Tuesday thoughts

I think my favorite place in Boulder (the flat part--the mountains is another story) is along the Creek, on the several miles of paths and trails linking the mountains with the plains. This time of year, autumn is stepping in, in all her radiant glory. Compared to where I grew up, the sheer variety astounds me, though the vibrancy of the colors is hard to compare. In any case, what is ordinarily a beautifully rolling path along a babbling brook is now bathed in gold and red.
(Photo/Casey A. Cass)

I always look forward to running down there, as an alternative to running from home. Not only is it supremely beautiful and very peaceful, the creek path is always lively. Towards the hills, along Broadway and the Boulder City Park, the place is usually full of families with kids playing in the creek, or couples sunbathing on the grass, dogwalkers and commuters, strollers (both the people and the objects). There's always a lot going on. Heading from Broadway down to Arapahoe, you head along the university campus. This is where I join, careening down the "Ho Chi Minh trail", just waiting for the day I trip on the uneven stone stairs or, more likely, barrel into some oblivious freshman jamming to his ipod and ignoring my pleas for him to get out of my way. I pass tennis bubbles and outdoor courts with all manner of kids and adults, past the park and the access of the football team--leaving me dodging burly, padded guys. Sooner or later I leave the campus behind, passing an outdoor running track, under several bridges. There's one painted like those relatively ubiquitous--but beautiful--Japanese prints, whose artist I have been unable to discern. .

This is the Autobahn of recreational sports in Boulder, with cruiser-type bikers almost run down by toned, spandex-clad athletic guys on track or road bikes. Joggers, of course, are everywhere. Dodging the slower ones is almost a sport of itself. I passed the CU track team, or they passed me (in opposite directions), spikes in hand. I took a brief moment to appreciate that the weather was warm enough for some of the guys to run shirtless (an apparently american phenomenon, so I hear). A few seconds later, the ladies team comes around the bend, with a few stragglers but still jogging strongly. I've been jogging for three or four years now, and every day when I can swing it, but I am quite a long way from being able to compete on any kind of team. I suppose if I put in the miles for the training I could do okay, or at least keep up. I don't know if that's the only reason why I don't. I know I'm a competitive person, and if I do something I want to do it well. This has and does preclude me from starting new things, as I dislike being a beginner. Also, it is hard to start a sport when everyone else has been doing it for years, and the years where I should have been starting sports, I was an anti-athletic couch potato. I've not competed at anything athletic since I was about twelve, which is approximately when I quit playing peewee soccer. I suppose I could, if I wanted to, but I realized today that this is an area where I've never pushed myself. I have also had no inclination to compete in foot races, mostly because I do recognize what it takes to do well, and my running is my release. I don't want it to become an obligation.

On my return, I took a left up a different path, along the back of the stadium. The hill is steep but doesn't bother me, though given peoples' looks, I guess that's not a way most people go up. I tear around the corner, glorying in the opportunity to sprint out and stop before the rec center doors. I've got to go down to the sweaty bowels to stretch and such, as unappetizing as that is. I stake out a mat and do my stretches, amid a mess of co-eds wearing makeup and gym clothes, doing ab workouts and generally irritating me. They seem to exude superficiality, which is probably an unfair characterization, but given the critical look most every girl gives herself in the floorlength mirror, and the number of chicks using the scale, I can imagine that the goal of the exercise isn't to be healthy, but to work off the freshman fifteen or whatnot. I don't know why it bothers me, but it does, so I do my thing and take off. On my way out the door, I pass a smallish kid (not a college kid, for sure) lugging a hocky stick and bag at least his size and probably twice his weight. Assuming he manages to a) make it in the door and b) move while wearing all this junk, he looks like he's going to be having fun. No pilates and sit-ups for him.