I'm Back

Free from crutches and the walking boot, I grabbed ski poles and, giddy with anticipation, I headed out to visit my mistress/therapist. I knew she would be good rehab for my Achilles surgery and she would never complain about my taking it slow and easy.  As I rolled into the parking lot and threw the transmission in park, I glanced up.  She looked, as always, enduring in the morning sun. 
We have a mutual need for one another, but, admittedly, right now I need her far worse than she needs me.  The surgery brought physical activity to a screeching halt and now she is my answer to get things back in motion.

I'm back, I whispered to her, and you look great! 

The Apex Park, my mistress/therapist, had a partial re-opening with phase 1 of 3 available to the public while workers continued to repair so-called flood damage from last fall. She consists of more than 11 miles of single track mountain trails and about a 1,000 foot elevation change from bottom to top.  I watched the zig-zagging trail up the mountain side and noticed it was busy with mountain bikers, hikers and a few trail runners. And, I was about to join them.

Trekking poles are a foriegn concept to me, but with my compromised Achilles (and associated missing calf muscle that atrophied to oblivion--yes Kevin, I agree with you that I could use a calf implant!), I did my best to use ski poles as a compensator. It didn't take long before my mistress needed me. Water draining straight down the middle of the trail was creating an extensive length of mud that bike tires only trenched deeper. I skirted the muddy groove and used the poles to dig a cut-out to dump the water immediately off the trail. I reinforced the transverse channel with rocks to thwart bike tires from cutting through my dam.

Shortly afterwards, one of my favorite spring flowers greeted me along the path.

And, a little later, 2 elk on the opposite side of the canyon stopped to say hello.

Then, I encountered about a dozen yetis.  The elite moutnain bike shop is nearby where workers jovially rode their bikes up the mountain with light conversations and lots of infectious laughter. I asked the smiling crew if they were getting paid for their ride.  "Of course," was the resounding answer where I asked if I could maybe scrub the bathrooms to work at such a happy place. They cheerfully bantered "come onboard" while pedaling away.  (I returned home and viewed Yeti's website which exudes their hard working and fun loving dedication to making a great product. And, it even has a video of their lunchtime rides...it makes me want to take up mountain biking and hang around their shop!)

Speaking of a second career, I just had an epiphany. I want to be a brewer of tasty, craft beers, and, just as importantly, I want to design the labels for my custom suds. I think it's critical that a great beer has a matching great label. But, there's legitimate concern over my future career--I know absolutely zilch about brewing and have even less artistic skills. So, instead I will direct my focus with my discriminating taste buds evaluating Colorado microbrews while simultaneously judging labels with the scrutiny of an elite art critic. My most recent discovery has Good Juju from Left Hand Brewery leading the contest. (Anyone connected there to hook me up with the free publicity I just presented?  A single beer will suffice as payment...)  There are many other great Colorado microbrews, such as Easy Street from O'Dell's Brewery, but what drab labels they slap on their bottles. At least New Belgium has colorful, cool art wrapped around their beers. Although I'm not a skull aficionado, I do like the colors and all the little critters hidden in Juju's label and will keep it in the lead while I further my search this spring and summer for any competitors.  What the heck, who am I kidding... I'll keep the contest going well through the fall and winter...and next year, and the year after that...

Anyhow, progress up the mountain, to be absolutely honest, was pure patheticness.  There seems to be disagreement on the internet if 'patheticness' is actually a word (I really don't care--it's a word I'll use to describe the act of being pathetic). It's hard not to compare pre-surgery ability to post-surgery. I constantly have to remind myself that I am a work in progress, rebuilding to where I was, and perhaps maybe even surpass that level.  But, being passed by a frumpy dude with cankles (once again, the internet says it's not a word, but used here to describe the ankle having the same dimension as the calf) and walking sticks didn't help matters... at all!  (Doughboy had significantly crushed my manhood--I contemplated heading to the sporting good store to purchase gear much more applicable to my situation...skorts, colorful ankle socks with cute little pom-pom balls dangling on the back, and a pretty purse full of glittery lotion...)  Again, I had to swallow hard and remind myself of the rebuilding process.

I cleaned out more kick-outs to dump water off the trail and enjoyed a small herd of mule deer bedded down and chewing their cuds.  Red-tailed hawks were soaring and screeching at one another as I continued my hobbled ascent to the summit where strong scents of pine trees tickled my nose. I embraced the elevation and enjoyed watching croaking ravens at eye level, floating stationary in the canyon's updrafts like large black kites, calling out with their throaty caw-caws.

My poles' metal tips stabbed holes in the dirt like an aerator and noisily screeched white lines against stone. A brief flicker of sunlight amongst a pile of pine cones caught my attention and propelled me to hobble down where I picked up an I-phone. The battery was dead and I stuck it in my pocket.  A water bottle, sunglasses, a broken bike reflector, a plastic knife, a fence staple and other assorted trash were also collected and packed out.

At the summit, I gave a hearty thanks to my mistress sharing time with me and took a picture overlooking Denver.  The trip down felt slower than the hike up where the poles saved me several times from tumbling into the rocks.  My whiny Achilles tendon had been challenged and was bitchy with me...I told the sniveling candy-ass to suck it up. 

I eventually returned to the parking lot and charged the found I-phone. Immediately, an image on the screen offered a reward and asked the finder to call a number.  I called and later met ecstatic Dan who presented reward money as I handed him his phone. I would never feel right taking money from someone else's misfortune, so I simply told him to be sure and pay it forward.

I'm back.  It was wonderful returning to the trail and I'm looking forward to the rebuild of my body and melting off the softness that has accumulated. And, just as importantly, I'm looking forward to all the unique experiences the trails offer. Summertime should be about right for my healing process to allow a real trail run...yes, summertime is good!

Although I have a long ways to go, it's great to be back.