THE Boston Marathon 2011

To say that I was excited for just the trip, let alone the Boston Marathon, would be an understatement. This is the oldest annual foot race in the world. This is the race that people try for years to qualify for. This is the race that had registration close in 8 hours. This is where the worlds fastest runners compete for glory. The city shuts down, people spend the day cheering on everyone, and you are treated like a rock star.

This was the race I trained for months for and would soon be running.

The number of amazing experiences and thoughts that I had over the 6 day adventure will never be replaced, and to go into detail would take even more thousands of words than I have already put. Mostly, this will be about the race itself, but highlights of the rest of our trip are necessary, of course, in the form of pictures. Not to demean the importance of everything on the trip, but there was just so much, there is no way for it to all be put to words.

The trip:

We met up with Dennis (one of my coaches from high school) and his wife Lisa (one of the XC moms from high school) at the airport Thursday, and from there, the monumental details of trip began to settle in. Soon we were at Legal Seafood (it's a restaurant that, well, should be illegal it was so good...) and then back at the hotel sharing stories about my high school days and talking about how amazing this race would be. Being with Mel, Dennis, and Lisa was incredible in and of itself - she finally got to meet the people I talked about so much and can see why I look at running in such a tactical way haha (when you are trained by a Seal, it happens...).

Sleep came easy that night, and after after an early morning run around the beautiful Biglots parking lot, we were soon on our way to drive THE course. As we neared the start line, sheer excitement began to overwhelm. This was THE BOSTON MARATHON COURSE. The same one for the past 115 years... the same one the the world's most elite athletes sweat, cried, and bled on. It began to settle in that this was actually happening and I was going to be a part of history.

As we neared the famous sign that has flags for every country that was to participate (93 in total this year), a police officer offered to take our picture. It only got better from there as workers went out of their way to stop traffic for us at the starting line. The enormity of this race settled in more that this event is truly for the runners, and people go out of their way to make it special for everyone participating.

As we drove the course, I plotted race strategy in between snapping photos of the beautifully historic architecture that lined the course. It truly is amazing how different the east coast is from Colorado. The oldest building here may be from the 1800s, but in Boston, many date back to the 1600s. That in and of itself is amazing to think about and really makes me want to explore the area more carefully...next time :)

After picking up race bibs and free swag at the expo, it was off to a seafood shack right on the coast. Unfortunately, the day was soon over, but the best was yet to come.

Saturday would prove to be even more amazing. Runner's World magazine features a Rave Run every month, and a couple months ago, they featured one in which you run on wooden platforms around swampy treed areas. Once we found it, it was almost impossible to turn around. It was the sort of place that just beckons to be explored by foot for more than just 30 minutes, and it is definitely a place I plan to return to.

After we cleaned up back at the hotel, we embarked on our next trip up the Atlantic coast and into Maine to meet Mel's aunt.

Wow... as we drove along the coast, I was awestruck by how simple yet complicated the houses and atmosphere of the area looked. Though it was windy, cool, and cloudy, the coast was more beautiful than I had ever seen.

Soon, we were in Maine... a pleasant surprise I did not anticipate at the beginning of this trip. Excitedly, we explored an old historic military fort from the Revolutionary War times and set our sites on an old, abandoned naval prison that just dared to be explored. Next time.

We met up with Aunt Peg for lunch (along with her 5 dogs...), and soon we were heading back to the hotel, and a relaxing evening ensued.

Sunday morning, everything was coming into focus. As we drove up to Walden Pond for our final training run (as I have touted for months now ;), things began to settle in. This was it... this was the last of months and months of training, pain, and time. We saw the cabin site of Thoreau, and ran 2 laps around what many consider to be the most famous pond in American literature. What a way to cap it off, and now it was time to conserve as much energy as possible. This big day was almost here.

After a sleepless night filled with anticipation, excitement, and fear, the alarm charmed at 4:30 and it was time for the race morning ritual. Drink, eat, pack, and go. Soon, the car was parked, and Dennis and I said goodbye to our ladies and were marching to the bus caravan, which was loading on the side of the famous Boston Commons. Everyone has a story to tell, and we ended up talking to a guy from Finland while waiting in line. Photographers take pictures of anything they can, helicopters soared overhead, and news vans lined the streets. This was really happening.

The bus ride to the start took forever.. and that can really psych you out. They take you almost 30 miles away and drop you off, and all you know is you have to run back into town. Totally absurd.

Once we finally arrived in Athlete's Village, it became real how huge this event was. Tens of thousands of people packed into Hopkinton High School's fields, anxiously awaiting the calling of their wave and corral number. Dennis and I picked a spot to lay for an hour before the obnoxious voice called out to start lining up. After a frantic pep talk and goodbye, I was marching with thousands of other top-notch runners of the world. I had been assigned to corral 6 in wave 1... the same wave as Ryan Hall and the elite Kenyans. That in and of itself still amazes me. Granted, a few thousand others separated us, it is still amazing.

Running Great Bill Rodgers right in front of Mel

Mutai setting the world record before they said it didn't count...2:03:02!!!

Kara Goucher and her jacked legs

Ryan Hall setting the American Record

Finally, we were lined up near the starting line, and nerves turned to excitement. I just wanted to go for a run... THE run.

The Race!

NOTE: I am waiting for the race pics to all be loaded online and will update the blog later. For the pics of me suffering through the miles of agony that have been loaded already, click here.

The faint sound of the gun sounded up ahead, but it was muffled by the nervous cheers of tens of thousands of runners, and a few moments later the herd of athletes began walking... then jogging forward until suddenly we crossed the official starting line. News crews, airplanes, and helicopters all accompanied the announcer in seeing us all off. Now it began.

The most difficult thing at first was finding my own way within the sea of runners. I am used to running free along single track or deserted bike paths, and I have never had so many people bidding for the same spot in front of me. Nervously, I lost a few spots here and there but gained them back later. After all, it was the sort of thing that, when you think about it, what difference is 3,568 place from 3,569? It was about the experience.

Glancing down at my watch every couple minutes, I questioned my pace. I had been hammering my quads down the steep hills outside of Hopkinton at a 6:30/mile pace... far too fast for my legs to sustain.

Prior to the race, I had a general goal of 1) remembering the course well enough to say I actually paid attention to the experience while studying it for a future race, 2) never walk and finish strong, and 3) finish the second half faster than the first. I had calculated that a 7 minute pace over the first half coupled with a 6:45 for the second would get it done and get it done well.

All that goes out the window when adrenaline starts pumping and you feed off of the excitement of others. Cruising along, I decided to see how long I could sustain that pace and ended up averaging 7 minute miles for the entire first 13 miles. Not bad, and I began to realize two things. 1) this is crazy... I could get a personal best if I keep this up! 2) wow... I am getting really tired!

As we blew past the Ashland clock tower, the Framingham train depot, and the historic Natick Commons, everything was just so amazing – so unforgettable, words cannot describe the sheer sense of awe and inspiration I experienced. So much history! So much beauty to the course and the perfect running conditions! Could it get any better?!

Of course it could. The course runs right through Wellesley college where there are college girls lining the course with ear-piercing screams. No walking at this point. They offer kisses to the exhausted, sweaty, disoriented runners (they must be doing community service!), and a guy in front of me actually went down the line and kissed at least 10 of them before jumping back into race mode. Garnering laughter, it took my mind off the blistering pace and made me realize for a moment that anything was amusing so long as feet and strides weren't involved.

At the half way mark, I realized that I had almost run a personal record (1:32:12), but my mind was too diluted with excitement to crunch numbers.

Soon my pace slowed to 7:20... and then 7:40 and the next 4 miles are mostly a blur of pain. Luckily, the crowd that had steadily grown throughout the miles screamed and would not let anyone stop. The aid stations and gels I was carrying helped me through, and I had basically decided that as long as I finished and finished strong, there was no reason to get angry. I mean, I am running the freaking Boston Marathon! There is no reason to be angry. People try for years to get in, and I got in on my first shot. Enough said.

As mile 17 came and went, I found a base in myself that I knew would never leave – my frugality. In tremendous oxygen debt and fearing excruciating leg cramps, I ran through the Powergel station and thought “wow! These all cost a dollar each... I should grab as many as possible!” The mind does strange things, for sure.

From there, I very vividly remember turning onto Commonwealth Ave and passing the Newton Fire Station, one of the landmarks I had studied just days prior.

Realizing that the infamous Heartbreak Hill was nearing, I grew concerned. My quads were growing sorer and my stride had shortened significantly. True to their name, the hills hurt more than my heart, but I crept up them with a strong pace and even stronger mind.

People around me dropped off, fell down, cramped, and threw up. Watching all of these people suffering far worse than me made me think “wow... I am tired, but not THAT tired...” That encouraged me. I was not going to do that, and that made me feel a sense of accomplishment and pride.

My endless nights and mornings of training miles and conditioning had paid off big time. The Heartbreak was over, much faster than I had imagined. and only 5 miles separated me from glory. Granted, the hills did hurt, and it did take a lot out of me physically, I knew what was next.

Coming down the hills and over the dangerous ankle-breaking railroad tracks, I began to realize “Holy crap... I am going to finish the freaking Boston Marathon!” and that was enough to push me on through the crowds of spectators hoping to catch a view of a loved one or just hoping to help someone get through the miles of hurt.

My pace opened up bit by bit, and as mile marker 24 passed, I began to settle into the sought after runner's high – the often elusive, almost out-of-body feeling of invincibility where running comes easy regardless of the pace.

2 miles ahead, rest and help would be waiting. I decided here that no amount of tiredness, torment, or torturous leg pounding and movement would stop me, and slowly began to kick, increasing my pace bit by bit.

Runners dropped out left and right at this point, and as I passed one in particular, I recognized his shirt. He had run a Fort Collins race that I had last year, and as he hobbled up the hill, I grabbed him and encouraged him on. He looked at me with a look of defeat, and said finish strong. From there, it is almost a blur. Turning right onto one of the last roads of the course, everything came back into focus, though. I realized that I was nearly sprinting at this point, and worried I started too soon. Everything was burning but to stop or even simply slow seemed so far out of the question.

Slowing to try to get another runner to finish strong around the corner onto Boylston street, I was back into it. As I made that turn and saw the thousands of people cheering everyone on, it set it. 600 yards... 500...400... I was sprinting all out at this point and simply looked straight ahead at the finish... the very site I had been dreaming of for the whole race... for the whole training plan... and for the entire time I had been thinking about Boston since I started my first Marathon plan.

200 yards away, I was giving it everything I had. I felt like vomiting and felt dry heaves daring, but I was determined to not let that happen... at least not yet. 100... everything left in the tank was being utilized now as I weaved between people. 50, 30, 10, and it was then that I was so overcome with emotion and pain that I threw my hands into the air for both a great finishing photo and to cap an end to an amazing experience. Just as I had trained and visualized, the final stretch was fast and utilized every remaining piece of will and fortitude. This was THE moment I had dreamed of for so long and had visualized on the best and worst of training runs. It had all paid off in the greatest way imaginable.

...And then the blood quickly began rushing around my body and I almost fell until a volunteer helped me to the water line. I began pumping my body full of fluids as they marched us around the block for heat sheets, medals, food, and our bags. As we walked, a man on a speaker told us all that the world record had been shattered. 2 hours, 3 minutes and 2 seconds. Wow... Also the American Record was set by Ryan Hall.

All of that in the same race that I had just suffered though mile after mile. I vaguely remember seeing TV cameras interviewing people off to the side, but was more concerned with keeping balance and getting to Mel for some much needed help.

The hardest part came as the athletes made their way to the family meeting areas where thousands of family members crowded to find their loved ones. I get that they were excited, but I was minutes away from collapsing and people refused to move. Luckily, they were understanding as I bumped into them and dropped my water.

I remember getting very angry to the point of cursing everyone in my way, but the rest of the walk to Mel on the other side of the block is a blur. I finally found her, hugged her, and sat on the curb while trying to stretch out, hydrate, and keep warm.

The physically demanding and torturous event of the past 3 hours was over, and now it was time for the body to protest and seemingly say “don't even consider doing that again.” I began to cool very quickly – one of the first signs of a problem. Quickly I tried to put on warm pants and a jacket – the jacket that now I had earned and had the right to wear.

My legs had enough. As I tried to put on warm-down clothes, my left calf cramped up worse than I had ever felt before. It felt as if someone had chiseled out a stone in my leg, and the pain made me scream in agony as Mel tried to massage it out. At least 2 minutes of torturous pain made me question my sanity but mainly just hope that it would subside soon. The cold, cramping, and confusion (apparently I was pretty far gone, at least compared to normal) soon gave way to a desire to get to the hotel and sleep.

Still dizzy but becoming more alert, I began to tell her about the race when Lisa came over. Shortly after that, Dennis met us, and he was feeling much better than I was. We congratulated each and soon I was hobbling to the car and before I knew it, it was over.

Final time... 3 hours, 13 minutes, 14 seconds. 3568 out of 23879 runners. Final number of hours thinking, planning, training, and hurting.... who cares? It was worth it.

Reflection on the race

I think that I summed up most of the emotions experienced during the race, but in hindsight, there are some other things worth mentioning. Without a doubt, traveling to Boston, traveling around the coast, and traveling in general that week was one of the best experiences of my life. The memories are beyond anything I can really explain, and I am happy that I had not only Mel but Dennis and Lisa there for support.

-Why Run? People ask me this more than I can count, but I never have a concise answer. It feels right. It is time to think. It just makes sense? I don't know, but I think it says a lot about personality traits (something to go into in a later post). Beyond that, I think it is a time to get away from everything else, even if you are still in the city. It is a time to be in your own head and think, and it is a time to be totally blank and give your over-used conscious a break.

-Inspiration? I think I run to see just what I am really made of. It sounds cliché, but I think it is true. 2 year ago, 26.2 miles sounded totally absurd (it still kinda does...). But having something to work towards and a goal in mind has always been the way I work.

-What is next? I plan on doing a half marathon in September in preparation for the Rock and Roll Marathon in Denver this October. Beyond that, I want to do the Colorado Marathon (where I qualified for Boston) next May and HOPEFULLY go back to Boston in 2013 to run it for time. I would love to get under 3 hours (about a 6:45 average mile pace for the whole race).

Having a goal really puts things in perspective. Call them lofty, but I said I would qualify on my first race. Check. I said I would enter, which was a race in itself. Check. And I said I would run it and run it well. Check.

Final Thoughts:

-You can discover so many things in textbooks and with others, but when you run, you discover the most important things about yourself.

-I don't do it for anyone else, and I don't do it for glory. I do it for myself.

“You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming.” Frank Shorter.

Day-trip getaway: Red Feather Lakes

Knowing that our next vacation was only 2 weeks away, Mel and I had had enough of our “real” lives after being back from Canyonlands for only 2 weeks. Last weekend, we took a day trip up into the mountains just northwest of Fort Collins in the small and isolated community of Red Feather Lakes.

Nestled in the mountains, this touristy little town is a quick and easy escape from the hectic lives we live. A necessary and doable escape for everyone, yet everyone must have been too intimidated by the winds... their loss :)

The plan had been to head up a trail known as Loan Pine, but the dirt road had different plans in store for us. Rounding one of the corners, several feet of packed and drifted snow and ice covered the road and there was no way around. After trying to get the car over the winter's remnants, we got smart and realized that it would be better to simply park and hike to the trail.

We were just happy to be away from it all again, and yes, it may be kinda crazy that we can only take 2 weeks at a time of the world. Oh well.

As we hiked up the dirt road, we started wondering just how much snow would pack the trail we intended to travel on, and we quickly decided to postpone this area for summer with the likelihood of car camping along the road. So it goes.

We had a backup plan, of course. Soon we were hiking along the Mount Margaret trail, a wide and easy, heavily traveled path just outside of the community. Soon though, we took a detour up a rock out cropping... and then another.

Climbing up the second face, we realized just how windy it had been. Free climbing up some 5.6 / 5.7 stuff in 70mph winds, we had successfully freed ourselves from the troubles left back in Fort Collins. Cresting the mound of granite, the winds were strong enough to blow you off your feet and we took shelter in one of nature's mysterious formations within the granite: bowls carved deep into the face.

While being subjected to the fierce wind was fun for a while, soon it was time to head down and continue down on the trail. Leisurely, we strolled through the pine trees and open meadows at 8 thousand feet, basking in the warm weather, winds, and pine smells around us. Ridding ourselves of the money and hectic lives back home, we just walked, talked, and enjoyed our surroundings, wishing only that we could go back to Canyonlands... to a world less complicated.

Mount Margaret provided a new view on mountains, for it was lower than the altitude we started from, yet it still provided some breathtaking views of the valley and surround peaks and rocks. Unfortunately, neither of us was feeling quite spunky enough to find a way to the top, and we settled for a more protected, eastern-facing side gazing down upon a ranch. We also decided to take a more... adventurous route up through a small slot between rocks.

Perched atop the granite for 20 minutes, we realized the sun would be setting soon (though this time change is really a great thing, once you get past the lack of sleep).

Heading back up the trail and taking notice, now, of all the sets of bear tracks that seemingly went unnoticed on our trek out, we paused for an impromptu game of baseball...erm...pinecone-stick-ball? Regardless, it was simple and enjoyable.

Unfortunately, this was only a day trip and we were soon back at the car, eating pretzels and providing voice-overs for the herd of deer playing near the parking lot. Apparently, I am a deer? I mean, I guess the way they run... and walk... and just seem to be trapped between our world and theirs, it could kinda make sense? Maybe?

...Or maybe we were just really dehydrated.

Soon, we were cruising down the windy roads, dropping back into canyons outside of town. On our way back to town, we decided we weren't quite ready to go home yet.

We decided a pit stop to Watson Lake and the A were necessary. Peering down upon Fort Collins and Horsetooth Reservoir From the A for the first time in 5 months, we picked up old conversations from November and new conversation from today. Squirrel suits and water cars soon gave way to food and food, and we took off.

Soon, though, we were back home, watching dumb movies, and relaxing... something I too often forget to do.

Relaxing, it was.

Now I procrastinate, writing a blog instead of an article, a paper, and an outline. We leave for Boston on Thursday, and I only hope that the next couple days go fast so a vacation of vacations can happen.

But more on that later... I can't wait any longer to get stuff done for the next 2 weeks. Soon, though, summer will be here and only one class will take my time. Then is when mountains, trails, and roads can be explored without worry or reason to return.

A walk through time: Arches and Canyonlands National Parks

I never thought it would come. After weeks of anticipation, frustration, and planning, class was done for a week with the rustling of papers on Friday, March 13. I never thought it would arrive, but the deadlines, criticisms, and overall exhaustion were to be put on the back-burner for a week. Spring Break, 2011 was finally here.

Partly inspired by the great Edward Abbey and a desire to get away from the excessively complicated day-to-day lives we immerse ourselves in, we left on the rainy morning of Sunday, March 13 for the 7 hour drive to Arches National Park. After one of I-70's infamous traffic jams and an always-fun snowstorm in the mountains, we soon found ourselves racing down the western slope and desolate stretches of eastern Utah.

The west was ours for the taking. Cruising along with little fear of authority or confrontation, things were beginning to settle in: this was our vacation. Getting away from nearly everything that burdens us back home, we were free to explore the world that so many often ignore.

Turning off of 70 and onto the 1 road into town Moad, Arches, and Canyonlands, the sense of chilled relaxation quickly turned to excitement. The road ducks between 2 steep-walled rock faces as you pull into Arches. It wasn't long before we had our backcountry camping permit for the night and a freshly purchased annual National Park pass (Rocky Mountain, anyone?), and we were free to explore our first destination, Arches National Park.

It was like being a kid all over again, bouncing back between windows, hoping to take in as much as the breathtaking scenery as possible. So much to see, I remember being often puzzled. Mel can attest to me saying something along the lines of "It just doesn't make sense!" over and over again. I was blown away... I knew that this place would be amazing, but it was the sort of thing that you can't prepare yourself for.

The first stop was Balanced Rock. This is the sort of thing that makes this area so bewildering and is absolutely puzzling to the brain. How? Why? What did all of this? Questions with numerous explanations, but there is more fun to be had by simply accepting what is, and be in awe of the majestic qualities something as simple as rock can possess. We hiked around it and sat atop another rock 100 feet off of the main trail for a while, attempting to gather ourselves and get our plan for the week at least semi-arranged.

This is when I really noticed one of the things that makes this place so confusing: the mountains. They are hard to see in most of the pictures, but when you are there, the snow capped towering landscapes to the east seem painted in and totally fake. They are just sprinkled into the barren world as if to say "explore me and leave the heat of your barren world."

From there, it was time to explore the area near the Windows. Amazing rock formations created by wind, rain, water, and time now being explored by everyone. My excitement was turning to confusion and pure pessimism at the sheer numbers of people populating the attractions.

“I won't have time to shower if we go to the top! I haven't showered in 2 days!” an overweight tourist said. This sentiment, I felt, represented the majority of people in the park – all I want is to fit in, not to see the world around me. If I don't follow my routine, the world will end.

This of course would be echoed even more by the children throughout our time there.

We did some climbing up into one of the caves before the obnoxious yelling of people drove us to take a short hike around the windows. Getting on a trail dubbed primitive, we explored around the area lacking people behind the Windows before climbing up the backside of the rock and walked down the not-so-primitive paved staircase leading back to the parking lot.

This is when we had the conversation about kids at parks - the first while on our trip. It is a paradox with no easy answers. I complain about people taking kids to places like these, but then I complain about kids not getting outside. I think what it boils down to is how the parents raise the kids to act in the outdoors, be it loud and reckless or calm and appreciative.

We were soon off to Delicate Arch, one of the most photographed and awe-inspiring destinations in the world.

Parking in the main parking lot amid the dozens of other cars, I was slightly skeptical of how amazing it would be with so many other people present, but Mel assured me it would be amazing.

We began down the trail, past an old cabin (what a place to live!) and visited some old petroglyphs. Appreciating the number of stories that could explain why they were there and what they said, we continued on. Up the rock, following cairns, we passed people coming down that looked in no way, shape, or form like they should be hiking. Some were waterless and others wore all black in the blazing sun, but so it goes.

Nearing the arch, we talked to a few other young people that were actually not-so touristy. One of the girls ripped her toe-nail off while rock-climbing the day before and was still out hiking. Maybe there are still cool people like us out there :)

Cresting the ledge, Delicate came into view, and I was amazed. On the edge of the rock base, the arch towered over everything acting as a gateway to the rest of the west. The forces that created it over thousands of years often forgotten, but remembered by me in a moment of deep reflection – that is, until a kid bellows out “I hate this place! It's boring!”

Temptation to throw a child anyone?

In true tourist fashion, another lady on a cell phone was convinced with each step she took, she was moving between time zones. Does the time really matter in a place like this? Time can’t be told by numbers here… only by the amount of sunlight before dipping beyond the western horizon.

We had heard enough and embarked on our quest to find an acceptable camp site far from the throngs of people. Delicate Arch was certainly something to see, no question. It is a place where someone can lose themselves in their thoughts almost instantly, only to be brought back by something as basic as nightfall. But the hoards people made it less desirable, and that worries me.

After a slight detour and trek over a rock formation with packs on, we set up camp, made dinner, and were soon asleep. The drive, lack of sleep the night before courtesy of Daylight Saving, and excitement amid the fresh and empty air made for an amazing nights sleep.

Waking with the sun the next morning, it was time to explore an empty rock outcropping near the spectator filled area of Delicate. It was ours for the morning, and it wasn't long until we discovered our own arch to be dubbed Shaded Arch. Visible only if sought from the area near Delicate, it was tucked away as if one of the park's hidden gems. I wonder how many others could be found if people only took the time.

Granted it was not nearly as grand, well formed, or photographed, it was still more appreciated by Mel and I. We had found this rather than having been guided by someone else or a printed sign. We were the only ones there, and it wasn't long until we realized we had inspired onlookers from the main Delicate trail, seeking a way over to check out what we had found. It is this sort of discovery that makes trips worthwhile, and not the big things everyone goes to.

The exploration of the rock formation lasted a few hours, bringing us to the edge of the world and forcing us through even the most minuscule of formations. Yet there was always a sense of accomplishment with each new discovery, especially when standing on a paper thin rock that teetered on the verge of collapse.

That adventure and the unknown is what this trip was bound to be. We had a morning loaded with adventure and a few hundred pictures, and this was only the first day! What a trip!

Taking our time to explore whatever our eyes led us to, we found ourselves in an interesting area once filled with water and walls 30 feet high around us. Though tarnished by an old sock (not sure why...?), it was an amazingly secluded spot from the rest of the world.

It was soon time to take down camp and head back to the car so we could continue on with our trip throughout Arches. Hiking through the Devil's Playground, we saw Landscape and Double-O Arches, which of course were loaded with people.

Landscape Arch, as it turns out, had a major collapse about 15 years ago and the only picture was captured by a guy from Fort Collins. Small world, and I can only imagine how that phone conversation went when he called the parks to tell them what he had.

Amusing people are everywhere I guess. We were hiking back to the car, me without my shirt, and a little girl no older than 6 yelled out "Ew! A man with his shirt off! Yuck!" Laughing hysterically, Mel and I looked at the mom who was part embarrassed but more-so amused.

No more than 5 minutes later, a guy hiking with his son passed us and said that his son was worried I would freeze without my shirt.

I put my shirt on soon thereafter. I guess even marathon training can't get you in good enough shape to hike shirtless - at least around kids haha.

That was that, and we decided it was time to leave Arches and head to our main destination for the week, Canyonlands National Park.

Racing across the sky along the curved though perfect road, the scenery became drastically different from that which we had grown used to in the 24 hours spent in Arches. We now gazed down on an endless landscape that had been carved by rivers for thousands of years. The mountains that look fake as seen here, begging to be explored one day.

After an interesting encounter with Barney Fife the park ranger, we took off to Murphy's Point at the south end of the park. Here, we talked to – of all people – Mel's ex boyfriend who was also exploring the southwest with photography in mind. Check out his work. It blows my pictures away and really captures the essence of the southwest.

He told us of several isolated areas of the park that other photographers told him about, and soon we had the next day’s adventures planned.

Camp was to be set 2 miles from the car down an easy trail along the rim of the canyon, and we would hike back in the morning to meet Josh for a sketch exploration of a crevasse near Grand View overlook.

As we followed the oddly-specific directions from who we thought would be a crazy guy, we discovered our destination: a crack in the Earth that went upwards of 50 feet below the surface. Out of sight from the trail and everyday tourists, we all descended into the Earth's scar, curious how deep it would go down.

We even lowered a lantern and rope down, that is, until it disappeared into a tunnel. We assume that there was a water-system that ran deep in the rock which may need to be explored in the future as well.

The rational part of our minds soon won over, though, and we decided 15 feet below the surface would have to be enough until we come back with better rope, harnesses, and lights. One more reason to go back in the not-so-distant future.

Still shaken by how breath taking that slot exploration was, Mel and I took off to the Aztec Butte trail-head to explore what history had left from the ancient Puebloans. Carved into the hillsides, these granaries once stored food and saved people from the harsh elements of the high desert. Dating back to 1200, it left me wondering just how “advanced” we really are now if this was enough for people ages ago. So perfectly crafted, yet so delicate at the same time, it was amazing to speculate how these were used in the past and why it all transitioned to where we are today.

Our stops for the rest of the day included a rarely traveled trail that began as a search for a forgotten granary but soon turned into a trek across a sandstone landscape filled with rock climbing and wash following. It turns out the place we were looking for was right below us, but we had no idea at the time. Instead, we followed a group of desert bighorn sheep and wondered what the area would look like if water flowed freely as it must have months or years prior. The areas where water pools in the rainy season were dried, but we decided to come back when things would be full of life as opposed to dry and cracked.

Low on water, we were soon burned and following a wash back to the car. Funny thing, but we were both saying how amazing it felt to follow the flow of where water once had been... Ask us that on day 7 and we were saying something totally different.

A trip to Mesa Arch and Green River Overlook followed and soon we were back at our campsite at Murphy's point. Mesa arch itself doesn't look like much, but it is the sheer drop beyond it that makes it so breathtaking.

Covering 15 miles by foot in the desert heat is no easy feat, but when you are running on sheer excitement and adrenaline, you just do it.

As we explored the rock formations at Murphy's Point around our campsite, Mel found one that was angled slightly up, so we laid down and gazed into the distance as if mimicking the ravens soaring nearby. Stomach clenched and breathing rapidly, we both had the sensation of flying and falling over the never-ending canyon below. Pictures can't do it justice, but at least 500 feet of nothing but air was below us.

We must have been there for 20 minutes, closing our eyes and opening them only to be reminded that this was real; this was the same world that days earlier we were hoping to escape from. Time marched on and surely stuff was happening elsewhere, but nothing could touch us now. That is, until the nerves overwhelmed us and we had had enough. It was if we had taken a lengthy ride on a roller coaster, only for free. Breeze coming up from below us, the sun setting off in the distance, and the expanse of land made this one of the most amazing experiences ever.

As we walked away, we noticed just how unstable that rock was and how far out we were really perched. Were were at the very edge of the rock that hangs over the canyon on the left. Crazy.

As we continued our exploration of the area, we found a broken and frayed piece of “rope” and were left to wonder if anyone could be dumb enough to try to climb with such terrible stuff. We didn't see any bodies, and the birds were elsewhere, so it must not have happened during our trip at least.

But the moment that provided the most interest of the day came as the sun set that evening. Every writer's dream is to find a place so surreal, so carefree that words simply flow as if guided by an unknown force. That place was quickly found in a rock outcropping near the edge of the world, miles from anyone and anything at Murphy's point. Orange glow amidst the rustic sand and rock, it was as if I was watching the sun set on a world that nobody had seen before. Frantically trying to pen as many phrases and thoughts as my hand and the lingering light would allow, my point was made: everyone needs a spot to go to where they feel such a rush – such an inspiration – they can truly be themselves.

The time had come again to eat and sleep, but only after watching a jet's contrail bisect the nearly full moon... An interesting link to the reality we so desperately tried to distance ourselves from.

The next morning we packed up camp and headed for the car for an impromptu trip down the hill and into Moab, Utah for supplies. During the trip so far, my shoelaces had frayed, we were down a stuff-sack, and running short on food, so a much-needed restocking adventure through the southwestern tourist-trap town was in order. Plus, washing in the small bathroom of a gas station felt amazing after 3 days of sweat.

Soon enough, though, we were back in Canyonlands talking to our favorite park ranger again. Once we had our permit, we drove to the trail-head, repacked our gear, and headed off on the highlight of the trip. The plan: cover a 25 mile loop that took us down 1300 feet from the rim of the canyon down to the Green River. This was different than our original plan that would have led us down an out-an-back trail to the Colorado River, but this seemed more interesting. It was.

We were off with 5 days of food, water, and supplies. By far the heaviest pack I had ever carried, and secretly we hoped someone would give us a ride up the road to the actual trail-head where our hike would begin leading us down into the canyon.

Carefully, we made our way down the steep canyon walls and over the unstable rock falls. The things left behind by those who traveled before us always amazes me, be it an old mining tool or a fish made of rocks by someone with a little too much time on their hands and an interesting sense of humor.

After endless miles of following a dried, sandy wash that meandered turn after turn, we finally pitched camp at the foot of Moses and Zeus. Turns out we were right by another campground and the road, but we were too tired to go on.

Unfortunately, the wind was so fierce that night, we only got a couple hours of sleep. At one point, I am convinced the cross-pole of my tent buckled in the 40mph winds and hit me in the head. Not my favorite night by any means, and it made for an even more exhausting hike the next day, even though it was flat.

We had only 6 miles of flat land to cover the next morning and were on the trail...erm... wash by 1030 and at camp by 2. Then the rain started and fatigue set in, so I napped for about 4 hours, ate dinner, and then napped some more or as most might say "went to sleep." Rough life, but something about resting so close to the Green River while overlooking the valley made everything peaceful as opposed to lazy. It was nice to take a little time out and just recover, especially because of how epic the next day was going to be.

On the way to our camp for that night, we noticed something carved into the rock: KENNETH E AMELANG: 2/14/1964.

Why was this guy out here on Valentine's day 50 years ago? Why did he carve into another rock a mile up the trail? How many other people had seen this carving? How long would it last because it was clear that he had taken the time to carve it in very well? We tried to look him up when we got back home, but couldn't find anything... at least not yet.

We woke early and explored the area around the river. This meant crawling through the brush and mud, all just to stand on a little patch of land near the muddy, murky, chocolate milk looking river. A meandering walk around the banks followed in which we found some crazy rocks that didn't fit in with the rest of the area at all. As if out for a morning stroll, this was by far one of the most relaxed mornings ever, especially for a backpacking trip.

It was Mel's brother's birthday, and since she couldn't call, we did something a little different. Just one more reason why this trip was so chill.

It was soon time to take off on our mission for the day: explore a random canyon off of White Rim Road. Heading north, we found signs of an old ranching world that existed years ago, fully equipped with cattle chutes and barbed wire. Soon enough, though we found a wash that looked like it wrapped nicely up the canyon to our east and just outside of the actual national park boundary, and we were destined to explore it.

Meandering, we crept up the canyon, gaining elevation with every footstep. Growing tired, we stopped for water and looked ahead, taking notice of a small hole in the canyon wall. Thinking it was one of the many caves carved into the rock, we kept going at an easy pace, that is, until Mel saw the support beam on the outside of the hole.

Running at this point, we climbed up the fallen rock and realized we had just come across an abandoned mine from at least the 1960s though we could not be sure. We felt like kids from a book. How often can you say you found something so isolated... so forgotten? No signs of life existed here anymore except from the ancient Coors bottle and oilcans near the entrance.

We had to get into the mine, and it looked somewhat stable. We didn't bother to ask ourselves what was being mined there until after... it didn't matter. We were living for the moment regardless of how reckless it may have been. Knowing that we were probably 2 of the only people to be here in decades made it seem even better. After all, it is a half hour hike up a step canyon off of the main road which is already seldom traveled.

Creeping in one stride at a time, we went deeper and deeper into the darkness. About 70 feet in, we came across a junction that went left and right. Growing weary of how dark, how much air, and how stable it was, we stopped and decided not to go on. I took a few pictures with the flash in hope to uncover something interesting when we looked at them later.

Hesitantly, we headed out, still shaken and pumped. We just did something people dream of – something that you hear other people talk about but that you never get to experience. Amazing.

Oh, and it turns out that boxes in the pictures say “dangerous high explosives.” Legit? I think yes.

Not willing to head back to camp yet, we hiked around the entrance and followed what appeared to be an old road that was used back when the mine was active. It was a trip through time, finding remnants of things left behind along the forgotten reaches of the road, mainly oilcans. Likely bustling in its prime, this place was all but toast in the grand scheme of things.

Sadly, though, it was time to head back to camp. Of course we will be back to explore it further, and I am sure it will be in the very near future.

After returning to camp and relaxing in the baking sun, we hiked back to the milky-river to fill up our water bottles in preparation for our looming hike tomorrow. This turned into the most hippied-out moment of my life as I did laundry and cleansed my face with dirt-water while standing at the shore, heated by the sun and cooled by the frigid and fast moving river.

At this point, the camera battery died. I was able to get a couple shots of the amazing sunset that evening with my phone camera, but again, pictures cannot truly capture the feeling you get when everything is perfect and pristine.

Back at camp, we had our final freeze-dried meals and desert of apple crisp from a bag as the sunlight drifted beyond the canyon walls. Before drifting off to sleep, we were able to watch the full moon rise over the steep-walled canyon to the southeast, draping the entire area in one of the most surreal moonlights imaginable.

Waking early again and becoming more dehydrated, it was time for our final difficult day of hiking on the Upheaval Dome trail. Maneuvering through dried riverbeds and washes is fine for a couple miles, but after days and days of it, it gets quite tiresome. Oddly enough, though, with every time we would stop to regather ourselves along the wash, we said the same thing. "For being so miserable right now, I actually enjoy this" we would yell to each other... A strange idea indeed, but I guess each trip needs something miserable to make you appreciate nature's force.

Coming to a junction in the trail, we tried to figure out how far up we wanted to be for the following morning. That process was interrupted when one of the many wind gusts through the canyon left us hunched over, shielding our faces as wind and sand pummeled us from 3 directions. It broke for a second, and we ran to shelter. Additional proof that nature doesn't always let you get through a trip unheard.

The steep and incredibly technical hiking and climbing up the Syncline trail soon replaced the difficult and sandy washes we had grown somewhat accustomed too. 500 feet up, it flattened and we thought we were close... until we saw the next one. Low on food and hesitant to drink the filthy river water, we pressed on climbing another 500 feet and ultimately finding a campsite tucked in a clearing just below Upheaval Dome.

After exploring a bit, an angry game of cards that nearly resulted in broken fingers, and eating what little food we had left, we tried to sleep. The wind had other plans again.

Struggling to even rest, we both grew more and more tired until sleep finally set in around 3 or 4am. Soon though, it was 7am and time to head out. Luckily, we were only a 15-minute hike from the car where there was food and water waiting for us. Partly glad we would soon have food and fresh water (or a smoothie), we trekked to the car. However, sadness still dominated, for we were not ready to leave yet. We needed more supplies, but staying here just seemed like a plausible and enjoyable alternative.

But the trip was all-but-over. We changed clothes, ate bagels and peanut butter, and loaded up the car for the bittersweet ride down to Moab to hit up the grocery store one more time before embarking on the 7-hour ride back to our other lives - the ones that the world says are more important. I beg to differ.

Reflections:

Doing a reflections section for this trip is more difficult than others primarily because of how amazing and event-filled everything was. Going from landscape to landscape and exploring so many different areas of the parks, I left with a sense of accomplishment - of having seen so many things on my first trip there - so many things that few people actually get to experience.

Writing as much as possible while perched above the barren landscape, I penned a lot of things at Murphy's Point. Looking back, one section reads… "Presently, I sit at the edge of the world as if simulating a bird taking flight for the first time. I am caught between two worlds both physically and psychologically." I think that such a feeling is often needed and rarely sought in our daily lives, and I think our own livelihood suffers as a result.

Having the different physical worlds is a no brainer; of course there is contrast. But the interesting point I found was that I was beginning to truly lose myself in the wonders of the Southwest. So much land to be explored and so many untouched destinations I yearn to conquer, I was caught between the extremes of realities.

To be caught up in deadlines and projects, money and stress? No. That will get you nowhere in this place. Instead, you must focus your efforts on survival, food management and water use; staying warm and dry. Radically different thoughts than back in "reality." And then I began to think even more about what "reality" really is, for I felt as if this was as real as things could possibly get. The rock against my back and the sand between by fingers, I was at one with the world I dreamed and dared to explore. Call it mellow-dramatic or sappy, but I was in such a contemplative world at that time, more content than ever before.

Again, realization of these things is critical in understanding things, I believe. On the trip, we explored cracks that scar deep into the earth's interior and mines that dive into ancient rock; we saw wildlife and formations shaped by millions of years of erosion. Everything was seemingly in a time capsule just daring to be explored. The endless expanse of the Earth's playground was before us, and we dreamed of exploring it, of never returning to the stresses we had waiting back home. Yet we knew we couldn't stay, and that frustrated us.

And this brings me to my final point. Realistically for whatever reason, leaving for the wild forever can't happen. We are such a herd animal, we depend on each other, and for someone who wants to spend his life helping people, it is quite the paradox. When I say herd animal, a say it lightly though thoughtfully. We depend on each other for our survival, be it from the clothing we wear to the food we eat, we depend on each member of the herd to do their own part. Whether you call it a Division of Labor or Functionalism within sociology, it is what it is.

Further, within those connections to products and necessities, we are a social creature - though masked by our own worlds at times. We seek acceptance, friendship, and all that other stuff that makes humans human. In the wilderness, this is all lacking. I feel that this is what makes us grow to appreciate it when we come back, that is, until the idiots of the world pollute your thoughts leading you to plan your next trip to get away.

This begged the question "is going on these trips running away from our problems?" Pondering this for much of the hike, I concluded that it is not running away but rather taking your world to a new place as if to reflect in a different manner. We all need a break, obviously. To leave everything for lengthy times can be reckless depending, and so can taking it all on vacation. But striking a balance, it becomes possible to have it all while having nothing. With that balance, you can truly reflect on your own however insignificant actions, and gauge better who you truly are.

Too often we find ourselves looking forward, we miss the things behind us…the things that shaped us. Finding a place such as Canyonlands, you have nothing but your gear and thoughts for days on end, giving you time to breathe - to reflect on just what makes us us. This place had been talked about so much by both Mel and Abbey, and I see why. Immersed in a millennium of history, you can reflect upon your own life and be left to wonder if what lay ahead can truly be predicted by what has already passed.