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.

 

     

Imogene Pass Run

I've read quite a few race reports since I began running races earlier this year, and I love getting the feel of the race from the runner's perspective.  Tonight, I'm going to attempt to write my very first race report, and just like all of the other reports I've read, I'm going to do so in my own peculiar way.  That's the other great benefit of race reports...you actually come to know the runner just a little bit, to see not only the race but the world through his or her eyes. So, here's the race and the world through my eyes.

I only recently started seriously running.  In fact, I'd say I really only got truly started in March or April of this year thanks to prodding by friends like Michael Hodges and Alan Smith.  Michael has been an incredible encourager to me in it all, and I am continually thankful for him.  He and Alan would tell of their exploits in the wilderness, and they seemed to love it so much.  I spent a lot of time in the mountains already, but I imagined where I could go and what I could do if I was running instead of hiking...I wanted to give it a go.  More appealing than that, Michael told me how prayerful running was for him.  If running could also be an avenue through which I came to know and be known better by Jesus, then sign me up.  So I began, and in a few months' time, Michael talked me into doing the Leadville Marathon, and two weeks later, I was running the Silver Rush 50.  Though I do sometimes worry I'm taking on too much too quickly, I love it, and you can't know if it's too much until you try.

Running does have some downsides for me, though.  For one, though I do practice the ancient tradition of the Jesus Prayer sporadically during my runs and pray short prayers throughout a run, I'm more often telling myself to keep going or push harder or something along those lines.  I haven't yet found running to be a great place of meeting for God and me, but I continue to hope it will become that.  The most disturbing and painful downside I've noticed is how prideful I've become in it.  Though I'm not a great runner by any stretch of the imagination, when I'm running up the likes of Long's Peak and people are cheering me and expressing awed disbelief, it's hard to not let that kind of stuff go to my head and my heart.  As someone who has a very distorted and flawed self-image, believing that I continually have to prove myself before I'm considered lovable or desirable or valuable, it is particularly difficult to remain immune to such praise. The more of this praise I receive, the more I desire, and though it feels great and serves to inspire me, it also feeds that gaping, insatiable abyss in me, that chasm that longs to be filled but never can be. It can only be healed, made as if it never was, and only the Healer Himself can do that.

The background has been provided; on to the race.

Pre-race intensity

Today (9/8/2012), I ran the Imogene Pass Run with my great friend, Cameron Schenk.  The race is 17.1 miles in length, beginning in Ouray, CO, at an elevation of 7810 ft. and ending in Telluride, CO, at an elevation of 8750 ft.  Along the way, runners climb 5300 ft. or so in 10 miles to the top of Imogene Pass before descending 4350 ft. in 7 miles into the town of Telluride.  It was Cameron's first race since high school track, and though running Imogene Pass is a little different than high school track, he knocked it out of the park with a time of 3:53:01.  Congratulations, my friend!

Alright, enough with all that.  I'll move on to the good stuff.  We stayed in Durango, CO, the night before at one of the best hostels in existence, the Durango Hometown Hostel.  Unfortunately it had been a rather warm day in Durango and cloud cover that night kept the heat in, which meant the hostel stayed pretty warm as well, which meant I only managed about 3 hours of sleep.  I wasn't too concerned about the effect this would have on my running ability, because as many of you know, the energy present at the beginning of a race is more than enough to overcome an impoverished sleep.  And once you start to run...well, last night might as well be two years ago.

We were among the first few runners to arrive at check-in because we'd heard several different accounts of how long it takes to get from Durango to Ouray.  For future reference, leaving at 4:15 AM for a 7:30 AM race will get you there in PLENTY of time.  But, the early arrival time allowed me to do some deep knee-bends, runs up and down the stairs, and take a few punches to the gut from Cameron to try to evict some of the unwelcome residents in my bowels.  Despite my best efforts, only some of the unruly guests left at the appropriate time; the rest decided to leave a few hours later, a fact that would end up dropping me down about 100 spots. 

The starting line...the air is permeated by a pungent mixture of excitement, fear, and flatulence.

At 7:25 AM, the runners were already lined up at 4th and Main.  1500 runners is a crowd, but the excitement was certainly infectious.  Loaded up with Vi Fuel to spare and a bottle of water, I was ready to go.  I Vi it up every 30 minutes or so during a race, and in all seriousness, there's nothing better out there...not even close.  As the seconds ticked down, Cameron and I genuinely blessed each other, did our secret handshake, slapped some kid in the face, and then turned our eyes to the task before us.  Okay, so only the blessing actually happened, but it was entertaining for a moment, right?  Anyway, the gun sounded promptly at 7:30, and we were off.  I didn't know what to expect from the course, but I figured the first five miles or so would be comparatively easy running.  To my surprise, it was even easier than I thought.  I looked down at the Garmin watch loaned to me by my super wonderful greatest-everest friend, Michael Hodges, and noticed that I was easily keeping a sub-12 minute pace for a good portion of that first stretch. At 7.6 miles in and 3400 ft. of gain to that point, the Upper Camp Bird aid station had the first cutoff, and I knew pretty quickly that I was going to make it with loads of time to spare.  Mile 6 started to get quite a bit steeper, and this trend would continue to the top, but I made it to Upper Camp Bird in 1:43:47.

The view leaving Upper Camp Bird

 The next 2.4 miles, however, turned out to be quite a bit slower.  It was steeeeep.  At times I was moving at a 30-minute mile pace, and I was actually passing people.  It was soooooo steep.  I definitely need to do a lot more work on my uphill movement, but I managed to reach the summit in 2:38:04.  It was soooo, sooooo, steeeeeep.  In my overblown opinion, Leadville's Mosquito Pass can't hold a candle to it.  I felt like I cruised up that in comparison.

Weary folks nearing the summit

Imogene Pass: 13,100 ft.

The summit reached, I knew I was in my element now.  I've discovered that I can descend pretty well.  In fact, looking at the descent times of the top runners at this race and factoring in my unfortunate bathroom break, I happily noticed that my descent time was right in line with all but the top 10.  After refilling my water, I took off.  I was cruising, and I felt great, but about two miles down, the demons in my belly felt sufficiently exorcised and decided they were going to exit the premises.  I found a secluded spot off the trail, which took a bit of doing, and by the time I finished, I estimate that I lost close to 10 minutes.  Sad news for me, but I took off again and burned it all the way down.  I reached the finish line in 3:37:53, which put me as the 306th finisher of 1500, so it wasn't too bad, but I was a little disappointed because of the knowledge of what could have been.  Anyway, it was a great day and a great race, and I plan to make this an annual visit.

Finish line extravaganza

Terrible beauty