Long Run: Solitary Winter Wonderland in the Rockies

Sunday 1/26

Yesterday, I laced up my trail shoes and headed out for my long run, starting late in the afternoon when the morning chill finally began to ease. At 20°F, it wasn’t exactly warm, but it was manageable, especially with the promise of thawing trails. I began my run at the Bald Mountain trailhead, winding my way up Gold Hill before descending through the serene quiet of Fourmile Canyon and looping back. 16 miles in total, completed in 2 hours.

The Rockies were cloaked in snow and ice, making the dirt mountain roads slick but breathtaking. As the sun began its slow dip toward the horizon, the snow-covered peaks lit up with that glow only winter light can provide. The sky was painted in soft hues of pastel color and low clouds while the mountains stood tall, wrapped in their icy silence. It was the kind of view that reminds you why you put up with frozen fingers and snot rockets…pure magic.

This run wasn’t just about logging miles; it was a dose of good for my spirit. I’ve been feeling off lately, mostly just mentally, and this solitude was exactly what I needed. There’s something about being alone on the old dirt mining roads deep in these canyons, miles from any distractions, that really lets you reconnect with yourself.

Despite the beauty, this wasn’t an easy run. I’ve struggled with chronic heel pain ever since surgery and the staph infection that followed, a lingering reminder of the past few years. Yesterday, the pain was there from the start, gnawing at my focus. But then, at mile 8, something incredible happened. The pain vanished. I can’t explain it, but for the second half of the run, I felt light, free, and capable. It’s moments like these that keep me coming back to running: the unexpected victories, the fleeting glimpses of feeling strong and whole again. I suppose everyone goes through this in some way. I can remember having these moments even before the injury.

Running late in the day felt like the right call, even though I’m usually a morning runner. The morning cold just felt too brutal, so I waited for the roads to thaw a bit. It was still cold, frigid, even, but the afternoon sun softened the snow enough to make the dirt mostly runnable. I pushed up to elevations above 8,000 feet, reminding myself that this is where I want to be more often this year. With high-altitude races on the calendar later in the year, I’m determined to spend more time training above 10,000 feet, learning to feel strong and steady in the thin mountain air.

I want to share these runs with you all, not just the stats but the feelings, the sights, and the soul of the experience. I’ll be writing more about these adventures on my Substack, crafting stories you can enjoy while sipping your morning coffee. Think of it as a little escape to the Rockies, an invitation to lace up your shoes and chase your own version of mountain solitude.

These mountains are where I feel most alive, and I hope these stories inspire you to seek out your own trails, no matter where you are. Whether you’re running in the Rockies or looping around your local park, there’s magic to be found in the rhythm of the run, the beauty of the outdoors, and the quiet moments of connection to yourself.

So pour yourself a hot cup of coffee, settle in, and let’s chase these miles together. There’s so much more to come.