It started out so great. I dropped my daughter off at her horse riding lessons and had three and a half hours to kill. Hubby was home laying new sod, but for some reason had given me a pass on the morning guilt trip. So, off to explore new places. I’m still getting used to Colorado and was looking for a locale for a long run that doesn’t have hills that make me want to cry uncle after the first 5 miles. Chatfield Resevoir seemed the perfect place – it’s close to where I live and seemed relatively flat. I drove out there, parked at the Heronry, put some sunscreen on my arms and face (no legs, I wanted those suckers really tan), donned my Peaceful Tribe hat, and off I went.
What bliss. I felt good, running at an easy pace. I took a few short walk breaks for water, but otherwise was running steadily. This is something for me, as training has not been going well lately. I didn’t even want to stop to refill my water bottle, because, hey, I had only planned to run for about 1:15 and a single water (and a bagel for breakfast) should have been plenty. Anyway, with about half my water left, I made it to the dam in pretty good time and thought – what the hell, let’s run all the way around this resevoir.
This is where it all started to fall apart. In my euphoria, I chose to ignore the fact that I have no sense of direction and no ability to judge distances with any accuracy whatsoever; oh, and no map. So, of course, I immediately made a wrong turn. About a mile later, facing a dead end, I ask a very nice cyclist whether it’s possible to get to the other side of the resevoir from where we’re at. He assures me it’s possible, tells me to backtrack back to the top of the dam, traverse across the dam, go down a steep incline and meet up with the paved path. Sounds great. Off I go. It’s been over my 1:15 planned run, so I’m pretty tired and walk up to the top of the dam. I pretend that everyone I pass thinks I’m doing my cool down walk. I see some buff tri chick riding the hills over and over again. I pray she’s not in the 35-39 age group.
I get to the top of the dam and start to run again. I’ve pretty much polished off the water, it’s really sunny and about 85 degrees. My head feels like a bowling ball and I clearly have no idea how long it’s going to take to make it back to my car. I start to walk again and can feel the sun baking my legs. Luckily, I have my cell phone, so I call hubby and tell him he has to pick up the kid at the barn because I have no idea when I’ll be back. He’s a guy; he’s supposed to be worried about me. Instead, he sounds really annoyed. I think to myself, that’s the price I have to pay for establishing myself as “capable” (yes, I do appreciate the irony).
Anyway, the long trip across the dam continues. In the distance, I see two blobs that could either be posts or people. Turns out, it’s two runners. As I meet up with the guy, I ask him whether I’m on the right track to meet up with the paved path on the other side of the resevoir. He’s a total dick, seems completely put out by the obvious fact that I’m lost and is not helpful at all. I continue on. Just when it seems like I’m going to be forever following the Santa Fe railroad track to nowhere, the steep incline the cyclist told me about appears. I descend, slipping on the rocks and dry dirt to the paved path. I consider running again, but still have no idea how much farther I have to go so figure I should save energy and walk. It’s really pretty on that side of the resevoir; lots of trees and swamp and shade. I cross a small wooden bridge and lying there are a couple of Incredibles toys, you know, the kind kids get in McDonald’s Happy Meals. I pick them up, thinking it’s some kind of sign – I’m strong, I’m incredible . . . . whatever. Anyway, I finally hook up on a main road and things start to look familiar. About 45 minutes later – and 2 hours and 40 minutes into the run – I spot my car. I have never been so happy. I eat a banana, drink some really hot water that’s been baking in my car, and head for home. When I get home, I pretend I’m not completely wiped out from my morning adventure and help lay the last of the sod.
Tomorrow afternoon, I head back to Chatfield for a training ride. I feel confident. I feel strong. I feel incredible. . . . . I feel like I really need to remember my cell phone.
