Pace: 8:46
Heart rate: 155 average; 199 max
Elevation (at highest point): 7103 feet
Total climbs: 636 feet
Wine: 2 glasses of Cardinal Zin
I recently satisfied a years-long goal of getting myself a little mountain retreat. This is my first weekend up here and it is blissfully cool: 63 degrees at the start of my run. The awesome weather is countered by the elevation, approximately a mile higher than Phoenix. I planned to run 6 miles to build up my red blood cells. There is a big park with a mountain lake within a mile of my place that is evidently popular for hikers and joggers. But this is bear country and I won't venture that way until I have bear spray (yes, that is a real thing and yes, I will get it and yes, I will run with it). I have a lifelong and slightly irrational fear of bears. Even in populated wooded areas, I run with my eyes glued to the tree line, searching for hulking shadows that might want to eat me. On a trip to Simsbury, CT, I learned that adrenaline pushes me to an uncomfortably fast pace when running alone through heavy forest. Today was not the day for an adrenaline run.
(See? Bear spray works!)
I decided to do an out and back on the main road because (1) there are more likely to be good sidewalks and (2) I wouldn't get lost that way. There are two options on the main road: up or down. I am familiar with downhill. I know that it is well-traveled, dotted with shops/restaurants, and has sidewalks for several miles. I am less familiar with uphill. I do not know how far the sidewalk goes or what condition it is. I do not know the person-to-bear ratio. And I do not know if it is sufficiently populated for me to seek refuge should there be a one-to-one Tina-to-bear ratio. An out and back that starts with 3 miles down hill will end with 3 miles up hill and that is just demoralizing, especially at 7,000 feet. I compromised, and decided to go 2 miles down, then 3 miles up (which meant passing my house and going another mile into uncharted territory), then 1 mile down to finish. The first two miles down were fine, easy peasey and beautiful scenery. When I turned around, the climb was steady, but okay. I still managed to keep my pace under 9:15. I passed my starting point and thought "I'm feeling so good, maybe I'll go 2 more miles up if the sidewalk is okay." (On a related note, it is dangerous to plan a run that circles back by my starting point mid-way through. A person with less will power might by tempted to just stop at 4 miles.)
(Aaaaah . . . my toe shoes enjoy mountain living)
Then I came around the bend and saw a beastly hill. Even at sea level, this hill would be a monster. It was steeper than the steady incline I'd been huffing and puffing up already and did not appear to have an end. People walking down the hill shook their heads sympathetically at me as I passed them. Whatever wind I had left was gone quickly. I still couldn't see the top, but I'll be damned if I was going to take walk break. Hoping for encouragement, I checked my distance, thinking I must be approaching my 5 mile mark turnaround. 4.54 miles. Frick! "I will not walk" "I will not walk" "I will not walk" This is probably much more like the mantra Runners World had in mind. I was seeing spots and actually began cursing out loud in between my gasps for oxygen, but I didn't care. It was only me and the bears at this point and I didn't care if I offended them with my foul language. The beast finally leveled out a little at 4.92 miles. I sprinted (which was a very relative word at that point) up the remaining .08 and then went a little farther, just to prove to the beast that I won, I slayed it with a 9:29 pace. Then I turned around and managed an 8:05 pace for my final (and downhill!) mile. The beast had morphed into an adorable puppy who just wanted to cuddle and lick me in the face. Aaaaaw.
(before and after)
Unlike my recent runs, I already feel this in my legs. The lack of oxygen up here definitely makes a difference.
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