This old Rabbit still can run

As I DNF'ed from the CT attempt and coughed my lungs out laying on the couch back at the end of June/beginning of July, the depression descended, with no goals in sight. Why is that some of us just have to have something scary up on a horizon? Honestly, I was so discouraged and so disappointed, trying to accept this aging thing, and adjust the goals appropriately, that I did NOT want a BIG audacious goal, anymore. Ronda suggested a 50k in UT with her mid-August - I signed up for that - and then put my name on a waitlist for Run Rabbit Run 50 mile in September in my home state. I was aware that this waitlist is known to be moving well historically, but I would still have time to decide if I am ready for this, before it comes to my name (#93 down the list). Also, definitely not a 100 M adventure at that point. I crewed for Annie there, and the weather always sucks, the trails are techy, plus, you know, can I actually do this distance?!? That's how uncertain in myself I was.

Roll the times forward. July 5th I wet for an overnight on Collegiate West loop with a backpack, tackling 37 mile day without a push. That was lovely, to shake off the pressure of an FKT push, and still loving the long days in the mountain.

Then the running commenced, and the strength returned. In fact, I suddenly started hitting my best times on all the regular routes, including Incline, Pikes Peak, and other random trails, long and short. Go figure. I squeaked a trail marathon in Aspen, before going for that 50k in Utah, all in the midst of long training weeks with long training runs, and my mood perked up. Larry and I also had a 2-day trip to RMNP, and a Culebra 14-er for his birthday. Consider this post some catch-up with pretty mountain photos for fun, because - summer in Colorado, man! Best of the heavens on Earth!

It was when I was on my day 2 on the Rainbow trail FKT that Larry, who was checking in my email for the waitlist movement, the news came: I got the offer to accept the RRR 50 entry or not. It was hot, I was dehydrated, and I had to act quick, so I said - yes, press "ok" button. And the $343 entry fee was charged on the spot...

I came home with deep holes on the bottoms of my feet, and pretty damn tired. What will happen to Rabbit? But, I managed a couple of long runs, and a backpacking trip, and felt hopeful. The original plan was to possibly run around 11:15 (the race boasts 8,300 ft of gain and "runs" above 10,000 feet). Then, after Rainbow, I adjusted it to 11:30, just in case, you know. I hate feeling more disappointed with my life than I already am.

On Wednesday before the race I went to do the Incline. It's like Larry jokes: everyone does a 1M climb on the high stairs with 2k ft of gain before the race day, right? Well, I do. Before and after the race, just because it's my fitness test of sorts. I believe I set my latest PR there 4 weeks prior, on the Utah race week, so there's that. What happened this time, though, sent me down, deep and fast...I couldn't move. I mean, I had a tempo run on Monday after the backpacking adventure, and a very heavy leg lifting session, and then a deep tissue massage on Tuesday - either one of those leaves me sore, and the combination of both doubles the DOMS. I get it. I was sore. But, I also had a huge energy suck. Like, I, literally, couldn't lift my legs up those steps, and I couldn't breathe. I wanted to bail out by the first option at 400 steps in (out of 2765), and I should have - would cut my losses off, and kept my sanity. Yet, I kept crawling up - and I, quite literally, had to use my hands to pull myself up, not just in a couple of steeper sections, but over half the way. I didn't care what I looked like, what my time was, who saw me (nobody I knew), who passed me (a number of regulars)...and when I finally, finally, made it to the top, it was my second worst time ever - a few seconds behind the very first one 10 years ago, off the couch, from Austin, a day after Pikes Peak summit. I pretty much walked down Barr trail, as well, and the darkness descended upon: what the fuck am I going to do this weekend? Did I dig myself into a hole of overtraining, going non-stop since the previous December? What is this thing, really? I took the next day off, trying to decide if I am even driving to Steamboat Springs. But, alas, the race fee, as well as the hotel for 2 nights, were paid, and I hate flushing that much money down the toilet. All I could do is to start, right?

Larry and I drove in on Friday morning, I did a short 3 mile hike at the start (which gained shitton of elevation off the bat, but felt a little better than 2 days ago), and we hung out to watch the RRR 100 Hares start their race, plus saw a few old and new friends. (Below are the only 2 shots I took of the surroundings and the Fall - you're going to have to believe me that foliage had started full swing in Steamboat, the Aspen were glowing yellow and orange all around, and the low high alpine grasses turned deep red - but I didn't take a single photo during the race. Those days are over, I now watch my feet with my head down, and put full effort into actual moving, versus trying to take pictures).

We went to a pre-race meeting, and it started the downpour - the sky opened up, the wind grew, and it was dark, wet, and crazy to think aout all the 100 mile runners - as well as my own race tomorrow. It continued to rain all the way until 9 pm, making me even more edgy than I already was. I somberly told Larry, my best adjusted case scenario is to break 12 hrs, first of all because of how I felt this week, and secondly, depending on what happens to trails after the long rain bout.

We woke up to a solid thick fog down at the city level, but could see a few stars and the moon up above it, what meant that as we get up high, it'll be clear at least in the morning. Foggy and chilly was the start. As we drove in, Larry said: "We can sit in the car until you're ready to walk to the line", to which I replied: "Can I go back to the room?" - and I meant it. My man, without a second of a pause, said "Yep". I sighed. It'd be an expensive trip for nothing, and I got out...

I smiled for the photo, and we were off on the clock, at 6 am, into the fog. Then everybody and their grandmother seemed to have passed me - and I sort of jogged that uphill, mind you. Uphill shuffling has become my new strength, now that my downhill is completely destroyed, mostly due to sheer fear of twisting/falling/tripping/anything that might lead me t another surgery (and no time to come back anymore). I mean, I was putting 15 min/mile, and this climb on a dirt road up to a ski lift, 6.4 miles, was consistently gaining 500 feet per mile, every damn mile, without failing. So, I was totally content, switching from power walking to shuffling at will, and the final 2 miles being steeper, still got to the AS at exactly 1:45 on the clock, as I had hoped for the 11:30 pace.

Indeed, I never adjusted the sticky arm band with my predicted splits.  As a side note, I feel really bad to never reach for my phone to take any photos, because the inversion effect, as we made our way on the ski road up, was insanely beautiful! The low clouds hung over the city, and totally clear skies above. We ditched the headlamps by the second mile (along with the jacket for me), and watched the sun rise, the aspen trees get brighter, and the wetness on the sides of the hill get turned into little bit of snowy substance from the night's storms. 

I quickly filled one of my bottles with water, because there was no line to it, unlike the Tailwind (it was a mess at this first AS, as we came as a huge crowd, plus the 100 mile runners began to trickle back through this very same aid station), and began the single track journey, as I fiddled with my own packet of electrolyte powder to be poured into that bottle. The trail was quite technical on this section, and undulating going up and down, as I tried to get into the rhythm, but also watching my steps with intention, and not particulary caring about the time. There were also 2 logs to step over, and with my right hamstring being torn a (very, very) long time ago, now replaced with scar tissue, all shortened, and aged up, I can barely lift my leg to shin-level once I start moving, yet along mid-thigh, so that was painful to roll over. But, I simply kept my head down, taking gels, letting people pass (mostly on those little down portions), and according to Larry's tracking, lost 13 positions between AS#1 and AS#2 (from 73rd to 86th). Whatever, glad I didn't know that! 

Anyway, I didn't feel too bad, nor too good, I was just working on the miles. This is how it always goes between 5-15 miles, I don't have anything to say about it. No flow, no thoughts. Ahead of the race, I knew that this next AS was manned by the old school guard - and boy, was it fun to see them all! Lead by Karl Meltzer and his wife Cheryl, it also had Scott Jurek and Jenny, Roch Horton and Katherine. As I entered and yelled out "Hi!", there was a fun wave of each of them recognizing me and yelling out "Olga", "Olga", "Olga"...like an echo. I bet those around were dumbfounded by that. Oh, what great times behind for all of us, memories, awesome races, the "used to be" club! Well, Karl is still knocking the 100 milers out of the park like they are local 5k's, so he'll never be a "used to be". I guess I'm trying to hang on??? Anyway, I still filled only one bottle, grabbed a quesadilla from Jenny's plate, and ran off, finally feeling somewhat, like, happy? Something shifted in my brain. I got to this AS, by the way, at 3:11, full 11 minutes after, and figured it'll go like that, 5 min per 4 miles. But, at least I am past a half-marathon point, and the next aid stations are much closer together. Now, I thought, I need to click off one more AS, and then - Larry!

Next 5+ miles rolled some more (all above 10,000 ft), and I arrived 4:16 in, so, while still same 11 minutes behind the split, but at least I didn't lose any more time. With that, at just around mile 20, on the pretty nice flattish and not very techy stretch to Dumont lake, I began running, finally! Like, I need that long to feel ok? Or was it because I was about to see my man, and that meant, I need to be composed and all-in. Because, in our family, until it's over, at the finish line, there's no "How are you doing" going on. It's all business. And Larry knows how to handle that!

I ran into 22.3M at 5:02, which was still same time behind the splits - but still no more losses! Yeah, baby, we're back in the game! 

Larry handed me my V8 juice and my pouch of baby food, shoved 2 fresh bottles into the pack, and I was off. Now, this course is an out-n-back, and I already saw Meghan Roche and a couple of girls heading back, and as always, no matter what, my competitor's juices kicked in: lets count where I am. I roughly assumed I may have missed someone in the crowds of an AS (lots of people here!), and began my uphill trek to Rabbit Ears. #4,5...8,9...15, 16 (yikes, out of top 15), #22, 23? I think I might be inside 25, if lucky? But boy, was I strong here. On this stretch, I was passing, slowly but surely, a few runners. Last 0.5M pitch to Rabbit Ears proper was a brutal joke, while Larry and I did this part a few years back, I had no recollection of it. Straight up, you had to touch the rock, and get a card from a volunteer as a prove you got there (although I doubt anyone could cheat with a stream of folks going up and down, but rules are rules, card it is). I turned around, and began run down. I passed a handful more. According to Larry, between checking in at 22.3M and checking out at 27.7M, I moved up 20 spots. 

We repeated the process: baby food, V8, new 2 bottles, and a bag of 12 gels for my way back. I ran into an AS proper to give them my card, and dashed out, all under 90 sec, my longest stop this race.

And I was absolutely able to run! I mean, granted, it was a granny speed, but then again, I am a couple of weeks shy of 56, so I guess granny it is. But, despite 6 (!) stops to pee (total in a race), I kept clicking occasional runner I would pass. By the way, that return to Dumont AS was exactly on my prediction splits, 8:20, so I 11:30 finish was back in the view. Short stretch to the next aid, then another 5 miles to the Old Boys Club - I did my "Hi, I am back!", and got my "Olga!" wave of yelling. Refilled 1 bottle, grabbed from Karl's hot skillet freshly made something ("Oh, perogies" - "No, pizza pockets" - "Whatever!"), and was out if a flash. Hung with the same couple fo guys we ran together for the last couple of sections, told them "Those are my people from 25 years back!" - and left them in a dust. I felt great to keep pushing. I mean, I didn't feel "GREAT", but great in regards to be able t put my head down, and work hard. We passed a lot of 100M runners on this stretch, coming back from their own journey, and it was difficult to say if I was passing any 50 milers, but I tried to say encouraging wrds to every one of them. I made this 7.4M rolling (mostly up) single track 15 min faster than predicted by 11:30 splits - in fact, it was "only" 10 min slower than Meghan Roche (ha), and faster than half the women in front of me. Go figure. Apparently, two things stand: I'm better shuffling uphills these days, and still better later in the race. I hit the Werner AS at the top of the ski lift at 10:02, and yikes, with the 6.4 miles of dirt road down, I was in for 11:15 finish. Lets! 

Gah, this 500 ft of loss per mile was actually not that pleasant! In a mile it felt like uncontrollable fall down, gravity overcoming, and I tried with all my might to churn my legs under me just so I don't fall! Somehow I managed to stop with 4 miles to go, because I just HAD to "go" (#2), ducked to the side bushes, and emerged in less than a minute, continuing that "fall down". It became scary, I was afraid my legs won't catch up, and I smack full body down. While people I was passing, runners, pacers, spectators hiking up, were all cheering and yelling I was flying, I was deathly concerned I am going to die, wished I could slow down, and even stop - and I, quite literally, couldn't. Finally, with a mile to the finish, there was a small uphill for 0.2 mile, and it allowed me to walk (kind of like a heavy semi trucks have a rundown on highways), but then - it was back to the free fall. Looking at the watch, I could not comprehend that I wam actually breaking 11 hrs, and I don't even need to run those 8 min miles, but again, I couldn't slow down. My body bent forward (I guess this is instead of my side lean?), I was begging for it to end - and eventually saw Larry with his phone taking photos.

I straightened up for the camera, tried to smile, but my face had pain written all over it. Watch Mountain Outpost Live Feed at 1:24 time into it (when the top time shows 27:56) - this is when I am coming to view. I make an effort to stop before the stream crossing, completely bent, try to get myself over the rock, but my legs give out under me - there was a lot of pounding out there on hard surface! - and I slip, grab the rocks, walk into the water, still bent. I don't know if there was a photographer at the finish (Larry didn't catch me crossing the line), but I did make somewhat of a "run towards the line" attempt, then - thank goodness the RD Fred is an old school and hugs every finisher! - fell into his arms. Not because the hug was so good (well, it was) - but because I couldn't stand on my own two feet. My quads blown, rain now, finally, getting stronger, I see Larry, and grab him, transferring my limp body into his hug, now. He finds a chair, and I slowly awkwardly lower myself into it. But, it's wet - the rain held off, we had some hail around mile 40, then it started on my descend of the last stretch, but it really picked up in the last mile - and I am, of course, getting cold.

Larry moves me under the "cook tent", gets some hot food, as I am trying to feel my legs. There are none, they hurt, and have no strength. It's pouring (those poor folks still on the course!), and I have no idea how I'll make it to the parked car, freezing, yet not able to eat or walk.

But, of course, somehow, hanging on Larry's arm side, while he also had to carry my pack and a huge umbrella, we make the needed steps to the parking lot - a whole 0.3 mile! - and I get into the car, aching and moaning. Getting old sucks ass! OK, maybe it's always been like that, but still. I sit in a bathtub for a while, and eventually feel good enough to get out, dress up, and make our way to some food joint. I am starving, but have no energy to eat it all right away. However, it's over, the race - and I made it! 

That last stretch was 54:30 on the clock, nuts! Also faster than half of the ladies in front of me (although "some" did it in 35 min, WTF?!?). My official finishing time was 10:56. To say I blew my mind off the grid with this performance is a gross understatement. I have no idea - HOW?!? How in the world? Not only, because of the way I felt that week, but in general? And just to recap my summer, after 125 miles on CT with bronchitis at the end of June, beginning with first weekend of July, I had no break: 37 miles with a backpack on Collegiate West, 2 long runs (anything over 20 for clarification), 2 long runs, 2 long runs and Culebra, 1 long run and Aspen trail marathon race, 2 long runs (one was 26 - Pikes), 50k race in UT, 110 miles on Rainbow trail with 20k ft gain, 2 long runs, 42M backpacking trip - straight into this. Why am I doing it to myself? Because - summer in the mountains, people. You blink, it's over.

And just like that, my race was over, as well. In the end, I placed 45th OA out o 205 runners who started (and 177 who finished). I was 14th (!!!) Female overall out of 79 at the beginning (66 finished), and, you guessed it, first over 50 - Senior (ha, in this race, the category goes: open, master, senior - I am THAT old). I broke 11 hrs in a 50M race with 8,300 ft of gain, happening at 10,000 ft altitude. Last time I got under 11 was, like, 10 years ago? Blew my wildest expectations. This year's field was nuts, as last year 11 hrs would have gotten you inside top-10. Only two women in Masters category (40+) were in front of me. I'm still in disbelief - and still sore and weak and tired. But, I am also toying with the fact that I am an endurance runner - not really a Rabbit, but more of a Turtle, in it for the long haul, so there's an idea rolling in my head. I am not making any concrete plans, but I am not denying that my season may still have one goal. We shall see...

A little walk into the Weminuche wilderness!

Well, I lived up to my promise of using my backpack for good times, and I didn't have to wait long. Larry and I were on plan for our annual backpacking trip in September, as an alternative idea for my taper for the upcoming Run Rabbit Run 50 miler. Ha. Would I EVER turn down a hike in the mountains, with cutting off the daily nonsense, and rather sleeping on the ground?!? Never!

Larry planned a cool biggish lollipop loop starting at Wolf Creek Pass, and something like 5 days/4 nights out there. It's a good thing he's a map kinda guy, and brings some serious paper maps to anywhere he goes, because I just follow the trail, and if it's marked poorly, I never know where I might end up - and, frankly, I rarely care much (unless I'm FKT'ing), as I figure I'd survive, somehow, and walk out, eventually...

We drove up and parked the car at the connector trail, and a mere 0.5M later hooked up with the CDT. Well, this is neat! I mean, I knew that big part of our outing would be on CDT, but it felt so real, the trail, the famous letters, which I followed so much while doing all kinds of CT adventures over the years, and as we "followed" so many youtuber's videos...I was giddy, and plus, Larry, quite out of the blue, offered, if I ever (ever) want to through-hike the FULL length of the CO CDT, he'd be happy to assist/crew, drop me off, pick me up once a week for a hotel shower and a hot meal, etc. Ouch, I wanna do it now! Of course, this is the end of the season, which we will truly be tested by in the next few days, and I won't even be able to do it next year, because a) I still have a job (see previous post, my longest possible time off, which is unpaid, by the way, is 2 weeks, and this 800 mile trek will take a good 3-4 weeks), and b) the whole reason behind giving up long trail FKT's (ok, of course there are more than 1 reason) is that I can continue to do ultra races, while my body still alows me (and by the time my body says "no more", I don't think FKT's would be in a picture, either). I already have plans for my racing season 2026, including a couple of 100 k's, and a couple of 100 milers. But of course...

Anyhow, that was a long sideways paragraph. Yeah, you can't let me use a blog, I go all kinds of directions in musings, and this is exactly why doing Instagram posts with its word limit has been rough on me. So, back to the trail, and CDT...Larry has done the first 4 miles of it to the lake on a couple of other occasions, those where he'd drop me off at the Durango end of the CT for my FKT attempts (and subsequent DNF's, sigh). We meandered and got to the lake - and took a break! 4.5 miles in, and I am sitting down, pack off my shoulders, eating snacks! Instead of shoving them down my throat as I hike! I mean, I kinda like it, especially after the Rainbow trail rush, and this single track is NOT multi-use, in fact, it's a Wilderness, what means NO motorised vehicles, and it's pretty smooth, and a single track! I'm loving my life. Our packs weigh around 34 pounds each (I mean, it's a fun trip, pack all you can, fill the space, ha - my 2-weeks attempts were below that, if by a little), so I enjoy a sitdown break. But, alas, we have to go - our daily miles, while on the easy side by my standards, are dictated by pretty rare water sources locations, and off we are, again.

Another 4.5 miles rolling terrain, and we hit another (2) lakes - and the big pass with the views. It's incredible, I chirp, I want to camp here so badly, we must do it on our way back! Yes, ok, but now, we MUST haul ass over that pass, because the weather is coming, indeed. Larry "the weatherman" is always acutely attuned into what's promised, and also reads the sky far better than I - if I even look up the sky (just as with maps, I am one of those who knows it's raining when I feel the drops on my head, or at least see the darkness around and hear the thunder). We pick up the effort, and with somewhat light rain hitting us, make it over our first introduction of what's going to be our terrain - a pass at 12,600, with the rest of the trip all above 12k. It sort of stops dropping water on us, so we make another sitting break with snacks. But, the sky is, indeed, getting darker, and we've got miles to go...

As I keep my excitement high, and a complete obliviousness to the miles or the darkness, Larry is feeling the backpacking trek - obviously, he hasn't done 40-50 mile days with a weight on his back for the heck of it, so that first day is always hard on normal humans. Plus, he does know the map, the plan, and the weather - and all of it weigh on him more than a pack. By the time we reach an intersection where our turn-off is to a Sawtooth trail for the loop start, the rain is real, with wind and a serious temperature drop, and we're over 13 miles into the day that, due to the 4 hrs drive, started pretty late. We hide behind the trees to put our rain gear on, I can't find my gloves in a hurry (I mean, as I packed at home, I was like: it's a fun trip, throw some stuff inside a big "other" old pack, and be good, although thankfully I did add pants and a thin puffy at the last minute). What a difference 2 weeks made! On Rainbow trail, it was over 90F during a day that I suffered, and a balmy 45F at night! I brought my 40 degrees ultralight quilt for this adventure, dummy! But, I'm ahead of myself. 

We began dropping down the Sawtooth trail, agreeing that the first water source and a flat spot combination is our stop for the night. We found both 0.5 miles down, and dropped the packs at 14 miles even. The rain lifted a little, so we quickly set up a tent while dry, and cooked up dinner. Here's a separate word - I dream of eating Ramen noodles, those cheap ass 50 cents variety, when I am on my FKT attempts. That first CT self-supported FKT was set in a normal through-hiking style, with hot Ramen every night, and I miss it. I think I drag Larry to backpack just to indulge in my guilty pleasure - this most unhealthy "meal" possible, and I love it. Anyhow, we ate, had tea - crawled inside the tent - and the rain poured. And poured. And kept doing it, also bringing fog to the area, through the whole night. Before we drifted asleep, I actually made an effort to look at the map Larry spread in front of me (oh, it was a cool one! so much to do! all I want is to explore every trail and nook and cranny!), and we both made a coherent decision: that "Big Lollipop Loop" is a big no-go. It's going down a lot, on a trail that is not maintained, and it's going to involve much route finding and wet grass slopping. We found a higher parallel trail that would cut some 4 miles off, and shrunk the plan.

Well, as it pounded water on our tent all night, we both, simultaneously, came to the same conclusion by the wee morning hours: that "other cut off trail" is also not a good option, with it being pretty much a wild path, and the weather as it was. With that, we settled on one coherent decision - CDT out-n-back it is. I mean, it was supposed to be a come-back on CDT anyway, but this trail is surely easier to follow along the ridge, a staple, and it'd have different views going opposite ways, I added. We packed up between the rain bouts, and started our way back up to the CDT, all wet from the get-go.

A couple miles of that, and the weather lifted. It stayed cool-ish and very foggy that day, which, by the way, added to my argument about different views we'd see on the way out and back. Our next water source gave us 2 possible options for camping: a lake on the side trail with 11.5 miles total, or a lake on CDT proper/Piedro Pass in 8 miles. We discussed both options and came to the idea to make a call as we come to the intersection to that side trail, weather depending. The fog made views quite surreal, and at some point, on a 13,000 feet ridge, we were, literally, in a milky soup. Pretty cool, if you ask me. 

But Larry, my clearly thinking man, was pressing me for the decision, and I, using some common sense (surprise!), proposed we go less miles and make sure we're set up for the camp - what meant CDT lake it was.

Interestingly, as we began a 3-mile descend off the ridge to the pass, we saw a sunshine up ahead, and it was nealry hot within half a mile from the campsite. Larry "the meteorologist" had to explain to me that sun means more evaporation and clouds squeezing (don't quote me on that, I barely tune in to all this science), and don't get hopeful. The lake was adorable! There were 2 more right near by, but ours was the best! We set up the tent, had tea - and what do you know, in 30 min after arrival, the thunder clapped. We crawled into the tent, and it went pouring, and pouring, and thundering - for an hour and half. I actually napped! I never do it even at home, but what are you supposed to do inside a square dome? Use time wisely! As the rain subsided, we got out, I cooked my gourmet dinner of Ramen and mashed potatoes mix, and even spent some time knitting, like good ol' times backpacking on my own, before my FKT era entrance! Eventually, the rain came back, again, and it was time to turn in for the night.

That night it wasn't actually wet the whole time, and by midnight, the sky got clear, with stars all around, as we both got up to answer the nature's call. But by the early hours, I started shiverng badly in my "ultralight quilt", while wearing every piece of clothing I had. WTH? We got up at 5:30 am, looked outside - and it became obvious: it's well below 30 degrees, our tent is solid frozen, as well as the ground itself. Yikes!

Packing up wasn't fun, hands frozen, feet in wet shoes not feeling the toes. Have I mentioned I used a $1 gloves from the supermarket? You can only guess their warming quality. We started an hour earlier than on day 2, as the storms were becoming a sure thing at 1 pm - and our daily plan (on the way back now) was longer than yesterday, all of 11.5 miles going up high rolling above 12 000 feet. For the first hour, despite consistently climbing for 3 miles, and having body that was feeling warm from the exercise, the hands and feet stayed absolutely frozen, aching badly. But, the sun eventually hit the ridge, and it was - AH! - so nice, that I started taking layers off, and then again, more layers off! That walk back on the CDT, after the previous foggy and cool day, felt like paradise! I mean, it was still cold-ish and windy at times, but the sun! The views! The exclamation points I kept using! The solitude! The quiet air! In those days, we only bumped into 2 people, separately, both through-hikers of the CDT. "Normal" people don't travel that far into the wilderness, especially as the seasons turn, and the weather deteriorates rapidly. But, this is what I love the most - the lack of people. To me, traveling by foot in high country, deep into the mountains, is an escape from the civilization. I don't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, even saying "hi" would be a burden. I want to be within my own mind and soul, sometimes contemplating deeply, sometimes thinking about nothing at all. To me, this is Zen - let the brain decide what it wants to do, and just let it flow.

It was day 3, alright, and Larry got his trail legs - we were cruising! Miles were clicking, and we only made our first break at 7.5 miles in, well over halfway into our daily plan. But, it was still a quick one - the puffy clouds were forming, and, literally, as soon as we got up, the sky started getting darker, little by little, and the wind blew. Uh-oh, there was still a high pass ahead of us, before we'd drop down to camp! We began putting a real effort into "cruising", what turned into "hauling", and we made it over the 12,600, with the view of our final stop, just as the darkest clouds covered the sky. Run for your life!

Ok, we skitted the slope to the lake, and quickly put a tent up. The bad weather held back for a good 30 min, giving us a chance to set up and even have tea, but then - the downpour was ON! And this time, it laster twice as long as on day 2 - nearly 3 hrs we were napping and getting bored, cooped up inside.

Eventually, it WAS over, and I cooked our last trail meal. We had enough time to walk around, talk about life, what it means to each of us, doing this kind of things, how each of us started with backpacking, back so, so many decades ago...the stories we know, but always willing to listen to. Because this is what makes this time special - you're in no hurry, no annoyance, and you are wanting to actually listen to your partner, tune in, share in...

It didn't rain that night, but the wind was howling. I was miserably shaking, yet again - Larry, the smart one, was all toasty in a real 0 degree bag. It is September, dummy, I thought. I do own a better option. I'm just not that serious about "fun" trips...

Oh, boy, if we thought the previous morning was cold, we had a surprise! It was another sub-30 WITH the North wind at 30 mph! THAT was cold! The water wouldn't boil, between the altitude (the lake was at 11,900), the temps and the wind, and I was concerned we'd run out of fuel (we did, as soon as it boiled). Larry couldn't feel his hands as he tried to break the tent. We hurriedly sipped our hot tea, took a photo of our absolute insanity, wearing everything we brought on the hike, and started out. Luckily, this time, it "only" took us a mile before the sun hit the valley, plus we rolled into the woods, protected from the wind. This was our "exit" day of all of the 9 miles total, and we were back meandering on the CDT mostly in the tree cover. Somehow, the views going this way were MUCH cuter than going southbound. Go figure - was it the way the light fell and highlighted mostly live trees versus the beetle kill ones, or just the angle of the sun rays at this earlier hour, or was it truly the prettier side, we don't know. But, it was nice, and we were grateful to have a very positive experience on our way back to the car. 

I always get melancholic on the last day. Part of me realizes that I have obligations in a real world, people who count on my presence, routine of the daily life, plus the hot shower/warm bed sounded fantastic, not to mention a good coffee...Yet a huge part of me fears this "real life", the noise, them people, the thoughts of the real problems (beyond the cold shivering nights): the kids who are barely alive, and it's always "a good thing" when they are actually booked in jail, because at least I know for a fact they are alive; the mother who's health is failing at 89, and I can't visit her because of the damn politics; my sister who's 66 and has to take care of her, alone, and I miss her so much (much more than mother, to be honest). I try to go along and shut down these thoughts, as what good does it do to dwell? Over the years, I learned to not get things to me. Resilience is definitely my biggest trait I rely on. But, it doesn't mean I can escape. 

And yes, there's this thing, the Rabbit 50 M race, in a week. I probably shall taper, not to mention, I am not sure I can still run, ha! All this hiking... Last time I raced a 50 miler, was 2.5 years ago. I have no clue how to judge the distance, and what to expect - and don't tell me I raced a 100k and a couple 100 milers. Every one is different, and all I can do is just go out, give my best, and hope only the minimum of things would go wrong, and that I can react to each of those timely and well.

These backpacking things, they trigger so much in me. I struggle with the divide between my love for the ultrarunning and my, much earlier developed, love for backpacking. How do I balance it all? While I have plans for the next summer races, I, of course, began rolling in my head what long trails I can take on, whether just as a "pleasure hiking trip", or, maybe, just maybe, a faster effort? An FKT sort of thing? Maybe not... Should I try and entice someone with me? For either of those options? And definitely absolutely, MORE backpacking trips with my love! Larry is amazing, and I am so grateful to have his support, whether to shuttle me and listen to me about my crazy plans and ideas, or to go join me - yes, he loves it, but let be honest, anytime you join me on the adventures, you gotta be a little apprehensive. Regardless, he does, and, out there, he is the MAN, thankful for his ability and the will to do it. I love him so much for that. It was sort of horrible, and sort of absolutely amazing. Not only war stories make for the best conversations (and posts), it was far more meaningful like that: not an easy cruise, but a test of the will, and the testament of our relationship. We never once argued, and that was something to cherish the most. Also, the miles might have seen as short, but we made them by 12:30, so double that, booger! 💯💪

The Fall is here, no denying it. The change is obvious, it is in crispness of the air early in the morning, in subtly changing colors, more yellow showing up, at first higher in the mountains, but also coming to town. I can't believe that another summer of playing in my favorite playground is soon coming to an end. It's not over yet, there will be more summits, more long runs on the slopes of Pikes Peak, before the snow settles in. Heck, the Leif Peeping season is not quite here, why am I so sad? This was a good time away. No, make it a GREAT time away, with someone who matters, doing something that is the core of my being. Here's to more of that.