On Failure and the Kindness of Strangers

So today was my first attempt at serious distance. I planned my route, dressed accordingly, ate beforehand and carried with me two energy bars, to energy gels (as disgusting as I always expected they were), and a bottle filled with diluted Gatorade. My route, if it went as planned, would take me on my usual 3.5 mile loop for a warm-up, then up an 8-10-mile descent to Gold Hill at the end of Sunshine Canyon, then back down into Boulder. All told, I'd walk roughly the distance of a marathon. I clipped my pedometer to my running shorts' waistband, typed up a quick e-mail to Gregory to let him know where I was going, and headed out.

Of course, things didn't go as planned (there would be no point in stating "if it went as planned" if it actually DID go as planned)...the canyon road was a grade of roughly 8-10% as well as being roughly 8-10 miles long. Over the course of the road, I would ascend approximately 3500 feet in elevation, topping out at Gold Hill, elevation somewhere around 8900 feet. I didn't really put two and two together here and ended up totally beat halfway up after race-pacing my walking. Yes, walking...I'd like to see you try to run it.

I also neglected to bring enough fluids. My hands began to swell badly about halfway up and I was out of Gatorade. I wasn't checking my pedometer as much as I probably should've--in the vain hope that I'd go further than I thought I had. By the time I nearly reached Gold Hill I had made up my mind to call Gregory when I got there for an impromptu rescue. In reality, I would've been fine had I just brought enough water...the constant uphill was a bit tiring, but it was entirely exhausting when exacerbated by dehydration. I ended up really kicking myself for that performance. By the time my pedometer read 11 miles, I was depleted, swollen and cranky. Every time I rounded a corner, the road just went up...and up...and up. I wanted to cry.

Instead, I kept moving. One nice thing about working out in Colorado is that as long as you're outside, no matter what else is going on, you have the luxury of some of the most breathtaking views imaginable. From the Sunhine Canyon Road (formerly a nice little mountain road home to fond memories especially with my friend Shawn, now a nemesis to challenge in a rematch) you can look right around you and see the semi-arid climate in its late spring splendor: tiny bright flowers scattered about, striated sandstone boulders, desert grasses...or, you can look up and see snow-capped mountains in the distance and the magnificent spread of lush foothills preceding the snowy fourteeners carpeted by evergreen and aspen. The houses up Sunshine Canyon, at first, redefine "property value" in terms of Boulder real estate, where the current average price for a single-family home is $549,000. Gold Hill, as a town, resembles Ward and Nederland in population: hippies, neo-hippies and real mountain folk (no, not the Vail poseurs who drove real estate through the roof by building multimillion-dollar homes along the I-70 corridor)--sun-chapped, wind-hardened, often sporting scraggly beards and skinny-braided locks of hair, higher-elevation people who have managed to retain their tiny plot of worth-its-weight-in-gold land because it's been passed down to them through the generations--as well as in real estate: strangely-shaped, poorly-built homes suffering from expanding from one to six rooms in a series of ill-devised construction attempts. These are the houses you see further up the canyon, especially at the end of the paved section of road. So no matter where you look, you're bound to see something interesting.

"Something interesting" did not, unfortunately, quite make up for lack of water. I was about a mile from Gold Hill when I happened upon two young men walking back up from a little overlook towards a bright yellow Jeep Wrangler. I'd long ago given up on any hope of getting water on the trail and was doggedly and devotedly trudging towards Gold Hill. "Excuse me?" I called. "How much further to Gold Hill?"

Now, as a single woman in a town most recently known for sex scandals, I tend to err on the side of caution and try to make myself invisible or, at least, appear deaf and/or mute when I'm on my own out and about. Not to say Boulder is a dangerous place--it isn't at all--but as a woman you learn quickly, if your mother taught you well, that just being alone puts you in a more compromised and sometimes dangerous position than it does men. Soliciting help from men when you're all alone, especially when you're alone, out in the middle of nowhere, and totally exhausted, is not advisable.

However, I was not only alone, out in the middle of nowhere, and exhausted, I was also seriously questioning my ability to continue. I'm pretty sure if I hadn't planned a route that gained 3000+ feet in elevation and managed to actually bring enough water to supply myself for the journey I would've been able to do it, but those were facts not in my favor, and besides, they looked like nice enough guys, and at least one of them was wearing a wedding band.

They confirmed what I suspected: that Gold Hill was at least another mile. I licked my very dry lips with my very dry tongue and mustered a small smile. "Hey, you guys don't have any water, do you?"

As it turned out, one of them had a thermos filled with water. We chatted for a few minutes, and I started to feel a little better. Then I looked back out at the road...still climbing. I sighed and turned back to the guys. "Are you headed back to Boulder?"

They were, and I asked if I could hop a ride. I've never hitched, I've never accepted rides from strangers and I have no problem getting myself around, but I was pretty done. I would have no issue with leaving Sunshine Canyon for another day.

They agreed, cautioning that they didn't have a back seat. Their names were Dave and Jeff, and as I gulped water greedily on the way back to Boulder, I discovered they'd come out to go four-wheeling, they had been friends for years and they were out for one last hurrah before Jeff graduated and moved away. They were extremely kind to me, especially given the horrible state I was in (swollen, thick-tongued, lips chapped and covered in sweat and road dust), and they got me back to Boulder. Once there I called Gregory and begged for mercy. I asked him about the edema I was experiencing and he replied candidly, "That's from not drinking enough water."

Okay, so I need to get a decent hydration rig and find better-tasting energy gels (chocolate-flavored Gu is terrible). I need to go out prepared next time I do any serious endurance training, so that next time I can finish.

As ill-prepared as I was, I slathered myself with enough sunscreen that I managed a decent runner's tan and not a nasty sunburn. My next effort at a marathon-length run/walk will be planned on a fairly level route, and if I don't have any better hydration gear by then, it will also include water stops at grocery and/or convenience stores so I don't swell like an overstuffed sausage in its casing. For now, I'm really very grateful for the kindness of strangers. And, of course, sympathetic boyfriends.