Last Thursday night at about 5:00 Ryan Burch and I drove out to the Horsetooth Mountain Park area near Fort Collins, CO, where we live. We were going out to do the Towers Road run, which is a time trial held every other week up the Towers Road, which climbs close to 2,000 vertical feet over three and a half miles. Our warmup in the last of the day’s light was pleasant enough, and despite a light breeze we warmed up pretty quickly. We didn’t pay much attention to the dark clouds that had moved in.

The second we got to the starting area snow began to fall. And worse – wind began to blow. Hard. The 20+ people all lined up for the staggered start began to shiver and the starts were accelerated. Ryan and I were last, and resorted to standing in the bathroom in order to avoid the elements while waiting for the start. Nevertheless, we started earlier than usual just to get going. We took off straight into the wind, and found ourselves unable to see. Our headlamps were betraying us! The snow was falling so hard that light was reflecting off the snowflakes in the air and rendering visibility of the trail nearly impossible. I considered just turning around and going home, until I remembered that everyone ahead of us were predominantly middle-aged recreational runners. We’re the hardcore ones, right? Apparently not, because I had to fight just to keep running. Ultrarunners are tough in whatever form they come in.

About thirty minutes later (yeah – it’s THAT steep) we came over the top of the mountain and tagged the building among a crowd of people all bouncing on their toes and breathing heavily. The snow was falling heavily at this point, and I quickly realized that any time spent on top would drop my internal temperature dangerously. The regular protocol at this run is to wait for everyone at the top and then go down together. But it was cold! So Ryan and I said hello and goodbye and just sort of moseyed on out of there in the dark. Turns out the “middle-aged recreational runners” won the hardcore contest. I’m okay with that.

For some unfortunate reason, Ryan and I were wearing shorts. On the run down the snow froze to the hair on my legs and formed what looked like inch-thick white kneepads. My hands were soaked and my eyes kept trying to freeze shut with all the snow and ice frozen around them. Ryan was actually worse, since his hands go wooden in like 40-degree weather anyway. His face and hair were completely white and his nose bright red. He was like a skinny Santa Claus. By the time we got down to the valley and back into the truck we were numb all over. After I fumbled with the keys for a few minutes with frozen fingers we got into the cab and turned the heat on. Then, as the snow melted down into our clothes like a cold shower, we enjoyed a slice of Chocolate-Chip-Pumpkin bread and said, “yes, that was worth it.”

Colorado weather is wild. I went for a run in the same place two days earlier and didn’t

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