The Big Long Awaited Granddaddy Update Post (Part One)

Although this introductory picture here was taken by my beautiful daughter after the Barr Trail run, it's pretty much what one would see if one were to catch me after every run. Because that's how I roll, bee-yotch. All out, no holds barred, pedal to the metal. Or because I tire easily, I don't know. I'm beginning to forget things in my old age.

So here we go. Let's see how long-winded I can be while going into detail about what I've been up to this summer. I mean, it's not like I have my summers off, so you can only imagine how busy and run down I would be trying to squeeze my workouts into the grueling and hectic schedule of a high school athletic trainer on vacation. Nah, it's not like that at all.

Colorado. Let me start off by saying that if someone were to call me up right now and offer me a job (that included a pay raise of course) working somewhere in or around Colorado Springs, I might take the time to pack my bags before hitting I-40 and heading west. Put simply, that whole area is just the bees knees, and the folks who live there are some of the luckiest people anywhere ever. And them thar hills is absolutely the funnest and most difficult places to run that I can imagine. I mean look at it. Seriously. How can anyone look at this picture and think something stupid like "Eh, whatever."? They can't. Trust me. I'm a doctor.

So anyway, the race. We get to Manitou Springs and park about a mile downhill from the start. And when I say "downhill," I mean it. The walk up served as a dang good warm-up and just a small taste of the climb I was about to endure. It was a good crowd though and the weather was nice, and I hadn't traveled all that way to start wetting myself before we even toed the line. But once the gun went off, and I jogged with the traffic up the remainder of the street, I was just about ready to give a good ol' "See ya!" to the people up front. But rather than do that, I figured I'd just walk a bit. And walk a little more. Oh I mean, hike. Hike! Yeah, I'm hiking up the mountain and my heart is about to explode out of my chest. We'll say that because it sure wasn't running. Two freaking hours to walk hike 6.25 freaking miles. What was it I said way back in June when I ran up the mountain in Santa Fe? Learn to walk/jog? Ha! Good one, Jason.

Well I got to the top and I'd managed to make the cut-off time limit, but I didn't want to diddle my doodle for very long because I still wanted to make the finish line in 3 hours. And let me tell you the trip down was way easier. Almost as if I was just starting the race. Six miles? That's it?!? Ka-chow! My ankles were still cruddy and loose from the numerous sprains I'd subjected them to over the past month though, so my pace was a compromise of sorts. Fast enough to have fun and make my goal but slow enough to prevent anything on my body from blowing up on me. Plus it was vital that I stop every so often and take some pictures like this one here.

Without dragging this out any longer, I reached the end of the trail, fried what was left of my quads on the last quarter mile or so of downhill street, ran up the super steep HAHA YOU'RE NOT DONE YET block to the finish line and collected my race shirt. Of course the best part was yet to come - sitting in a cold, mountain river and letting the pain lose out to sweet, sweet numbness.

Part two coming soon!