Conquering the East West Trail Line End-to-End

For three years I've wanted to run the East West Trail from end-to-end.  It is a trail line that is very close to my house and I've run every piece of it, excluding the last mile, just not all at once.  Last fall my friend, husband, and I all decided to pick a date and go for it, but illness and injury set us back.  While driving by a small stretch of it Saturday afternoon, I regretted missing that run.  It was going to be epic.  We planned stashes of food and water along the 16 mile course.  We promised to celebrate with beer and great food at the finish.  I still wanted to go.  My friend, Monica, and I needed to run 16 miles this Sunday anyway.  And truthfully, it is really hard to find a 16 mile loop in the middle of the suburbs that include interesting scenery and something new.  This fit the bill so I called Monica and asked if she were game.

Mapmyrun.com I made the map the morning before the run.

 Monica has never told me, "no."  She's a great friend like that.

So we quickly stashed a car at the finish line and rushed over to the Cabella's in Lone Tree, Colorado where the trail officially starts.  Our husbands and kids waved us goodbye.  I quickly told my husband I would send him a Glymse if something went wrong.  If we were radio silent, things were good.

The trail starts uphill.  We climbed 500 feet up a system of hills called the Bluffs.  We ran down this hill a month before and we lamented it is much more fun to run it in reverse.  Nothing like warming up on a 7% grade.  The 360 degree views from the top of the hill are absolutely stunning.  You can see all of Denver, the Tech Center, Foothills, and even as far south as Colorado Springs.  The trail is crushed gravel and considering the 20 mile per hour winds, we were making good time.

8 miles in.  The trail switched back to crushed gravel from rocky single track.

After heading down the other side of the Bluffs, we started ascending Wildcat Mountain.  It isn't a huge mountain, but I look at it everyday from my house.  The climb fluctuates between 7-14% grades for almost 2 full miles by the time we reached the back side of the mountain and finished at the top of the ridge near Castle Pines.

Monica standing in front of Wildcat Mountain in the distance and behind that are the Bluffs, where we started.

Going into the run, I already covered over 47 miles in the last 6 days.  (I logged 63 miles this week after completing this run.)  By the top of those hills, already almost 2,000 ft in elevation climbed, my legs felt weak and tired.

Exactly 10 miles in, there is a compass rose that points to major land marks.  As the crow flies, it is 1.7 miles, as my legs ran, much, much, much further.  I should have been a bird.

 But as the trail became more narrow and we bounded up and down the rolling hills, I felt refreshed.

The next 4 miles are rolling downhills followed by a final 2 mile short climb. 

Miles 8-14 felt amazing.  I was easily conquering the trail that I'd wanted to cover for so long in one stretch.  I love the Highlands Ranch Backcountry.  It is the number one reason I am grateful to live in this town.  Sure the schools are great, the rec centers are a definite bonus, but really, it is the trail system that allows me to escape the city and find some inner quiet that I truly appreciate.  All these thoughts were happily bouncing through my brain, until Monica almost got hit in the back by a mountain biker.

We were cruising along a nice stretch of open grass lands.  The trail is narrow single track with lots of rocks, sand, bends, and bumps.  We just turned down a slight hill and were nearing the bottom when we heard a loud screech and sand went flying in every direction.  Naturally, both of us vaulted off the trail before looking behind us to find a man laughing his ass off.  He thought it was hilarious that he came really close to creaming Monica in the back and was not shy about his demented sense of humor.  Neither of us had headphones.  We weren't talking.  We were peaceful and quiet.  He came out of no where and made no apology for his dangerous riding.

I have yet to see a sign like this on any of the trails.  I think it is time the city invested!

After he zipped by, we took a moment to collect ourselves.  We had 2 miles left, all uphill and that 20 mile per hour wind was relentless.  More and more bikers came out of no where and while I too mountain and road bike I pride myself in knowing the yield laws.  All but 2 of the 25 bikers we met needed a reminder.  It is really hard to start running up a steep hill and stop again 30 feet later to let someone pass, then to start up yet again.  It was killing my knees.  Even Monica grumpily breathed behind me, "If I have to stop one more time, I might not start again..."  Agreed.

Sixteen miles is not my longest run to date.  I run trails all summer long.  But when I saw the sign that marked the end of this journey I was elated.  It felt like a real finish line.  At a half or full marathon the crowd pulls me to the finish.  I love the cheering fans and the cow bells ringing.  When they place the medal around my neck I know I accomplished something big and honest.  This finish line didn't have any of that and yet it felt bigger and in many ways better.  It was a private euphoria. 

Not a thrilling sign, but it holds new meaning.

Together, Monica and I covered 16 miles and 2,300 feet of elevation gain, in two and a half hours.  We stopped at the inconspicuous sign that marked the end of the trail, threw our heads between our knees for a while, took a few pictures, and walked to my car.  It wasn't exactly the most thrilling celebration, but I felt infinitely proud.

Our kids and husbands were waiting there to surprise us for almost an hour.  They let the kids play at the playground and fly kites to pass the time, but when they saw us they came running up the sidewalk full blast, smiles huge!

My oldest son asked his dad while waiting for us to arrive, "Did mommy really run from one side of our city to the other?"  Yes I did! 

I am strong

While I was training for the Colfax Marathon, I came up with a really simple mantra to get me over the hard spots during training.  It wasn't anything awesome, but it worked.  "1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3..."  Mind-blowing, eh?  Yeah, I tried more creative sayings like, "Run harder!" or "Keep Go-ing," or "Get it done."  I found those sayings downright distracting and they defeated their purposes entirely.  The reason I employed self-talk, was because I couldn't run harder.  I was desperately trying to get that 20 miler in the books, and I didn't know if I could physically run anymore.  Counting seemed basic.  I found myself getting from one step to the next and starting all over again.  My feeble mind couldn't think of much else. 

I've used my counting strategy often while running the trails behind my house this summer, but it lost its effectiveness.  Every time I try to count my way up a hill, I get distracted and find myself counting the actual steps, which only leads to me thinking of how many more steps I must have until I get to the top of that awful hill. 

My mom suggested a long time ago that I sing a song in my head instead of repeating a mantra.  She thought "Ants go Marching," would be relevant and slightly hilarious.  How many revolutions of that song could I get through when running 26.2 miles?  I tried it and it quickly changed to "The ants go marching 4 by 4, Harrah, Harrah.  The ants go marching 4 by 4, the little one stops to wretch on the floor...."  It didn't work. 

This morning I ran my 5 mile loop on the same trails behind my house that find me every morning.  This particular loop has a mean 2 mile long hill that feels relentless.  It's grade varies from 5% up to 12% inclines.  Halfway up the hill I desperately wanted to stop and walk, but I thought about all the goals I have for new PRs in the half marathon and full marathon distance.  I can't get there by walking.  I told myself, "I am strong."  Instead of counting, I repeated, "I am strong. I am strong. I am strong," with each step. 

It worked.  I got to the top of the hill, tired as all get out with another 2 miles of hills to go, but I made it and I wasn't slow.  I ran those 2 miles under an 8:30 pace.  I AM strong dammit! 


What is your running mantra?  When do you need it most?

~Roadburner

SNAKE!

A little over a month ago, my friend, Monica, and I were on the trails behind my house in Highlands Ranch, Colorado.  Heading home from a hilly 6 mile run we were hot and tired.  On the last mile stretch however, I found renewed energy as I tried to throw my good friend off of a cliff to save myself from a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake.  Beware, ladies and gents, when it comes to my life over yours, I will toss you overboard! 

Monica was right on my heals focusing on my footfall when I jumped backward at the sight of a 4 foot rattlesnake.  I couldn't say anything but, "SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAKE!"  I was literally inches away from the serpent.  She didn't understand what I was talking about and wasn't moving out of the way so I turned towards her and began pushing her backward as hard as I could.  "SNAKE! MOOOOOVE! SNAKE!"  Once Monica moved far enough back, I glanced back to the spot where the confrontation began.

"What is wrong! Jen, what happened?"

"RATTLESNAKE!"

"Okay, seriously, how do you know it wasn't just some snake?  It could be a bull snake.  We have those around here right?"

"Yes, we have those.  But I know that was a rattler.  It had the hoods over it eyes, the sharper nose.  I used to have bull snakes mate in my back yard every spring.  Trust me.  That was no bull."

Bull Snake

Western Diamondback Rattlesnake

From the other side of the trail another woman came running towards us.  "STOP! Stop, snake!"  She couldn't hear a word I said because her music was turned up so loud.  It took until she was almost right up to us for her to finally understand what I was screaming.

After waiting about 5 minutes for the rattler to move away from the trail, we ran home.  Well, in truth, I sprinted.

In a nutshell... from www.ag.purdue.edu

Since then, I have had three other rattlesnake encounters.  Two in one day.  That's left me thinking, is the trail really worth it?  Today, I only ran 1 mile on the trails and spent the other 3.75 on paved trails around my house.  Sure it was relaxing not having to worry about needle sharp teeth grazing my ankles.  And I even pumped my music on high for the first time in months, but I felt bored.  The views were lacking, and the adrenaline was weak.  We chose our new house because of the trails.  And now I am going to avoid them until the snakes return to hibernation?  I don't think so.

Instead of letting fear dictate my next few summer filled months, I decided a little research was in order.  Surprisingly, what I found soothed my fears.  I will number my findings in the order I found it most helpful.  Running makes us a little oxygen deprived and the key points should definitely stick out in time of need...

1. If you are bitten, don't put a tourniquet on the wound. Stay calm (yeah right), and try to keep your heart rate low.  It will decrease the rate in which the venom moves through your blood.  Remove any restricting jewelery (yes runners, that includes GPS watches).  Also, not all bites are venomous.  In fact, 20% of all rattlesnake bites are simple warning bites.  Get help either way!

2. Step ON rocks and logs, never over them unless you can see the other side.  Rattlesnakes don't like to be in the open.  They hang out around places they can hide easily.

3. Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes do NOT always use their rattles to warn of their existence.

4. Always carry a cell phone when running.  If you can get help within 2-6 hours, you will be okay. 

5. Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes are NOT inherently aggressive.  If you leave them alone, they will leave you alone.  Most bites are to dogs and according to the Colorado Department of Fish and Wildlife, 85% of bites nationally are delivered to drunk humans wandering off trails.  (I feel safer already!)

6. NEVER run on trails with both ear phones in your ears.  (This is probably a good suggestion across the board, but let's stay focused!)  Two days ago, I encountered 2 rattlesnakes, one deer, one coyote, numerous zooming bikers, and one horned lizard within 6 miles.  I heed this advice strictly.  I don't like things sneaking up on me, whether it be a human or Bambi. 

7. Don't handle a freshly killed snake.  They can inject venom for up to an hour after death.  (Now that's fascinating!)

8. Rattlesnakes enjoy the summer evenings the best.  The sustainable temperature for this coldblooded animal is between 70-90 degrees.  Therefore, they hunt and are most active during these temperatures.  This doesn't mean you are safer to run in the mornings (ALL of my encounters were between 7-9:30 am), it just means watch even more carefully in the evening hours.

9. If you see one, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!  A snake can strike one and a half times its length when coiled.  15 feet is a safe distance according to the California Division of Fish and Wildlife.

I know I am going to have some wicked snake dreams tonight, but it is always better to be informed than fearful.  I fully respect wildlife and understand every animal has its purpose.  And part of that respect, is avoiding confrontation.

Any other advice you have I would love to hear!

Here are a few helpful links if you want more information:

http://www.ext.colostate.edu/pubs/natres/06501.html

http://www.crgov.com/DocumentCenter/Home/View/1239
http://parks.state.co.us/SiteCollectionImages/parks/Programs/ParksResourceStewardship/Rattlesnake%20Management%20Prescription.pdf

East West Trail

Two weeks after running the Backcountry Half Marathon, I decided to run some of the same trails again, this time solo.  I was amazed as to how strong I felt.  My latest half really built muscle and increased my cardio capacity.  I ran a total of 10 miles and during that time, I only saw one other person - a biker.  It astounds me that I can be so close to civilization, and see only one person.  These trail are so accessible, I am amazed people don't use them more.  Maybe it is the pest problem... ;)

The Backcountry Trails are an intricate web of dirt single track trails mixed with some wider groomed dirt.  They are well maintained and only Highlands Ranch residents are allowed on site.  I took lots of pictures today, hoping the views might inspire other residents to brave some new territory. 

There was a rather large brown cloud over Denver today.  We haven't had much wind to blow it away.  But the views were still worth while.  I was standing at the edge of a sea of houses.  Behind me are thousands of acres of open space.

My earphones broke weeks ago and I haven't had the energy to find new ones that actually fit.  I ran music and Garmin free.  Of course I brought my phone in my backpack and snapped some pictures, but I enjoyed the quiet and was left with my thoughts following a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with family.

I lived in Highlands Ranch for 6 years before I knew any of this existed.  I had no idea what I was missing.  It is interesting how running allows you to learn and appreciate the intricacies of your home geography.  I have become so familiar with every main trail-line in the town, how they connect, approximate distances, meeting points, detours, and yet I continue to find new trails weekly.

I love these trails because I feel like I am a part of something much bigger than me.  I can see all of Denver, the Rocky Mountains, the Great Plains, and beautiful plateaus.  These buttes remind me of the wild west.





I felt great 6 miles into my run when I came across my old friends from She Who Runs with Cows gets a Fist Full of Poop.  At first sight of them, my heart dropped.  I panicked running through hundreds of them less than a month ago, but I had my husband to keep me company.  This time I was alone and not wanting a similar encounter.  I approached cautiously and almost jumped for joy when I saw the fence dividing us.

The views from the top of Wildcat Mountain are stunning.  I didn't make it to the top today as I am running the Rock 'n' Roll Vegas Half Marathon next weekend.  While I felt great, I wanted to leave some in the tank.

There is a vast open space that divides Castle Pines and Highlands Ranch.  If you stand on the edge of the trail system, you can see all of Highlands Ranch to the north and open untamed plains to the south.  I prefer running on trails any day over roads and pavement.  At this point in my loop, I ran about 7 miles.

After Vegas, I am taking a break from racing for a few months.  I raced all spring and summer, and finished the season with 4 half marathons and one duathlon in 2.5 months.  I look forward to hitting the trails without purpose again.  I won't have to push a certain pace or maintain a distance schedule.  I feel freest when I can turn in a new direction, see where it takes me, and wind up running 13 miles when I planned on 8.  Running without my Garmin today made me feel freer than I have in months.  It might just have to be shelved for a while.

Racing Heart

I started wearing a heart rate monitor about a month ago.  Every once in a while I glanced at the numbers and was stunned by how high they were.  I didn't feel tired, weak, or frail as my heart rate pushed into the 200s.  But the numbers scared me enough to keep an eye out for trends.  When I run at an easy pace, 9:30-10:00 miles, my heart rate settles between 167-175 beats per minute.  However, when I peak a steep hill and start the decent, or push my pace into the 8 minute range, my heart shoots into the 200s within seconds.

A few days ago I saw my doctor.  She hooked me up to an EKG and said everything looked really good at rest.  The only concern was that my blood pressure was extremely low, 80/50, and my resting heart rate was rather high, especially for someone who exercises regularly.  The lab drew a few viles of blood and my doctor ordered stress tests and a 24-hour test, which I have yet to complete.  She thinks my heart rate compensates for my extremely low blood pressure, so we need to figure out why my blood pressure is dangerously low.

Heading out the door, she encouraged me to take it easy.  "Don't let your heart rate climb above 180!" she reminded me.  "If you have to race this weekend, take it easy.  Don't race, just finish!"  

The Backcountry Half Marathon is only 3 days away.  I worked really hard training for this race as I do all of my races.  My husband and I ran the Backcountry whenever we earned a few minutes away from the boys.  I scaffolded my training appropriately.  I always make conscience decisions about food choices.  And more than anything, I ran my pants off for the last few months.  My doctor told me very sternly to wear a heart rate monitor during the race and glance at it every few minutes.  If my heart starts creeping towards the 170 range, back down, walk, and when it is significantly lower, begin again.  She didn't tell me not to run, just watch it.

First of all, I don't want to hurt myself.  So of course I will heed the advice appropriately.  However, running with a monitor really takes all of the fun out of racing.  Races are about challenging your body and pushing your limits.  Under doctor's orders, there are no limits to test, just a 13.1 mile run to complete.  Of course I knew I wasn't going to win the race even if I pushed really hard.  There are crazy good runners that will show up, ultra marathoners that will eat this race like a 6 minute per mile snack.  But I love seeing what I can do.  I don't race against the other runners, I compete against myself.  The race is about improving, seeing how far I can run up 12% inclines without tiring; bounding like a gazelle through the trails' rollers.  Racing shouldn't be about studying a watch and letting it decide my limitations.

If you aren't pushing your limits, testing your training, what is the point of a race?  I am disappointed and worried about my heart.  I am young and in the best shape of my life.  But my body is clearly sending me signals to rest for a while.  This Saturday, I will toe the line.  I will extinguish any competitiveness within me and see the race as a nice opportunity to run the most beautiful city trails in Colorado amongst some of the best people.

She Who Runs With Cows Gets a Fist Full of Poop

Because the Highlands Ranch Backcountry Half Marathon is only a week away, Randall and I wanted to taper at an easy trail 15 minutes from our home.  I never ran this specific trail before, but I heard countless stories describing its epic beauty for weeks before the run.  "There are amazing views of Denver, the Rocky Mountains, and rolling plains," Randall boasted.  After leaving our kids with Randall's parents, we drove to the top of Wildcat Mountain, right above Highlands Ranch.

The run started simple enough.  We ran at an easy incline to the top of a ridge with a spectacular view.  It was everything Randall described and more.  We had a 180 degree view of the front range, Denver Tech Center, and Denver itself.  Eager to keep our blood pumping, we stopped only briefly and circled back around to the main trail.

About half way down, Randall pointed to a trail at the bottom of a valley.  "That's where we're headed!" he said.  "Um, the trail that is covered in cows?" I replied unenthusiastically.  My husband reassured me the cows would move and he's run this trail before - lumbering beasts never posed any real threat.

A mile later, we ducked through some scrub oak around a tight bend in the trail.  On the other side of the corner stood a 2,000 pound beast, starring us down without manner.  At that point, I half joked it was time to turn around and find another route.  But the cow moved away as we ran closer, proving Randall's theory temporarily correct.  However, I learned cows travel in packs and after passing that one simple creature, we found ourselves locked into a herd so tight there was no where to lurch but forward.

Stupidly, we ran instead of walking, hoping our rapid pace would scare them out of our way, but as we clumsily passed each massive obstacle, now numbering more than 30 cattle, they became less passive and showed fewer signs of backing down.

Finally, we approached a creek at the bottom of the valley.  The creek was only a few inches deep, but getting down to the water was tricky.  There was a muddy and poop ridden ledge on either side of the water about 3 feet high and the creek itself was over 7 feet wide.  Randall wanted to jump the entire thing, ledge to ledge, but unlike my long jumping husband, I am not 6 feet tall.  I am 5'4".  I found a dry enough patch, jumped to the water, waded through urine and fecal matter, and climbed back up the other side.  I proceeded running around some bushes and immediately found myself face-to-face with 50 cows.

They were everywhere.  I have never seen so many cows up close.  They were literally inches from our faces and while most didn't seem impacted by our existence, I was plagued with fear caused by, "When Animals Attack."  There were just too many to feel safe.  One in particular was hiding behind a large bush of scrub oak; she looked at me with menacing eyes so eery I wanted to pee myself.  I begged Randall to turn around, I was done.  I didn't want to navigate a trail containing an unknown number of creatures larger than my Subaru sedan.  Cows occupied the trail and every inch around the trail for a good half mile. I begged Randall to turn around, laughing and crying in my terror. 

Randall reassured me I was being dramatic.  "Cows don't hurt people, Jen!  They are perfectly safe animals who are too slow to hurt a fly."  However, just as his words flew offensively from his lips, the nearest cow got up quicker than a jack rabbit on steroids.  She leaped from her position and charged forward towards Randall.  "Now we RUN!" Randall screamed passionately.  Randall took off sprinting, but I couldn't move.  I was paralyzed like a deer in the headlights.  I couldn't escape the horrific image of a cow raming my butt repeatedly with her head while I helplessly bucked forward.  I contemplated my options: if I followed Randall, I would be turning my back to her, thus giving her a real attack opportunity.  If I turned back the way we came, it meant wading back through a fecal swamp and the 50 cows I already passed.  Seeing Randall run 75 paces ahead of me left me feeling alone and made my mind up for me.  I quickly caught up to him and by the time we freed ourselves from the bovine gontlet, I knew I was going to have a heart attack.

My heart rate was over 200 beats per minute.  I could feel the pounding of my heart through every pressure point in my body.  I was horrified and shaking uncontrollably.  Worse, Randall was laughing so hard he was collapsing under his own weight.  We stood there taking in the view, laughing and calming my nerves for about five minutes and then we moved forward.

The next 3 miles were relatively uneventful.  We were jumpy because our nerves were already on high alert.  I saw a large spider in the middle of the trail.  I called, "Spider!" and dodged him, but for some reason, Randall heard, "SNAKE!" and pounced off the trail before the imaginary rattler could pierce his achilles.

Finally, we looped back around and approached the herd from the opposite end.  We passed an introverted bovine in the bushes, but somehow after we passed her, we were instantly surrounded by 50 cows.  A large speciman decided to humiliate us further by challenging us directly.  We paused, took a step forward, paused, and watched her reaction.  She grunted, stepped towards us, stopped, cocked her head in mockery, and moved forward again.  Randall grabbed a large switch off of a bush, but when she saw that direct act of aggression, her eyes widened.  "PUT THE STICK DOWN, RANDALL!" I pleaded.   

Within 2-3 minutes of this confrontation, there were cows all around us, pooping in every direction, and sharing the same breathing space.  We took our time approaching our challenger and after a while she balked.  She turned and followed the trail where we wanted to go, but at least we felt less intimidated by her backside.  When she found her exit point, we moved into a field of 75 more cows, tiptoed our way through and returned to the dismal water hole.

Because of the angle of the stream, we couldn't cross it the same way we did initially.  It was a bit lower now and jumping straight across wasn't as simple.  I went downstream about 20 feet and lowered myself to the bank.  Carefully placing my feet on some emerged stones, I navigated my way to the other side, placed my foot on the muddy bank and put my weight into the hill.  Slipping deep into the mud, I clawed at the slippery slope, trying to keep my hold.  I scratched for dear life like a panicked cat, literally using my finger nails to grip the mud so that I would avoid going completely into a stream of unknown excrament.  Reaching the top of the hill, I found my final grip - a giant pile of cow poop. 

I sat on the edge of the bank screaming, laughing, and crying.  "Cow poop!  AHHHH!  Cow poop!"  Randall crossed the river, after planting his shoe in a giant stool.  He collapsed by my side, laughing hysterically.  We sat on the river bank for a good 10 minutes laughing.  We were covered in mud and poop, we were another couple miles from the car and 15 minutes from home.  Randall promised this run would be epic, mind blowing perhaps.  Sadly, it was not the views that blew my mind.