Mud. Mountains. And more.

Heading south from the East Boulder Community Center, I was stopped short. I'd made it less than a quarter mile and was taking my camera out already. I knew then I was in trouble if I expected to do my 12-mile long run in anywhere near 2 1/2 hours.

Far too much beauty. I was a goner.

Speed work this week was once again a five-mile run with a total of 2.5 miles at pace. My months of work appear to be paying off, as my energy was good running both upstream and down along Boulder Creek and I felt as strong at the end of one-mile runs as I'd felt at the beginning.

I came to today's long run feeling fit and refreshed, and have moved my runs earlier and earlier in the morning to prepare for the upcoming 7:00 am start at Fort Collins. Today I was on the trail by 8:00.

Along the South Boulder Creek trail system is one of the most runnable routes I take. Level and smooth, the path winds it way through beautiful meadows with grand views of nearby Bear Mountain. Keeping my HR in the 120s today I found my pace now in the 11:00-minute range, down from what was at one time 12:30 or so.

Crossing Highway 93 into foothills territory, I stashed my fleece running top for later pickup, going down to a simple long-sleeve running shirt. The gloves were still great to have, with the moisture in the 50deg day.

Heading up to the Mesa Trail the running path is heavily strewn with ankle-buster stones the size of softballs and footballs, requiring a good bit of dancing around. Add the increased grade with approach to the mountain terrain and my pace slowed to 13 minutes.

With recent snow/rain and melting, today the running path had become stream bed. At first I try to find the shallowest foot placements.

 Legal scholars. I like their colors.

After about a hundred yards this effort seems silly, and I decide to just splash on through. For the most part the soil is so devoid of organic matter there's no mud to contend with--just snow runoff, cold and clear. On my return trip down the Blue Stem Trail, the story was different: mud thick and deep, sticking to my shoes in five-pound globs, sucking my soles with each step, splashing high onto my calves. Fortunately that was only about a quarter-mile stretch, and I confess to surrendering my efforts, going off-trail after a hundred yards or so.

At the far west of my planned run, approaching my turnaround at 5.5 miles I was once again overtaken with awe at the majesty of the misty, snow-blown mountains. I kept having to stop to take my camera out of my running pack, and finally succumbed to the temptation to run holding it so I could just stop and shoot.

Until I had a sudden shock of recollection of how easy it is to trip on boulder-trails and imagined being catapulted to the ground, smashing my Canon G10 to smithereens. Back in the pack the camera went, and once again I was stopping-shooting-running-stopping-shooting-running.

Couldn't stop myself. Victim of Beauty.

So I was out on the trail about 3 1/2 hours. Probably a good thing I was due to meet Claudia for Isaac's birthday party. Otherwise I'd probably still be out on that run.

Heading back home. Last years' grasses welcoming spring.

For a photographer the mountain backdrop is an infinite invitation for images, each one studied all the more stunning than the last. I finally surrendered and decided to do one majestic panorama. Reduced to blog-size presentation doesn't do it justice, but it's at least a record that will forever remind me of the magic of this day. I love running.

Do yourself a favor. Click on the image to get a hint of this glorious day.

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