"If yo' problems ain't sovled after a trail run, they ain't gettin solved."

When do things generally come crashing down the hardest? When falling from a really, really high place.

Or in my case, 4 miles out on a snow packed out-and-back trail run.
Today was perfect. Rarely do I use cliche, overused words, but "perfect" is the best way to explain the 4 miles out on the Mesa Trail out of Chataqua. Thanks to cross-country skiers, a majority of the trails were fairly well-packed despite several inches of snow that fell a few days ago. Throwing on my Yaktrax, the mountainous powdered landscape was mine to explore for the afternoon.
Almost through "Born to Run," a book about ultra distance runners and the Tarahumara (a Mexican tribe known for their ability to run hundreds of miles at a time), 8 or 9 miles seemed hardly lifting a finger compared to the Leadville 100.

With this in mind, I threw my head back ... and ran. It felt perfect.
Generally when I run, I do have a goofy smile plastered on my face (especially when I'm in better shape!), but today my lungs felt great, the snow nicely cushioned the downward striking of my feet, the sun burned in a cloudless sky and the 27 degree temperature felt more like 50, leading me to greet every person I passed with a maybe-too-chipper "Hello!!"

When I reached one of my stopping points, I wasn't ready to turn around, so I just kept running. I set out for a favorite, lesser-known trail that, due to bear activity, can only be safely navigated during winter months. The trail cuts between what I assume to be the back of the flatirons and Eldorado Canyon. In short - it is in the midst of some of the most magnificent rock structures I can name and adding snow makes the grandeur even more of a present.

This particular trail was slightly harder to maneuver, but so worth it for the views. Following along the ridge with gigantic formations zig-zagging the skyline to my right, it was hard to stay on the narrow, snowy trail. A few times I gave up, stopped running, and just took it all in with a hint of a tear in my eye. It was truly that peaceful.

As the trail continued upward, the sun began to drop behind the ridge and although still feeling strong, lack of direct sunlight made the winter temperatures seem more real. Content (and then some) with the meditative experience, I flipped a U-turn to head home.

On the way down, feeling even better at the declining elevation, I began thinking what my next blog would entail. Perhaps discuss running injuries and how, according to "Born to Run," running barefoot and childlike embodies how we are supposed to run. Since moving back to Boulder, I've really started to embrace this mode of running. Screw fancy running shoes and people's idea of "perfect form." I run because it makes me happy! And I feel great! My knee (which has a dull ache due to a fairly regular 'giving out' due to too much tennis I think) hasn't even given out in over a year! Smiling HAS to be the best training method.

OW!

And that's when it hit me. The all-too-well-known misstep/wobble feeling that I've grown to fear like the second coming of Christ. My knee goes one direction, the rest of me goes the other, and a sound that only I can hear (maybe I've just made it up and think I hear), like a thick piece of rubber being stretched and then released, only to bobble back and forth until finally settling in equilibrium, makes my stomach churn.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT OW OW OW OW OW OW OW.

I grab my knee and limp off to the side of the trail (to get out of the way of what? The elk?)
Oh good Lord, I'm 4 miles out in the middle of nowhere, on a snowy trail, I haven't seen even a cross-country skier in 20 minutes and I can't walk. Awesome.

Traditionally when the knee goes out, I immediately hit the couch for a few days to let the swelling go down and then spend up to a month rehabbing and going to the chiropractor. That option was not readily available. In fact, the only option was to walk; mostly downhill on a snowy trail. For 4 miles. In 27 degree weather and setting sun. In only running tights, a drenched base-layer and a thin fleece jacket.

Um, Jess, you can do this. Stop whining. People are starving all over the world in places much colder than sunny Boulder, Colorado. Get over it.

The "people starving" has been my mantra the past month when training begins to hurt. The way I see it, I am lucky to have the time, energy and resources to go running instead of searching for a way to feed my family. I CAN'T complain. Plus, it was only 4 miles. Big deal. Remember the people running a hundred?

Luckily this attitude (and perhaps the perfect day) helped turn what could have been a fairly miserable walk out of the park into a delightfully brisk time of self-reflection and planning. With this injury in the past, it is customary to wallow, call mom and opine the good days when I was never injured, get depressed, and long for running more than I probably do when I am able to run.

Instead I walked. I paid attention to how each step affected each ligament and muscle, how to best walk uphill and avoid the twinge of pain and how to place my heal correctly to keep my knee aligned when going downhill. I thought about my rehab options: Bikrham style yoga, cycling and swimming. After all, I was just saying yesterday that I needed to get back in the pool!

So there you have it. I made it back to my car, home to a hot shower and a roommate asleep on the couch knowing nothing of my "epic" adventure, and with some fresh ginger tea I have a chance to reflect on one of the more beautiful days of running I've experienced in a long time. Had my knee not given out, I probably would have jotted down a few quick ideas about running barefoot and you, reader, wouldn't have been able to share in my delightful adventure.

I suppose everything really does happen for a reason, huh?

Paint the world yoga and glitter

Perhaps it was yesterday's snow hiding the sun that powers me, or maybe I had a case of the Mondays; whatever caused the mood in which I found myself by 2 p.m. was no good thing.
Every once in a great while when not peeing glitter, I find myself in an introspective mood, which generally results in secluding myself to the floor of the living room, surrounded with paints and a playlist labeled "Thinking Songs" blaring, leaving only to go to yoga class(es). Art has been the outlet lately, when I was younger I used to write in the same manner.
The thing about painting is that it never gets me out of my mood; rather, it enables the mood and allows introspective thoughts to get significantly more intense - almost trance-like. When someone eventually walks into my house I snap out of what feels like a crazy dream.
I had a few good, pure hours sans interruption to wander and several times met with anxiety over my world trip. I am being selfish in doing this trip, the only reason I am helping at the orphanages is to make myself feel better about this ridiculously amazing vacation, what is going to happen when I get back home and I have to re-start my life in the midst of everyone else whose life never stopped, I'm going to be a different person, can I handle myself on a world-scale, how am I going to make this work financially, I can't even be away from my family for the holidays - how will I manage for an entire year, there is no way I am going to find the right place to study yoga in India - have you SEEN the size of that country??!?!?! On the flip side ... what if I don't want to come home.
I have a feeling that i will look back on the questions in two years and laugh at myself. Luckily that is a skill I have already mastered.
The clock stopped the train this time; 6:15 yoga class proved itself a humble adversary to my distraught world. The class after that one was even more cleansing and I returned to the living room several hours later to art supplies everywhere with little desire and no clue as to where I was just a few hours earlier.
I put away the paint and glitter and went to bed content.