Hanging out with an older lady (There is a good chance she is going to kill me for that)

My coworkers were ready to have Mrs. Robinson playing when I started up my computer yesterday. Forget the fact that Wendy had informed them she was there at my birth, or had driven to Boulder to see me. Nope, they figured I was full of shit. Well, kinda at least. It probably didn’t help that we had margaritas together; and she paid. Or that I took the day off to run her butt up Sanitas, into Rocky Mountain National Park and into the movie theater. On the outside looking in, it must have seemed kinda strange.

It was a great day. One of those days in Boulder where you never feel rushed, but somehow manage to see the Rockies, Flatirons, Rio and Stone Cup without breaking a sweat. The kind of day where conversation flows together, weaving in and out of topics, crashing down at times and then receding back to more comfortable waters.

We talked a lot. I’d like to say it’s because I can add valuable points to conversation, but we all know I’m kidding myself on that one. At one point, somewhere between the flat wasteland of America’s Midwest and Gods natural speed bumps, the Rockies, we talked about her late husband and the grieving process.

The conversation was in confidence, but it stuck out. I had close friends in high school who lost parents, friends and siblings. I somehow managed to sidestep the funerals, memorials and suicide attempts. I did, however, always wonder how I would grieve.

Throughout the day a central theme circulated our conversation. The need to get out and experience life. For Wendy, an “older” woman, it was how to cope with post-kid life. For me, a “younger” man, it was how to start a family and set down roots. We both had our desires. Our aspirations. Our similarities.

There is a country song going around on the radio right now about how life goes faster than you think. I’ll save you from the depressing lyrics, but it was evident yesterday while hiking up to Cub Lake that life was what you make of it.

Wendy got in her car and drove away from home. She decided to shed skins. Look deep inside. Take a journey of self discovery.

En route, she just so happened to spend a day with me, in a place I am growing to love. Living in a town that seems so similar to back home, I’m still alone, wandering into bars with good friends, but new friends. Her familiar face was a welcome site. A grounding of existence. And of course, so was her ability to tell me how it is, and set me back on track.

The Tender Bar: Proof you can be a functioning alcoholic

A dear friend of mine recently passed along, J.R. Moehringer’s recent memoir The Tender Bar, and since all three of her children work in bars, and usually are pretty good at getting into trouble without going too far, reading it was a no-brainer.

Last weekend after a perfect bluebird day here in Colorado, six inches of snow kept me indoors and restless. Wrapped up, sitting on the floor, I opened The Tender Bar and started to read. Four hours later I set the book down, went out and bought a 12 pack of beer, then promptly preceded reading. Ten beers later, I was done.

The following are two passages that stuck out:

J.R. talking about his cousin’s baseball career

I understood that my cousin was a budding major leaguer. He was a dedicated craftsman, and the rewards he’d gained from hard work went far beyond mastering a slider and a change. He’d mastered himself. He knew that hard work was the right path for a man, the only path. He wasn’t paralyzed, as I was, by the fear of making a mistake. When he bounced a pitch in front of me, or threw it over the head, he didn’t care. He was experimenting, exploring, finding himself, and finding his way by trial and error to a kind of truth. No matter how foolish he looked on a pitch, no matter how badly he missed the target, with the next pitch he was focused, confident, relaxed. He never once that afternoon lost the look on his face that he’d worn when we were boys. He was working hard, but he’d never stopped playing.

J.R. remembering a conversation he had over scotch with a priest on his way home from Yale

“Can I tell you something?” the priest asked. “Do you know why God invented writers? Because He loves a good story. And He doesn’t give a damn about words. Words are the curtain we’ve hung between Him and our true selves. Try not to think about the words. Don’t strain for the perfect sentence. There’s no such thing. Writing is guesswork. Every sentence is an educated guess, the reader’s as much as yours. Think about that the next time you curl a piece of paper into your typewriter.”

It’s summer! Wait…scratch that…the F-ing snow is back…

Climbing Twin SistersIt was hot yesterday. Like 75 degrees hot. Of course when I woke up this morning, three inches of snow was on the ground, but at least for one day we had California-like weather.Pics are from our adventure up Twin Sisters peak in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Lazy Sunday on the Mesa Trail

Coffee, bagels and the New York Times gave way to the Boulder County Library and a lazy hike along the Mesa Trail before nerve-wracking football games. Took a few shots and thought you might enjoy.

1) The Flatirons

2) Notice how all the snow is on the trail?

3) A white peaceful world

Think you’re in Shape? Move to Boulder, and then kill yourself

Overheard while working out at the YMCA.

Ridiculously ripped dude one: “Hey man do you cyclocross?”

Equally Ripped dude two: “No, just ice climb and ski. Going to Jackson this weekend and Aspen in two weeks.”

“Sweet! But you really should try it. Once the road season ends it ‘s a great way to stay in shape. I just did a sick race in Estes Park.”

“Yea? Hard?”

“You know, typical. 30 miles, snow, same old shit.”

“Well I do need a new bike. Maybe I’ll pick one up. BTW, ever want to ride across Colorado?”

“Did last year, it was too easy.”

When I moved to Boulder I was out of shape. Two months on the road had broken me down. I’d run a marathon, competed in a few triathlons and climbed some 14,000 ft. peaks, but besides that the summer had been fairly uneventful.

Back home (Santa Cruz California,) I was the active one among most of my friends. Saturday mornings would be filled with 40-mile rides, 15-mile runs and marathon lap swims.

I would hit the gym at lunch, climb sporadically and hike twice a month.

And then I moved to Boulder.

The town where if you can’t ride a century, run a marathon and bust out a pitch on a gruesome 5.12 all in the same day, you’re mediocre. Worthless. Pathetic. Plane out of shape.

“Just remember,” several people told me when I first arrived. “There is always someone faster, better and more ballsy out there than you. Once you know that, you will be fine.”

I believed them, but it didn’t sink in at first.

My first two months were a blast. Twenty five thousand feet of elevation gain, over 100 miles hiked, a few hundred miles run and even two climbing sessions. I drank beer, lost weight, ate healthier than ever and found myself happier than I’d been in several years.

But as the newness wears off and I begin to become more of a resident in Boulder, the reality is sinking in.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I might ask a coworker.

“Oh you know, same old stuff. Climb a mountain early Saturday, then attend Dave Matthews before heading out to a friends hut trip which I’ll have to ski into at night. Then Sunday ski back, bang out a freelance piece and relax.”

Damn. And I thought hiking 10 miles was cool.

Finally back in the Colorado Mindset - Pics of Bear Peak

Took approximately four days, but finally after an amazing day of coffee, elevation, wilderness and beer I’m back.

Thought long and hard about putting up the pics, they are shot with a pos digital, so forgive the quality.

1) Last Drop of coffee at the Laughing Goat
2) Pre Mud Season in Boulder
3) Peace at 8,340 ft.
4) The backside of Boulder as a storm creeps in

Lazy Sunday Romp

Since two of us (not me) were toast from skiing the day before (I helped my roommate polish off his liquor cabinet before moving to London) we decided a lazy Sunday hike would be the way to go.

Shots are as follows

• Snow? Trail? Hell just pull over and go
• The three of us trying to get close enough for a self shot portrait
• What it looks like from the view of an ant
• The payoff (Indian Peaks Wilderness)
• Just enjoying a great day together (Right before Elisabeth fell through the ice…)

If I turn around I see this… (view from the office)

  

Why I LOVE Colorado

Pics are from the past few days of hiking. First three are from a 15 mile walk in the woods on Sunday, with the last one being the staircase that greats me as I begin to run up Mount Sanitas. (see Running up a Mountain for more info)      

Walker Ranch Loop - Late Night hiking with video

Went hiking last night for a few hours in El Dorado Canyon. Shot some video and experimenting a bit with Youtube. Sorry the quality is poor, but for a free site, can’t complain too much.

PS: This is why I love living in Colorado.