I’ve been running at 6,000 feet these past few days, and it feels like someone is sitting on my shoulders. I’ve tried to stay on flat areas because even the slightest hill takes my breath away. By the time I leave in a few days, I’ll finally get used to it, as I push towards 3900 consecutive days of running every single day. At the end of December it will be eleven years of strapping on the running shoes every morning. There is nothing more challenging than high altitude running, since my legs feel like concrete and it’s hard to suck air into my lungs. It was even more difficult here in the winter time with ice on the roads, but this morning was about 60 degrees with blue skies. A hot air balloon sailed overhead to help keep my mind off the discomfort in my legs and ankles. 

I did a hike yesterday to Fish Creek Falls following my run to perhaps accelerate the adaptation to thin air. Nonetheless, I’m still not there yet! It took 11 songs and a few commercial interruptions on the radio to finish my slightly over three-mile trek. I was glad to finally take a seat at the lap-top and enjoy some writing time. My computer seems to be just as sluggish as I am – slow to react to both saving and publishing. Maybe it’s also a victim of thin air? I’m reminded of the book “Into Thin Air” by Jon Krakauer, who also wrote “Into The Wild.”  (See Post #929). Here I am in the “wilds” of Colorado, dealing with potential altitude sickness. It certainly hasn’t affected my appetite, after consuming my fair share of the Tomahawk steaks that were served last night. The higher altitude certainly isn’t making me feel thinner. My stomach is just another bag of concrete that I carried along with me this morning. 

My friends are all off at the shooting range, after a stop at the gun store a few days ago for ammunition and targets. I was reluctant to join them after my last experience with a shot gun. It actually went off accidentally and fell apart in my hands. Fortunately, no body was hurt. Guns and I never seem to get along, so I’m much better off just writing about it. Rather than target practice, we got in a couple of games of backgammon just after they left – that seemed like a much safer activity. I’ve yet to ride the electric bike or motorcycle, once again fearing for my life, or at least trying to avoid injuries that might affect my ability to run. It’s just a few more days to my birthday, and as the card I received yesterday so aptly points out: “Statistics show that he more birthday’s you have…the longer you live.” Skiing is about the biggest risk that I take any more, and I’m somewhat assured of celebrating another one because there’s no snow this time of year. Instead, “Run, Forrest, Run.”