Just a three hour plane ride away

Arriving in Denver and Boulder, I couldn’t believe how warm it was. The humidity made it seem just like home, and was far from what I expected. Apparently all Colorodans were urging everyone, local or not, to stay inside. My god—it’s hit 50% humidity AND it’s 95+ degrees. It really is the East Coast. While lodging standards were subpar comparable to what some others had chosen in my training, I quickly rushed to the Best Western Golden Bufffffff Lodge to start my journey. I had researched the city layout enough to know how to take the bus round town and get to a few hiking trails near the southwest portion of the city where the mountains hit the plains. Boulder sits right at the bottom of the Flatirons, and I began to tackle it that very same afternoon.

I took the HOP bus through the University of Colorado campus and walked about 5 blocks to Chautauqua Park. The trails began at the entrance to the park. I didn’t know too much about each trail and its difficulty, so I started on the namesake trail and made my way up a golden meadow of grasses. I was so desperate in my brainstorming of the trip to see alpine wildflowers. Perhaps it’s still laden from Switzerland where we saw snow instead of rolling green pastures and daisies. Perhaps it’s because I read that most mountain passes had 5 dozen varieties or more of alpine wildflowers in splendor in the third week of July. Killing me softly…

The Chautauqua trail was a steady incline towards the mountains, and although it was only .7 miles in length up the trail I was really starting to feel the pressure of the elevation. My lungs grasped for air like it was a depleted natural resource. I stopped once or twice to sip my full and chilled purple Nalgene bottle. All the trails in the park really intertwine, so you might take one trail up and another down, or change your route part way. I got to a section that gave me four options—flatirons 1, flatirons 2&3 (in lower pic with me in it, see the "flat" sloped mountain in the background), Bluebell Mesa or Royal Arch. I saw some Colorado-looking people approaching so I begged, “lead me to my destination. Where should I go?” She said the Royal Arch was only a mile away and was a beautiful view.

And so the torture began. The stairmaster from hell lasted for one mile. Luckily, trees along the ridge shaded me for the most part, otherwise I don’t know if I would have made it. Up, up, up I climbed, clambering a bit over rocks and developing blisters from my Keens. After one mile of stair climbing, I gained 1,000 feet.

I stopped probably 6 times to catch my breath which was more like wait until the heart stopped beating faster than I could count. I ran into all women going up the trail, all fit and quietly listening to their music. Thank goodness they couldn’t hear my gasping. Luckily though, towards the stop they seemed to be struggling a bit too, and we spoke in one sentence or less each time we passed each other—wouldn’t want to waste valuable life-sustaining air. I finally reached the summit and it was a beautiful arch. It was nothing like Utah’s arch, which achieved license plate fame, but still unique and with extraordinary colors and views of Boulder and beyond. I figured I wouldn’t make it on another upward-bound trail, so I took my time at the top. As I departed I wiped a layer of salt crystals off my face and began the descent with my jelly legs.

The next morning I window-shopped in the art inspired town of Boulder. It became quite typical for me to walk from my hotel all the way to Pearl Street and the historic downtown vicinity which was about 1.5 miles/20 blocks. I spent a ridiculous sum buying gifts and mementos at Bliss and Colorado Canines. I was already missing hubby and pup and guilt bought because of this.

One evening, my training buddies and I explored the Boulder Farmer’s Market. It was a match made in heaven for me. A duo of guitarists played as we enjoyed a brewsky from Left Hand and dumplings from a nearby vendor. Beets—golden and red of course—were displayed prominently at every stand along with carrots of varying colors, spring onions, mushrooms, corn, and amazing bouquets of flowers. One chicky tried to convince us about the benefits and awesomeness of Kombucha, and I graciously listened because I felt like talking. When you really broke it down though, it was nicely bottled and more expensive apple cider vinegar. It’s actually a fermented black tea, but it would taste more ideal on a bucket of Thrasher’s. Notice I didn’t say cup. A bucket.

We watched several races by children and adults on a Thursday evening. I like how people in Colorado are so damn fit that they just decided “Hey—I’m not doing anything tonight. It’s Thursday so we should set up a race.” They don’t need no stinkin’ weekends. All the restaurants are open to the outside because the weather is absolutely beautiful (that humidity and temperature went away as soon as a thunderstorm rolled through) and the cuisine is very eclectic and varied for what seems to be a small town. I wonder what it would be like during college sessions when the population probably doubles.

This morning I ate at the famed Lucile’s, recommended by my new carpool buddy. Lucile’s specializes in authentic New Orleans food, and has locations in Denver, Boulder, Ft. Collins and Longmont. I haven’t gorged that much in a long time. I guess they were trying to make you feel as though you were in New Orleans, and as I sat in the hot back room I grew full and tired quickly. I wanted to try a little bit of everything, so I had a beignet covered with powdered sugar, collard greens with pepper vinegar, poached eggs with hollandaise served over creamed spinach and served with cheese grits, and a giant buttermilk biscuit. This biscuit covered a whole small dish, but when split and topped with homemade strawberry jam was divine.

I head home now and remember the last time I visited Denver. As I got off at the gate at Reagan Nat’l, I was bombasted with a wall of humidity. I struggled to get comfortable in the elevation here, and drank twice my usual amount of water. I’ll probably sweat it all out in the first half hour in D.C.