clothesline

truth has to be spun dry

hung from a line

for a time in the sun.

still she wears it wet sometimes

damp clothes

are better than none

I suppose

even if they don’t fit right

The Shroud

What is this ache that plagues me,
That draws me to the Cross,
That finds no solace anywhere,
That burns like love that's lost?
It tears, it flays, it shreds my bones,
It leaves me nothing left
It bids me sit in darkness
Beneath Your bleeding breast.
There is no comfort anymore,
Nowhere to salve the wound;
Just groaning, longing emptiness,
A dark and lonesome tomb.
Yet here I'll stay, an inky hope
Pervasive as the night
Cocooning me in sorrow
While promising new life.

Helpless

Recently I visited the Indian Peaks Wilderness to attempt the marathon loop, 26 miles of beautiful mountain trail and between 5700 and 7000 ft. of elevation gain, depending on who you ask. I have wanted to give this one a go for awhile now, and though I was excited about the journey ahead of me, I was also a bit concerned about how I would fare at this distance. The last time I ran a comparable distance was in February. Yet the time had come to give it a go since pacing at the Hardrock 100 was looming on the horizon.

Yeah, this'll do.

With a cache of VFuel in tow, I hit the trail a little after 10:00 AM. Not knowing how I would hold up on this route, I kept the pace slow and focused on keeping my heart rate low and conserving energy. I decided on taking the loop counterclockwise, and the Beaver Creek trail was a nice way to start, a steady but not too demanding uphill climb to the intersection with the Mt. Audubon trail. Things were looking good, even if my knee and Achilles tendon issues were dogging me...not like Dobermans, though...more like agitated chihuahuas. At the intersection with the Mt. Audubon trail, the Beaver Creek trail proceeds to drop steadily as it heads to Buchanan Pass. Here began patches of snow...and then more snow...and then snowfield after stupid snowfield. Neat. I'm glad the snow's still around for the sake of water supply, but honestly, I want to punch snow right in its smug face. It's basically July, snow. I don't mind if you're here and there, but you' were everywhere on that trail, and your ubiquity is offensive. I eventually lost the trail and proceeded to bloody my knuckles on what I assumed was this particular snowfield's midsection. "Work the body," I heard my boxing coach say. "This is good training," I thought. "Apollo Creed will never know what hit him!" Oh, also, I later realized that my anger at the snow-induced hallucinations. Pfsh...lucky you for you, Apollo.

Paiute Peak from Mt. Audubon

But truly, I was angry: at the conditions, at my injuries (and thus at myself for causing them), and at God. Admittedly, it was a very petty anger, at least ostensibly. But as I reflected on it later, these were only symptoms of the deeper issue: I was angry at my helplessness and inadequacy. As I've come to realize over the years, it's comparatively easy for me to respond affirmatively to Christ in the "big" things. "You're inviting me to uproot my life and follow You to some unknown land, Jesus? Sure!" It is in the "small" things, in the day-to-day activities and struggles of life, that I falter and fume. In part, I think this is due to the fact that the area of the small things is where I imagine I am self-possessed, in control. Here I like to pretend I'm God, independent and in need of no one, not even Him whom I love. So when the little things start to go counter to my view of how they should be, the bubble is punctured and I am confronted with my ugly helplessness, my utter inadequacy. So I get pissed at snow. But the repeated revelation of my helplessness is not to be a discouragement, an instrument of despair. Rather, it is grace and mercy, for it is an invitation to trust in His love for me, to trust that recognizing and accepting my helplessness is the means to more fully receiving His all-consuming love. Jesus walked the path of dependence and helplessness all the way to the cross, and in doing so saved the world. If He's calling me and everyone else to follow Him in this, I can't imagine that the result will be anything less than wonderful albeit difficult and painful for a time. This is going to take awhile to learn.

Forget-me-nots

So what does this mean in the context of a wilderness outing? For me, it meant shaking off the "woe-is-me" and going to do two thirteeners (Audubon and Paiute) instead. But snow, you're not off the hook.

Paiute Peak over my right shoulder

Looking southwest from atop Mt. Audubon

Getting Ready

Man, it is great to be back in the mountains!  From the beginning of November 2012 until mid-May 2013 I was at Monastery of Christ in the Desert in New Mexico.  It's a beautiful place, right on the Rio Chama and surrounded by gorgeous mesas in the high desert.  I lived in a hermitage right on the river, getting up at about 4 every morning to pray before heading to work at 9, and would then either read or run before ending the day with more reading and prayer.  I don't know exactly how to summarize my time there.  Every time I try it seems to somehow denigrate the experience.  Our words are such inadequate conveyors of the experience of the Word Himself, and I suppose that's intentional.  If words alone were enough, what would be the incentive to truly live?

The chapel at Monastery of  Christ in the Desert

Though my time at the monastery was inexpressibly good, I love being back in the mountains.  There were pretty decent trails near the monastery, including a stretch of the Continental Divide Trail that provided adequate elevation and a healthy dose of beauty.  But still, when I arrived back in Estes Park, my feet couldn't wait to hit the trails.

My first real run was up Lily Mountain via the Homer Rouse trail from the Carriage Hills development in Estes.  I didn't expect too much of a challenge, but I was pleasantly surprised by the last three-quarters of a mile up the mountain.  It was steep, and just what I needed to give me an idea of my fitness level.  In other words, I was out of shape, but not horribly so.  I'd never been up Lily prior to this run because of its popularity, proximity to town, and the short round-trip distance (4 miles if you start from the actual trailhead), but the views from the top were magnificent.  The run ended up being 10 miles with about 2800 ft. of gain.  'Twas a good start to getting my legs back.

The next excursion was Twin Sisters, another smaller peak but with significant gains in a short amount of time.  It starts out at a bit of 9000' and climbs to over 11400' in 3.6 miles, which equates to rough 670 ft./mi.  , and like its neighbor Lily Mt., it has great vista views from the top.  I got up in 1:12, slowed a bit by a considerable stretch of snow just below treeline, but I picked up the pace on the way down to finish in 1:53. Nothing spectacular, but I was good with it.

A couple of days later, it was time to tackle Lumpy Loop: http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/ViewTrip/60518.  It had been over six months since I was last here, and that trip resulted in a broken finger on the descent from Gem Lake to the intersect with the Cow Creek Trail...neat.  I was hoping for better results this time.  Lumpy is one of my fitness assessment runs.  If I run it between 2:00 and 2:10, I'm happy. It's about 10.5 miles with 3000' ft. of gain split between two hearty climbs, winding through beautiful stretches of forest though it's often pretty warm because of its relatively low altitude (the high point is around 9200 ft.).  I opted for a counterclockwise run this time because many say that this is the more challenging direction.  I'm still not convinced of this, but what do I know?  I laced up the shoes, downed some VFuel, and hit the trail.  I felt like I was struggling a bit on the 1.7 mile ascent to Gem Lake, but my watch disagreed.  I arrived at the lake in just over 26 minutes, which put me on pace to hit my 2:00-2:10 mark.  The next climb slowed me to a hike at several points, and I topped out on the Black Canyon Trail/Lumpy Ridge Trail intersection in 1:30.  I knew I probably wasn't going to hit a sub-2:00 on this run, but I pushed the last 3.7 miles and finished in 2:09:30.

Since then, I've been up Hallett Peak with my best good friend, VFuel co-founder Michael Hodges, for his 45th ascent of that beautiful beast.

Nobody cares...but way to go, buddy!

Two days later, I returned to Twin Sisters for a hike with Michael and some other folks I consider near and dear to me (check out www.shelmusic.com).

I'm definitely the prettiest one in this photo.

Just before the rhinoceros attacked.

It's now time to shift into high gear, as my friend Alan Smith, another VFuel co-founder, asked me to pace him at this year's Hardrock 100.  With Hardrock looming, I've put Mt. Meeker, Mummy Mountain, and a Mummy Kill loop on the docket for the near future.  If those don't get me passably ready for pacing Hardrock, I don't know what will.

Nearer

Where are You my Love?

I come at Your call

I sit, I wait.  

Are You here?

Was that Your caress,

Your breath at my ear?

I do not know.

Confused, I go.

Where were You?

Did my appearance offend?

Was my beauty too dull?

I pause, then notice:

My heart is full.

Boundless Hollow

Within this ache lies a desire,
A holy, scorching fire.

It's a pain I cannot handle
A hole I cannot fill
A searing, stabbing something
A breaking of the will
A shaking of foundations
A quaking of the soul
A dark flame blazing brightly
A bleakness full of hope
A raging and a tearing
A shredding of the heart
A slaughter, a beginning
A stumbling in the dark
A nothing with no name
A terrifying threat
A promise and a sweetness
A yes, but not quite yet.

It's a pain I cannot handle,
A hurt I cannot kill
A holy, scorching fire,
An ache that always will.

Pear Lake Pain, or I Hate Steps

I don't know who thought it was a good idea to put steps in a trail, but I want to meet this person...and punch him or her right in the face.  Trails are hard enough to run as it is, inviting disaster at every turn.  Tree roots, rocks, nothing at all, pygmy mountain lions...any of these things can cause a fall.  But steps???  Come on.  Don't tell me it's for erosion control or to minimize the grade or scare off trolls; it's all a pack of lies.  Trails still erode, the grade is still steep, and trolls are still EVERYWHERE!  Steps turn a nice trail run into a knee-shattering, pace-destroying slice of hell.  I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.

Yesterday, after deciding against running the Pawnee Pass-Buchanan Pass loop in the Indian Peaks Wilderness, I decided instead to head to Pear Lake via the Finch Lake Trailhead.  Fall colors are in full swing, and the Finch Lake Trailhead is a great place to soak in the color.

         

Doesn't quite capture the beauty, but you get the idea.  Just go see for yourself and stop yelling at me!

The run itself is a 14-mile out-and-back frolic with about 2700 ft. of gain over the course of the run, and almost all of that comes in the first 7 miles.  It's certainly not super steep, but it'll get the legs and lungs burning.  It's a tough one to start because well over 400 ft. is gained in the first 0.75 mile, so there's not really a chance to warm-up.  Once you top the first hill, though, it's a smooth ride through aspen meadows for a good little stretch.  About two miles in, the steps begin.  Truthfully, the uphill portion isn't that bad.  I made it the five miles to Finch Lake in 1:01:49 (8:30 better than my previous best) and made it the full seven miles to Pear in 1:34:43 (about 11 minutes better than my PR).  I didn't fly, but I made decent time.

The northern edge of Pear Lake, with part of Mount Copeland in the background.

On the way down, I don't know what happens, but something changes.  I think the steps portion of the descent goes on for somewhere in the vicinity of 4000 miles.  Let me just check the GPS...yep, 4000 miles.  Oh, and on this portion of the trail, all of the tree branches are lined with razor blades.  And Peach Cobbler Vi Fuel tastes like burning tires mixed with dirty diapers.  And all of the love in your heart turns into hatred for puppies and everything beautiful.  And your praying turns into wailing and teeth-gnashing.  And your skin falls off.  I'm pretty sure that's accurate.  It's just...it's just awful.  I can't even sustain 10-minute miles on descents like that.  I run on this stuff all the time, but when you come back from a Leadville or an Imogene Pass and see just how fast you can actually move on a race course descent, it can be so frustrating to look down at your watch and realize you're moving at a 12-minute mile pace despite all your efforts to the contrary.  Anyway, I finished up the run with a time of 2:51 and then proceeded to splash all of my troubles away in the river.