About a year ago a friendly neighbor extended an invite to play on the neighborhood softball team. Given my general lack of hand eye coordination and lanky build thats not conducive to baseball I of course accepted immediately.
I knew a few humans on the team, but generally was the newbie to the group. After getting absolutely walloped our team turned to the easy part, drinking shitty beer in the parking lot. At this stage in the outing I really found my social footing. One guy was donning a shirt that was emblazoned with a smattering of words. Three of which caught my eye. Ouray, Telluride, and Run. Ouray and Telluride are two of the most beautiful towns I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, and that third word, well, seemed within my un-athletic realm.
Coming off a recent distance running event of my own I approached my new teammate with a pile of questions about the famous Imogene pass run. After some generic banter we cut to the chase. I asked for the low down. How hard is it? Is it as cool as I imagined? He looked at me and in no uncertain terms said the following: “If you actually follow through on this there will be a point in time a year from now that you may want to kill me, but the Imogene pass run is one you have to do.” Two things would come true a year later.
June 1st of this year at 7 AM mountain time I was logged into the Imogene Pass run sign up site. I had four browsers open in case three of them shit the proverbial bed. The race is known to sell out quickly, so ya gotta be hot on the trigger. I had a few friends playing the same game I was. I was the only one “lucky” enough to nab a spot in the race.
And so the training began…
This somewhat maniacal exercise consisted of finding a hill, or series of hills. Over and over I repeated the same routine of driving into the mountains and ascending as many vertical feet as I could. At times this felt like a fools errand, and at other times, felt like I was the luckiest dude around. I saw some beautiful places.
Admittedly, I did not enjoy this training regiment as much as I had my other distance running endeavors. I kept trying to find something within myself, some purpose, or deeper desire. I couldn’t quite find it – until I thought that maybe the learning experiences were much simpler.
Lesson Number 1: Listen intently to music:
It’s easy to have music on in the background and not hear the words, or understand the nuance of each instrument. When it’s just you, the mountain, and the birds it’s much easier to hear the message of the artist. I truly enjoyed this, and would like to give Mr. Zach Bryan a shout out for propelling me through some tough days.
Lesson number 2: Look around
It’s easy to get caught up in your pace, your other commitments, your desire to always be moving. But what’s important is to use that swivel connecting your body to your head often referred to as a neck, and look around. Take in the sights.
Lesson Number 3: Smile.
Smiling creates more energy in your system than any water, electrolyte drink, gu, or energy chew can. Don’t believe me? Run on up to 13,000 feet above sea level and report back if a mopey frown worked out better.
Lesson 4: Mental strength is just as potent as physical strength.
Admittedly this one took until mile 14 or so to equate, but I found it nonetheless. I had a totally lackluster summer of training. I didn’t commit. I didn’t put in long days. I didn’t fulfill Cam Hanes mantras of “Nobody cares, work harder.” And “Keep Hammering.” But what I did do was put one damn foot in front of the other with the unfettered belief that I would propel my ass over that mountain.
I had a few lasting memories from this day-
My first was at the starting line. The wise ass holding the microphone uttered a few words that I found quite funny. “Runners, welcome to the 50th Annual Imogene Pass Run. We’ll get started in 15 minutes. The great news for you all today, is that there’s only one hill!”
Mr. Wise guy up on the podium is his puffy jacket is alluding to the hill from Ouray, Colorado (elevation 7,792’) to the top of Imogene pass (elevation 13,114’). He was right, it was only one hill, and pardon my French here, but it was one big fuckin hill.
My second was descending into the town of Telluride where I was greeted by the best support crew in the business. 100 feet short of the finish line I was able to take the best steps I’ve had the privilege of taking. My 4 year old son ducked under the rope, grabbed my hand, and sprinted to the finish line with his dad. A small moment that left a big impact on my heart.
A big thank you to everyone who sent along cheers, texts, and calls. It truly means the world.
In With The Words 