Photo by Emily Dufton
On July 2, Emily and I left for a road trip to Dillon, Colo., the site of a Peace Corps Niger reunion. During times like these, I've learned it's best to allow some flexibility to creep into one's training plan. Think of it like going off the grid. So I didn't run 100-plus miles a week: I ran in the mid '80s. But there were no zeros, and overall there was plenty of good training. Actually, when I was settled, I was able to hunker down a bit -- though no doubles. It was vacation, after all! On driving days, however, I thought of my runs more in terms of maintenance training. It was kind of cool, kind of like the old days before I got way too serious about all this and running was this amazingly revolutionary vessel that allowed me to think a lot.
Monday - 14 (3,11)
Tuesday - 14 (10,4) AM: 5 by 2 minutes, 5 by 1 minute. On grass. Equal rest.
Wednesday - 15 (5,10) ... PM workout ... Just getting to BCC High School in Bethesda -- I usually Metro; the drive, in comparison, is always terrible -- can be an epic experience. Actually, it can be kind of a total pain. But I am willing to do it for group track workouts; for this, the group is a HUGE advantage. Delays on the Red Line put me there 20 minutes late, cutting my warmup down to a mile and a few strides, but I managed to get through a good one. Joe Wiegner and Karl Dusen set the pace, and I worked quite a bit with Jake Klim to form something of a chase pack. So it goes: 800 (2:26); 1600 (4:49); 3200 (10:08 - even split); 1600 (4:51); 800 (2:19). The rest for all of this was a lap jog with a quick stop to take a sip of water. We had cool temps. A good workout on fairly dead legs.
Thursday - AM 10 PM no time: working late, preparing for trip
Friday - AM 12 ... Drive to 7.5 hours to Toledo, Ohio. Check into an exceptionally sketchy, price-is-incredibly-right Motel 6. Miniature golf. Terrible pizza; the beers, at least, were only $1. Sleep.
Saturday - AM 11 ... Twenty minutes after accepting the fact that I was about to run 40 minutes out and back on a sidewalk along busy road after busy road, I was shocked to find a path off the road that led to a trail that led to a gorgeous park full of a nice people who waved and said hello and wide gravel pathways and open meadows and too-friendly deer. What a find! My legs were very stiff and my pace was very slow, but I was very happy to just put in some time. ... Then we drove 8.5 hours to Clive, Iowa, near Des Moines, where we stayed with my good friend's parents.
Sunday - AM 13 ... On the main road closest to where we stayed, a bike path ran dead straight for God only knows how far. The view to my right flip-flopped between corn fields and development. To my left: houses, shopping centers, mulch factories, machinery. In places like Texas and Tennessee, I will always remember the dogs: They would emerge from yards and force me to sprint. Or, emerging around a corner, I would find them just there, waiting for me, mouth open. ... Out-and-back routes were recalculated. In Iowa, though, I will always remember the red-winged blackbirds -- the guardians of the corn fields -- how they would swoop up into the air whenever the path would get a little to close to the stalks and squawk and hover above me and, I swore, prepare to dive bomb me. Also, it rained pretty hard.
... The rain continued as we drove west through Iowa and didn't clear until we hit Omaha -- and what better time to take in a new state than after fresh rain. The 75 MPH speed limit meant the feeling of moving, progressing. When we hit Colorado, it was like the Earth was a bed sheet the gods had decided to shake out. Everything -- the sky, the road, the terrain -- was more rugged. Sixty miles from Denver, on I-76, we saw a light sketch of the Rockies. Passing Denver, merging onto I-70, the mountains were suddenly on top of us. We listened to LCD Soundsystem. We didn't talk. There was the perfect amount of light. We passed a town called -- get this -- Georgetown. Then we were there, in Dillon, in a mountain house ... Elevation ~ 9,200 ...
There was a party. It was happening. Then I woke up.
Monday - AM 14 ... Having never run at real altitude, I started out timidly. How would I feel? A series of two hills took me to the main road and I followed signs to a bike path that looped around a reservoir. The temperature was shockingly cold. The cyclists wore pants and jackets. I lost track of time.
Tuesday - AM 10 ... Ran to Silverthorne. A gray fox with a bird in its mouth crossed the highway. Visited Boulder in the afternoon.
Wednesday - AM 18 ... Started off on the bike path and killed some wonderful time in a nature preserve, a dirt road. I really had my legs under me. In Dillon, I did not have to start first thing in the morning. There was no reason to (no job!); on top of that, it was almost too chilly in the early morning. Ten o'clock was about perfect, and I'll say this: The opportunity to eat in the morning, a couple hours before training, makes a HUGE difference. After the dirt road, I continued on the bike path and veered onto a road rather than continue to Keystone. I climbed and climbed and climbed. I must be 10,000 feet! This is training! I came around a bend and saw the road jackknife toward the sky. And I knew that hill would be the end of me, so I turned around.
Parts of this I ran at right around 6-minute pace. I noticed, too, that I was getting some interesting looks: There was NO ONE running in Dillon.
A Peace Corps buddy who could easily bench two of me noted that just going to the fridge for a beer seemed to make his heart rate spike. Also, I should probably thank my Peace Corps friends for understanding my routine: When I would sneak off to bed around 11 or midnight, I was maybe the only person who was allowed to get away with it. Ah, sleep. Blissful, blissful sleep.
Thursday - AM 12 ... Because we had to check out at 10 and head to Denver, this was the one run I had to do early. Started at 7. Wore shorts, a thermal underneath a running jacket and a winter hat. (Gloves, clearly, were the missing accessory.) I was pretty tired on this run, and the altitude definitely does make things tougher (although, I think the cool temps, when comparing it to D.C., do neutralize it some). Driving in on I-70, I noticed that I was either hitting the brake to keep my speed under 80 MPH or gunning the accelerator to maintain 60. Running here is very similar: there are no true flats; plus, the inclines are steeper than you think. Dressed in my silly outfit, I could not help but think of that picture in "A Cold Clear Day" of Buddy Edelen, toward the end of his running life, wearing a thick hat and sweatshirt and grinding through a run at some ridiculous altitude in Colorado. The first great American marathoner had mostly trained in England, and the change in setting came as a great shock. About Colorado: Mostly, I'll miss the sheer power of it, its ineffable beauty, the way, in an instant, you can take it all in and remember how extremely unimportant you really are. I finished with four tough hill reps. Turned 29 today.
Friday - AM 11 ... Outskirts of Denver. Found a bike trail that often had a gravel side path. It was functional more than beautiful. It kind of reminded me of Maryland's Northwest Branch Trail. A mile's worth of altitude had little effect.
Saturday - AM 10 ... In Omaha. Had steak the night before this at Gorat's. Then we went to the Elbow Room for an Oil Can that seemed to dehydrate the bejesus out of me. Should have had the Chuck Norris Bomb (Vodka with a house energy drink), maybe. We were at a much nicer Motel 6 on a 100-and-something Street, and I made it through a series of quiet housing developments. The heat was back and I took it really easy.
Sunday - AM 10 ... In Chicago, I met up with Joe Hetland and we ran around a park in the Lincoln Square neighborhood. He coaches high school XC and track with my legendary friend and teammate from college, the Charles Milbert, who was out of town but gracious enough to let us crash in his apartment. I look forward to seeing Mr. Milbert in October.
Monday - 16 (4,12) ... In the evening I stuffed my credit card in my pocket and picked up a badly needed pair of shoes (Brooks Glycerin, since about 2004) mid-run at GRC. Way more efficient than driving there. I even got to recycle my past-dead shoes!
. Levon Helm: one of the all-time greats.
