Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, getting used to this new concept of consecutive days off. The winter was a long, dark, cold tunnel, and we have emerged. I honestly don't know how we are going to do another winter, because the thought of that mad rush not being a one-time event makes us want to run, screaming, over Loveland Pass, or Vail Pass, or Fremont Pass, or Rabbit Ears Pass- the four passes that keep us here, boxed in, socked in, snowed in, and parked in. So we try not to think about it.

B is still busy, doing things I am not qualified to do. All the things that had to be postponed at the end of last fall are now needing to be finished, all the holes in ceilings from water leaks this spring have to be repaired, owners are popping up to the county to assess the damage the winter did to their properties, so he is rushing to stay a step ahead of them. Today he took a trailer to Denver to bring home a load of wire mesh and I do not know what else, a list of items the Department of Wildlife recommended to foil the beaver's over-enthusiastic damming of a pond behind one of our houses. We have tried pipes, tunnels, bi-weekly digging of a channel, but the beavers just clog our attempts to keep the water flowing down the valley away from the house and instead, the water flows over the back of the pond, into the basement of the house, and down the street, through the neighbor's yards and driveways. Andy got Giardhia last year from drinking from the stream that comes down the street. Two winters ago, the stream built into a two foot deep ice flow and all but made the houses we manage at the end of the street unaccessible. The owner of the house was all for killing the beavers. We did not like that idea, and the Department of Wildlife liked it even less. I thought we had left it that in the spring, we would call a specialist to come trap the beavers and move them to an area not shared with million dollar houses, so I am quite relieved that the beavers get to stay in their home, with the compromise of a drain in the bottom of their kid's playground.

I do not have a busy schedule these days. I have made no money at all since we got home from vacation. There is not much need for an inspector when nobody is checking in. I am banned from any sort of work that involves things indelible and splatterable, such as painting, and B has a maintenance man for hauling trash, picking up a couple thousand cigarette butts from around hot tubs, and washing windows this summer, so I am not it. I will be it after mud season is over and the guests start arriving again, I am sure, but right now, I am not doing much of anything. And I still have not filled the deficit of days off created by taking only about five since the season started in November.

What I mean is, with a normal job, people take two days off a week. Thats fifty two weeks, times two days a week, equals 104 days off a year. Plus a week of vacation. Three and a half months of weekends. Wow, when you look at it that way...maybe these nine-to-fivers are onto something. Even with our slower summers, we do not take that much time off. At any rate, I will be easing back into work again about the middle of June. Memorial Day officially starts summer everywhere else, but for us, it really kicks off July 4th. From July 4th until the middle of October, whenever the last of the fall foliage fades, we are fairly busy.

I decided not to pursue a summer job. It was a serious consideration for a while, back when I was in work-all-the-time mode and could not imagine what I would do with a day off if I had one. I planned to apply to Breck and/or Keystone stables, to groom and saddle and lead trail rides. I would still love to, but it is a full time job. Now, I remember what summer is like. Why would I want to spoil a good thing, no matter how great the job is? So here I sit.

It has been a horribly windy May. It snowed yesterday, not enough to accumulate, but enough to put us all in a foul mood. My rec center pass expired and $40 a month is a lot of money so we did not renew. I have been training for the BolderBOULDER outside, bowing into gusts that reach over 50 MPH, gravel flying into my face, pushing into the wall of wind that is always pushing back. I try to plan my runs in sheltered areas, in the trees, but not too in the trees, lest one should blow over.

Almost daily, we have a power failure because of trees falling over and taking powerlines with them. In one ten minute walk yesterday with Andy and my sister in law yesterday, we had to climb over about five fallen trees. And not beetle-killed pines, either. Healthy spruces and aspens, these were. Makes one think twice about walking in the woods on a windy day in the spring, when the ground is soft and lets go of tree roots easily.

BolderBOULDER is on Memorial Day. My friend and I plan to drive down on Sunday and pick up our race packets, then relax that evening and be ready to run 6.2 miles along with fifty thousand (give or take) other people on Monday morning. It will be my first experience running with a mega-crowd. Someday, I want to run a city marathon, but right now, 10k is about all this child can handle.

Every year, I have to overdo it once. If I do not run to, then past the absolute limits of my endurance and pain threshold, I never know where it is, and I never know when I am about to hit it. But after that first long run of the spring, when I run too far, and, by so doing, discover which signs of exhaustion originate above my shoulders and which originate from below, which are my body telling my mind to stop and which are my mind telling my body to stop, I begin to enjoy running long distances without the mental blocks that, in the winter, keep my runs within the 3 mile range.

I am a pretty solid half-marathoner, I guess. This season's first run was slightly better than last season's, last season I fell apart after mile 12. The season before that was mile 13. This season was mile 14. Perhaps it is still a mental thing, I do not know. I do not take anything with me that would give me an indication of how far I have gone so I do not get distracted by knowledge of distance traveled, I only know after I get home and map it.

My lungs were fine, my heart rate was fine, but my ankles, knees, hips, and back finally just said enough after almost two hours and 14 miles. I had to climb 800 feet or so over Swan Mountain to get home, and it was torture. I still ran a mile or two on the way home, between walking, and my nods and smiles to fellow runners felt more like grimmaces and bows of defeat. The total distance traveled was 18 miles. I was disappointed. I had hoped that with my casual training for the BolderBOULDER for the last few weeks, I would have more go-juice than that. I had hoped this would be the spring I could run the whole 18, and build from there to 26.2- the length of a marathon. I have to just face it- I am not an athlete. I may have athletic tendancies, but until I can spend time alomost every day training (and why would I want to do that?) I will never be in the big-time. I will always have a little of that healthy chub we talked about, always decide that spending time with friends, or with B, or walking Andy, or coasting on my bike down loamy, twisty trails, or chilling and blogging is more important than the big-time. And I'm fine with that.

I got home, peeled out of my stinky, sweaty clothes, wiping at the salty film of dried sweat on my face, hobbled into the bathroom, reached for the shower knob, and the electricity went off. I dug some dirty but dry clothes out of the hamper, put them on, hit the couch, and did not move for two hours. By then, my hips and knees had loosened up enough that I could walk without limping, so I got out my bike and took Andy for a run around the neighborhood and a swim in the pond before finally taking that shower.

The next day, I took the bus to my friend's house, chatting with the bus driver as we made the loop from Summit Cove to Keystone, back to Summit Cove (I did not realize that the bus only runs once an hour over noon, so I was 30 minutes early, and instead of waiting it out at the bus stop, I just rode the whole loop)down to Dillon Valley. We ran the 6.2 miles from her house to my house in the baking sun and howling wind, unable to hear each other unless we screamed at the top of our lungs, which left us gasping for breath. We did not stay with the chatty norm we usually try to maintain. Correction- I try to maintain. She has had a little less time to train than I have, between a job and a toddler, so she tells me to talk, and my talking keeps my breath regulated and I unconciously slow about one MPH and forget that I must be racing and we hit a comfortable pace that we can both maintain for the whole 6.2 miles.

That was two days ago, and I spent the rest of that day and yesterday favoring my left hip and knee, inflamed by too much running. I plan to only do one more run, on Friday, the midway point between now and the race, to give all the inflamed tendons and joints time to recover.

Yesterday, the electricity blinked off just as I finished putting the last of my protein shake ingredients in the blender and reached for the power button. I tried to shake it to blend it, but the protein powder just stuck to itself in gloppy curds and the orange juice and coconut milk separated and curdled and the thought of drinking it almost triggered a vomit reflex, so I dumped it down the drain. I went to work, but did not get a whole lot accomplished. In the afternoon, after the snow had moved in, I went to Marci's house and lay flat on my back in front of her TV for six hours and got lost in a marathon of a TV season she owns. I spent the day craving junk food, since that is what happens on the days I do not drink my protein shake, ate lots of chocolate chips, and, becasue I begged him to, B brought a pizza to Marci's house for dinner. Marci and I walked Andy after dinner, and I threw a stick to keep him running and give him more exercise than just a walk. We were walking along a stream and I threw it too close to the bank and it rolled in. Andy followed it. He had the spend the rest of the evening in the car, drying off.

June 2 is the first mountain bike race of the season. The question this year is not whether I will do it, but which category. Judging from my only other race, I am slightly better than the beginner's category, which means I may only be challenged by the sandbaggers who intentionally ride more slowly than their best times, and juggle a fine line between winning most of the time and intentionally losing just enough races that they do not get forced to switch to a more challenging category. Last year, I was sure I would lose even in beginner's class, so I entered it and won, and got (semi-jokingly, since it was my first race and how was I to know?) called a sandbagger, even though I won by only a second. The girl who finished a second behind me took first overall for the season, so she will have to move up. And I do not want to sandbag, even though winning a lot would be sweet. It probably would not make a lot of friends, though... although maybe I would not be sandbagging. I have ridden with a girl who wins a lot of the beginner's races, and she was stronger on the uphill. I was only faster than her on the downhill. Oh, dear...

But if I switch to sport category, I will probably get my butt handed to me. The courses are twice as long as the beginner's courses, and the Sport women also sandbag when they really should do the honest thing and move up to Expert class. I think I could keep up, but I do not think I could ever win. Although come to think of it, I rarely ride in a social setting with Sport racers, it is usually with the girls in the Expert or Pro/Elite categories, and they really kick my butt, I can't even begin to keep up with them, so how am I going to know unless I try? But on the other hand, it would be embarrassing to have to drop down a level because of my overestimating my abilities...but on the other hand, it would also be embarrasing to get forced to a higher level if I won too many races in beginners...but on the other hand...oh, heck. Sport it is. I think I just decided. May as well be miserable and never measure up, rather than know I may not deserve the wins. Although the thought of those long races and people passing me like I'm standing still while I am pedaling as hard and as fast as I can with the blood roaring in my ears and my breath so hard and fast I think I may pass out and my nerves making my stomach queasy and my mouth dry because that's what happens when I race and am running on adrenaline and gatorade...makes me a little nauseous.

B's and my anniversary is on the 2nd. He is a little squiffy about that, and supposses I'm going to make him come along and stand on the sidelines for two hours and cheer for me on our anniversary. He somehow misses seeing how that might be fun.

And, becasue I always have to carry a good thing just a little bit too far, I have entered one more foot race for this summer. Yes, all of my money will apparently be going to race fees this year. But this one, I am psyched about. It is called the Warrior's Dash. It will be half serious running, half ninja skills (okay, not exactly ninja skills, but you get the picture...) and half street party. It takes place at Copper Mountain in August, and the first portion of it goes straight up the ski slope before it hits service roads and singletrack. In the last half mile of it's 3.27 miles sits eleven obstacles. Wall jumps, scrambling over old cars, running through tires, crawling under barbed wire through mud, climbing up vertical cargo nets, crawling over horizontal cargo nets, crawling through culverts, jumping over fire, climbing over large round hay bales, running down a stream, balancing on narrow planks over gullies... finishers recieve one free beer, a tee shirt, and a big, wooly helmet with horns. I don't really care about the beer and horns, but the race is going to be one of the most grueling, most painful, and most fun runs of my life. I don't expect to do well at all, but I do plan on finishing, if a bit bruised and bloody.

Oh, yeah. This is shaping up the be the best summer yet. If it would ever stop snowing and the wind would die down...and I can keep myself from debilitating injury. Here's hoping!

And here's hoping I can see some of my faithful few this summer. We plan on making the Koehn Kampout, still on the fence about the Unruh Reunion, (maybe if B can't make it, I still can) and if you have no reason to attend either of those- although you do not need a reason to crash the kampout, the Koehns feel loved and validated by reunion crashers- you are welcome to come and get an altitude problem up here with us.