For most runners, or endurance athletes, in general, Colorado is high on the list of places to visit. Many even take the next step and find work at Target while running as many miles in the thin air as possible, destined to return to sea level a lighter, faster, more enlightened distance runner. My experience? Not so much. Seven and a half minutes into my first “run” up Green Mt, I was walking. Five minutes later, it was hands-on-knees, reduced to a walk to the 8,100 ft summit.

I stayed in Boulder for six days — three of those days were spent sleeping in the truck a few blocks off Pearl St., the other three were (more wisely) spent at Joellen and Scott Raderstorf’s home, where I firmly planted myself on a warm couch, falling asleep to Family Guy re-runs. The life! A big thanks to the Raderstorf’s for hosting me. The good company, conversation, and trail “running” were more than enough reasons to stay in town for the entire summer. (And thank you, Tim for setting it up. I look forward to claiming another Raderstorf couch when I get to Ohio!)

After leaving Boulder on a full stomach, I spent Monday night at the Leadville Hostel (Oh, the memories…) and arose early Tuesday morning to hike Mount Massive. After the hike, I filled five pages in my notebook with thoughts and recollections of the hike. But in summary, if I learned anything about the 12-mile, 6-hour excursion, it’s this: (1) Don’t climb a mountain by yourself, especially if you’ve never been there and your navigation skills rank somewhere between incompetent and non-existant; and (2) My current level of aerobic fitness is far, far below that of my last visit to Leadville for the 100.

There are a two ways to get up the mountian, either the most frequently traveled and well-marked Main Massive Trail (Class 1) on the eastern slope, or one of the other more remote ridge trails (Class 2). Well-rested and over-confident, I went with the Southeast Ridge II Trail. I dutifully studied the hostel’s trail book on Monday night, saving photos of maps and trail descriptions on my phone, only to be disappointed when the text proved utterly useless more than a few times the next day. The good thing about climbing, however (at least on the way up), is that there’s always a fall back. Climb to the top of whatever ridge you’re on and head toward the next highest one. All roads lead to Rome.

This theory proved effective, if not the most efficient. Exhausted and burned out when I reached what I thought was South Massive, just a half-mile from the summit, I learned that I was actually at South South Massive, radiantly described in the guidebook as, “Another of Massive’s seldom visited summits and, no matter what your mood is, you will be isolated here.” When I reached the actual South Massive peak, just 200 ft below the real summit, I was debating whether I should continue up the last 0.5-mile climb, or just head down the Main Massive Trail on the eastern slope. After all, what’s 200 ft? I had spent 3 hours blazing my own trail up this unforgiving mountain, stood witness to miles of snow-capped mountain ranges from 14,100 ft above sea level, and had a quarter-jar of Skippy peanut butter waiting for me at the bottom. Like bailing on a track workout, though, the initial sense of relief inevitably turns into regret, so I took another 5-minute rest (one of many) and made my way to the summit.

I was in a cranky mood and my camera skills are terrible, I know (…Should have tilted the camera horizontally. My bad, Naumec.), but this video does a far better job of showing the real magnificence of looking down on mountain tops than captured through any of my photos.

Once at the summit, scaring off an enormous crow perched at the top, I just sat there for a good fifteen minutes, thankful for the opportunity to spend the last 3.5 hours ascending the third highest peak in the lower 48. Despite my many shortcomings in finding the summit, and blatant disregard for safety, I was happy to have climbed solo. Not just by myself on the trail, but alone on the mountain. I saw just one other track of human footprints and they were iced over from at least one day before. On the way down, I would learn that the mountain was empty not because of difficult or dangerous conditions, or lack of adventurous spirits ready to brave the elements, but because the upper half of the Main Massive Trail was closed for renovation. Oops.

Also on the way down, I encountered more snow than Connecticut received all winter (which isn’t saying much, I know). The sprawling fields of ice and snow covered the otherwise well-defined trail that was to lead me to that jar of Skippy. First, I tried walking slowly across it, only to find that all of my weight on one or two contact points was too much, sinking knee-dip and cutting my legs on the ice. I tried hiking up and around it (more vertical, the last thing I wanted), only to find that it stretched all the way to the summit. My last resort? Straight down. Thus, the genesis of my newest and ingenius sport, Backpacker Sledding. It requires a long and relatively steep slope, along with just the right combination of ice to propel you forward, and snow to slow you down. Quick-drying shorts are recommended, and gloves help with steering. Other than that, you just sit down and slide. Real simple. Again, my camera skills need improvement, but I caught the second half of my descent on video…

Side note – after the Berkshire Hathaway meeting and Colorado trail running/hiking, I have been thinking a lot about Vtine. Last night at the hostel, there were two guests discussing conspiracy theories over the dinner table. Chris would have had a field day. I think he’d also be quite proud of my newfound sporting activity. What I wouldn’t give for a few rounds of backpacker sledding with the King, himself.

So, that’s pretty much my Colorado mountain experience. As nice as the views were, I don’t think there are any more 14ers  in my immediate future. More than the caloric deficits and perpetual oxygen deficiency, I just don’t like being cold. A few more Colorado towns, then Utah and Arizona. On to greener pastures, once again!