this is the only non-practical item on the list), an inflated tube, a helmet, and a bus pass; tubers were encouraged to leave their cars at home and take public transportation instead. When we ran by the designated starting point at about 7:15 A.M., eager tubers were already strapping on helmets and talking excitedly. I saw a fancy news camera on a tripod, aimed at the river. At 7:50 when we passed by again, the initial few had exploded into a crowd. People wore wacky business attire (some more business-like than others) and had all kinds of floatation devices: some simple black inner tubes, some pool toys, and one shaped like an inflatable swan.

I had to get to work (not by tube), unfortunately, and couldn't stay, and I think we missed the launch by only a few minutes. The event started in a park and was set to end wherever people needed to get out of the river to walk to their offices. I heard that tubers got stuck on rocks a lot in past years, but this year high water levels thanks to our never-ending rain helped, as did the number of people in the river bumping into each other.

I knew in advance about Tube to Work day and had forgotten about it. Even if I'd remembered, though, I don't know if I'd have decided to brave that freezing water. On the other hand, how many people get the chance to participate in something like this? Maybe next year...

A Lot to Think About

Big news: We are landowners! Ed and I closed on a lot a little less than a week ago. (Please forgive me for a terrible pun in the title.)

Here is the site of our future home:

I am still sort of in shock that it is ours. A bit of background: Ed and I had been looking at houses for a while. We'd even had a bid accepted on a house in a neighborhood called Gunbarrel, which is north of Boulder. We knew that the house was going to need a fair amount of aesthetic work (mostly just updating things to make it a bit more modern), but inspections revealed that it needed structural work, too. When the owners wouldn't reduce the price given the results of the inspections, we backed out of the deal. We kept looking but nothing really caught our eye. The Boulder market is hot right now, and houses were very expensive. Houses we liked tended to have no yards, and houses with great yards were going to need tons of work, which would just add more to the already-stratospheric cost of buying around here.

One thing that's great about Boulder is also what makes it so difficult to buy around here: there are a lot of laws that restrict building. There are lots and lots of parcels of land that will never be built on because they have been designated "open space" so that the town will never feel too congested. Lots have to be huge (something like 36 acres) before they can be subdivided. And there are height limitations on all construction so that tall structures won't block anyone's view of our beautiful mountains. All of this means Boulder will continue to be surrounded by natural beauty, but it also explains why houses are so expensive and why there are hardly any lots on the market. Just about everything that can be built on already has been.

Our lot (it still feels odd to say that it is ours) is in a community called Pine Brook Hills, which is about two miles away from Broadway, a major street in Boulder. We will still have a Boulder mailing address, and although the area has its own water supply and fire department, other aspects of it are within Boulder's jurisdiction. It's in the foothills west of the town. The lot was originally bought by the former owner in the '70s or early '80s. He is a contractor in Pine Brook Hills and has built dozens of homes in the area, and he said he always imagined he'd build a house for himself here. Meanwhile, he built something else to live in for the moment down the hill a little ways. Over the years, be roughed in a driveway, installed a five-bedroom septic tank, and installed a water line and paid for the permit. Now, he is in his late 70s and has decided he and his wife don't want to leave their house, so he put the lot on the market. It is, he says, one of the very best lots that was available in the area back when everything was for sale. Now, there are houses on just about every lot in Pine Brook Hills, so we were lucky that this gem came on the market right when we were looking.

We got our hands on it in a rather strange way. Ed and I were in Hawaii for his race. We had seen the lot several times and were still thinking about it, which we had the luxury to do since it seemed that no one else was really all that interested. We weren't sure whether taking on such a huge project sounded appealing and were still considering when our realtor emailed to say that someone else was sniffing around. Uh oh. I was the one who had really been dragging my feet, but I told Ed I thought it would be stupid to miss the opportunity to buy the lot just because we hadn't made up our minds. I suggested that we put in an offer written in such a way that we could back out of it for just about any reason, just to buy us a little more time. So we did, some long-distance price negotiations took place, and before we knew it the owner had accepted our offer! Suddenly, there was no question of whether we'd made the right choice; we just felt that we had.

Ed and I went to visit the lot today for the first time since closing on it. This time of year, it is covered with wildflowers. Even the low-growing cacti that seem to be all over it (yes, there are cacti in the mountains around here) have pretty flowers on them. For the sake of our future dog, I was planning to make removal of the cacti one of my first projects once we were moved in, but the flowers are awfully nice... Maybe I'll let a few of them stay. I look forward to scattering wildflower seeds around the other areas, too. The lot is 2.6 acres, and so while we'll do some landscaping in the area immediately around the house, I think we'll probably leave much of the land to do what it wants. Part of the charm of the area is the natural flora, and water in Pine Brook Hills is much more expensive that down here in the more "urban" area. I'm interested in looking into water reclamation systems so we'll be able to reuse gray water for our yard. I do look forward to putting in some aspen trees, though. Once they're established, they won't need much watering. Plus I'm crazy about deciduous trees (every tree on the lot is pine) and they're beautiful in fall.

 Closer look at a cactus flower. 

There are granite boulders of various sizes scattered around the lot. This pile is just about where the house will probably be. We look forward to putting in a large deck so we can sit outside and enjoy the spectacular view, which is one of the lot's biggest selling points. It's possible (thought not in this picture) to see all the way to the Denver airport, a 45-minute drive away! It would be fun to invest in a telescope.

Surveying his domain

A very exciting picture of the top of our septic tank, and the roof of our downhill neighbor (which will not be visible from our house further up the hill). We are thrilled that the former owner put this in, as it will save us a lot of trouble. An even bigger bonus, though, is having the water permit accepted and paid for. Boulder is notoriously difficult about that sort of thing, and his foresight has saved us weeks of headaches, to say nothing of expense. For heating and cooking, it will be easy to tap into the gas line which is under the road.

Looking upward at where the house will be. Ed's car, which you can just see over the rocks, is parked on what will be the driveway.

These dandelions are everywhere and are bigger than my fist!

This is the road that forms the downhill border of the lot. There's a pretty steep little slope at the edge of the property that runs into it. The driveway will come off the road that forms the uphill border.

Looking uphill from just about the downhill border. The place where the house will be is over the crest of the small hill, so it's not visible. We will leave all this space open for the most part, though we may put in a little path leading to a bench or a table and chairs.

This is the driveway, taken with the uphill border of the lot behind me. If you look very carefully you can see the Jeep in the center of the picture; look for the red taillights. The grass has grown a lot since we were last here; it came nearly to my waist in places!

Here is our road, Wild Horse Circle, and the spot where our driveway will be. The notch in the grass to the right of the road is one of the gaps our tire left when we drove in. I was a tad worried about the hilly, winding roads in winter, but the house is on a school bus route and so the city has to plow it. Weekends may be another story, however...

No setting is perfect, of course. Some of the downsides to this area are also what will make it an exciting place to live. I can't have bird feeders anymore because they will attract bears. And I'll have to either choose plants deer don't like or put up very high fencing around any kind of garden I try to have. I'm hoping that the dog will be helpful there, and my friend Candice told me about sprinklers that are triggered by a motion sensor! That sounds like a great security measure and a source of entertainment rolled into one. And, of course, we'll be a little off the beaten path, though not so far as it feels. It takes about seven minutes to get to the nearest grocery store. More difficult will be running and cycling - if I don't feel like finishing my workout with two miles of climbing, I'm going to have to drive down the hill to where it is flatter to run or bike there.

We've been told that we should expect to move into our new house in about two years from the day that we start planning in earnest (and it always takes longer than you think it will!). As we don't even have an architect or contractor picked out, I'm not holding my breath. It will be a long time, but luckily I like the house we are renting now and don't mind staying a while. Meanwhile, although I find the prospect of building a house from nothing a little intimidating, it is exciting, too. I can't wait to see what we'll end up with!

A Tragedy of Shakespearean Proportions

The Colorado Shakespeare Festival has kicked off, and some friends and I went recently to see a production of Othello. The plays are performed in the beautiful outdoor amphitheater on the campus of CU Boulder, and I was looking forward to checking out the area. I did a 10K that ended in the stadium fairly recently, but that's the only time I'd been on campus before. I found that it is, indeed, very pretty (and improved by the absence of students, no doubt), and since we were early we got to lounge on a lawn enjoying the beautiful weather for a bit before it was time to find our seats.

Although the amphitheater's atmosphere is wonderful, the benches aren't exactly cushy. Anticipating this, my wise friend Diana brought two stadium seats for us. To the relief of our other friends, they turned out to be unnecessary, as a huge stack of them was available to the audience near the concession stand, where snacks and beverages were for sale but coffee was free. We settled into our spots a few minutes before the 8:00 "curtain." (Figure of speech - outdoor theaters don't have curtains.)

The coffee, it turned out, was an inspired idea. Othello lasted for almost four hours. The production was, for the most part, excellent, and it was fun to sit under an open sky as it turned from blue to pink to black, but we were all pretty tired by the end. My friends and I agreed that the actors playing Iago and Othello (Emmy winner Peter Macon, of Broadway fame) were excellent. Desdemona, alas, was anything but. I'm not sure whether her character is meant to be obnoxious or, if not, whether this actress delivered her lines like fingernails on a blackboard intentionally or obliviously. All of the male characters in the play talk about being in love with her at one point or another, but it was beyond me why any of them would feel that way. I was surprised that a performance of this quality would cast such a sinker as the female lead. Perhaps I am missing something, but I can't say I really blame Othello for strangling her at the end.

Despite the tragedy of a good play blemished, we all enjoyed the show as a whole very much. My friend Laura will be going to Much Ado About Nothing, another of the plays in the festival, in July with her family and has invited us to come along with them. I just may take her up on it. I love Shakespeare's tragedies, but I'd prefer to see a comedy if I'm going to head home to a dark house at midnight after the final bows.

Snappy's Voyage

I've had a lot on my plate lately and haven't been blogging as regularly as I'd like; rest assured it's because I'm busy with lots of fun things. But I thought I'd end my radio silence, at least for today, because I'm very proud of a recent creative endeavor. Meet Snappy:

Snappy is part of a devious plan I have hatched to bend David Sedaris to my will. I am a big fan of Sedaris, whose essays (particularly when he is reading them aloud) are hysterically funny. Ed and I went to see him do a reading at a theater in downtown Denver a few weeks ago, and I came armed with a book, eager to meet him afterward and add another signed work to my collection, which hasn't grown a lick since we left New York. 

The moment we entered the theater, though, I knew I was in trouble. The place was huge, and Sedaris is famous for gabbing with people in his signing lines, which makes them move at a glacial pace. I enjoyed the reading very much, and I have never seen Ed hoot so loudly and frequently at a literary event, but my fears turned out to be justified. People left the reading early to queue up outside, and the line was enormous by the time we left the theater. It was 10:00 P.M. and a 45-minute drive stood between us and Boulder. If I'd been alone, I may have toughed it out, but I didn't want to subject Ed or our friend to the line. So I left, feeling sad but resigned. 

I figured I'd send my book to Little Brown, Sedaris's publishing house, but my hopes weren't that high. He's a busy guy, and I figured I had little hope of getting him to take the time to sign my book. Then I had an idea. Along with my book, I would send him a gift so wonderful and quirky that he would be charmed and sign my book out of gratitude rather than obligation. And that gift was Snappy.

The longest story Sedaris read that night featured a snapping turtle with a large tumor on its head that he has observed many times in the creek by his beach house. On Amazon, I found a life-like, if small, plastic snapping turtle that would fit the bill. But then I got a better idea: to truly replicate the turtle in Sedaris's story, I had to add a tumor. 

I went to the craft store with Snappy in my purse and chose some polymer clay in several colors so that I could customize the tumor to match his scaly hide. Then I set to work. I was proud of the bulbous lump I created, but when I went to peel it off for baking I found it was impossible to remove it from his head without mangling it. I started again, this time pressing the clay more gently against his head while forming the lump. Pulling it off was still difficult, though, and when the finished product came out of the oven its edges weren't flush with Snappy's head and neck. I couldn't send Sedaris a sub-par tumor.

I was worried that Snappy would melt if I put him into a 275-degree oven, but I was out of ideas. So I attached a third tumor to his cranium and preheated the oven. My plan was to submerge him in ice water with nothing but the tumor protruding. This, I hoped, would keep him cool as the clay baked. 

Snappy was pretty buoyant, so I had to weight him down with an apple slicer.

Unfortunately, the ice bath worked a little too well. Snappy stayed chilly, but the clay did too. At the end of 15 minutes, it was as soft as it had been in the beginning. So I decided to scale back the ice. After all, I had no use for a plastic snapping turtle, so if he melted all I'd wasted was time. I was worried about his underside contacting the hot dish, so I balanced him on top of a sardine can filled with ice, stuck him back in the oven, and hoped for the best. 

Post-sauna.

 To my relief, Snappy survived unscathed. The tumor on his head hardened nicely, and though his shell was a little soft when I gingerly pressed it, he hardened back up as he cooled and looked perfect.

I shipped him off today, rubber banded to the book I hope Sedaris will sign, with a note and a pre-paid envelope so that one of Sedaris's minions can easily send the book back to me. Even if Sedaris doesn't have the time to sign my book, I hope Snappy will at least make him smile.