Fit-Pic: What Your Legs Look Like After a Trail Run

It was a tough choice, but my dirty legs won over my Tyrannosaurus Rex-looking arms (apparently my arms don't look normal when I run trails) when it comes to the image I'd prefer to remember in conjunction with today's 10K Spring Runoff. Not that I expected to be clean after running 6.8 miles across Vail's trails, but I never thought my legs would be covered with so much dirt. That was what last week's Mudderella was for--when I still found mud all over my body after splashing into the Hat Trick obstacle's pool and after showering in the Rinse & Revive area.

The Runoff's course didn't even seem that muddy, dusty or dirty--plus I'm so slow when it comes to running down the trail that I couldn't have been kicking up that much dirt. But one glance at my lower half at the finish line and I was sorely mistaken. Instead of being sweaty, and caked in the white salty residue I'm accustomed to after most warm-day races, my legs had acquired a shade of brown that no summer tan could ever match.

Do your legs look this dirty after you've been running on the trail?

As for my T-Rex arms, I'm the poster child for those T-Rex Hates Pushups T-shirts. You'll have to come back to see those because I'm too embarrassed to post them anywhere but a race report.

A Run on Vail's Trails

I'm no stranger to running around Vail, Colo. Thanks to an unseasonably warm winter in 2012, I ran almost as much as I skied that April, exploring the path along Gore Creek and checking out some hiking trails on the north side of I-70.

But there's way more to running Vail that just the route I took from West Vail into Vail Village. That's child's play compared to the trails that are covered with snow most times I'm at the mountain--the ones that are open for hiking, biking and trail running in the summer months. Try running those and you're dodging tree roots, creating dust clouds, killing your quads on the downhills and catching your breath on the uphills.

Had I known that before running the 10K Spring Runoff at the GoPro Mountain Games in Vail last weekend, I may have reconsidered registering. I would have been better suited for the Vail Pass Half Marathon, which was basically 13.5 miles entirely uphill, even though I could barely run 10 miles two weekends ago. But the scenery in the mountains makes any trail run worth it, even if you're sucking wind like me (those Colorado trail runners can RUN!). These pictures are only part of the race's excitement--I'll have to capture the rest when I'm hiking because I made the wise choice to run light.

The 10K Spring Runoff started in the heart of Vail Village (and wouldn't you know, the exact spot where I had stopped documenting my last Vail run) and headed east toward the Golden Peak base.

If you look really close, you can see me in the blue tank top, sporting my media team gear since I couldn't run with them Saturday night at the Balmoral 5K.

This is the Golden Peak ski area and those huge mounds of snow were even larger during the ski season when they were making snow and filling the terrain park. If you squint (or click on the image to make it a little bigger) you can see three runners beneath the right snow lump. On the left is the tunnel under the skiable terrain that we ran through near the start of the run to reach an uphill climb and then we ran through it again near the race's end. And that uphill climb? You can see it by the clump of trees on the right--and it doesn't look, or ski, nearly as steep as it felt climbing up.

That tunnel I was referring to? It's just behind those trees. And again, if you squint you can see some of the trail speedsters (not me) about to run under the Riva Bahn chair lift.

Some of the pretty mountainside and real estate that I don't remember seeing in the race's final mile (I'll blame it on being too focused running toward the finish line). You can barely see me, but I'm slowly but surely running down the dirt path.

More of that pretty mountainside I was talking about, and some of those speedier runners making the final stretch of dirt look easy.

 Phew, I finished! Heat, winding trail, dizzying downhills and all.

The trail's aftermath: dirty legs. Check out that awesome sock line!

Have you run the trails on Vail mountain? Which ones are your favorite? Did you run the 10K Spring Runoff? You probably finished faster than me!

Vail on Dwellable

Fit-Pic: The Mountain Games 10K Spring Run-Off

It could be muddy, it could be snowy, it could be wet. Anything goes at the 10K Spring Runoff at the GoPro Mountain Games at Vail. That also applies to the course's design, which wrapped up, down and across the lower half of Vail Mountain.

Whether you're sloshing through mud and wearing warm layers or you're brushing dust from your eyes and sweating from the start, this race has one constant. It sure is picturesque.

And I thought the Vail Pass Half Marathon had a pretty course, judging from the mile I walked along it. Less mileage doesn't compromise the views, nor is it much easier on the lungs (that's my argument anyway since I ran the 10K and my husband ran the half). Stay tuned for more on these races, I'm still catching my breath and adjusting to the altitude.

USole Trail Challenge: I Lost My Trail Virginity

Trails aren't all singletrack and obstacles.

Trail races are called challenges for a reason—they’re not easy. The mileage? No problem. It’s the winding route, the downhills on uneven surfaces, the hopping over logs and whatever else one can encounter on a trail that can make a five-mile route challenging. But those aren’t to be taken as turn-offs but turn-ons.

Yesterday I ran my first trail race, the Universal Sole Trail Challenge Fall Edition. I rarely worry about surviving a run, especially one that’s five miles, unless I’m coming back from an injury or said run is a speedy track workout, but I was nervous about this one (not a lot but enough to elicit a “what have I gotten myself into after picking up my packet?”). I shuddered at running singletrack—mostly because I’m usually riding the ruts, and wobbling, and this first foray into the forest would be amid a crowd. I’m OK with trail testing on my own—I pushed the pace in Colorado Springs’ Red Rock Canyon last month—but not with others watching, especially if, when, I lose my footing. It didn’t help that we almost missed the race start, thanks to a combination of heading out the door behind schedule (note to self: pack trail gear the night before) and hitting a traffic pile-up on the way there, or that I was testing out a pair of trail racers.

But I underestimated my abilities and the trail. Trail racing is F-U-N. The 5.25 miles sped by way faster than any Lakefront run—even though I couldn’t run as fast. The course twisted and turned through Schiller Woods, around trees, over fallen logs (yeah, I need to get better at climbing those so two guys don’t whisk by me next time), up quad-burning hills, into mud, across mounds of leaves and down some semi-scary descents (I blame the leaves for giving me tender feet). Yeah, not an easy course though it was well marked and scenic. Lessons for next time: keeping my momentum through the trail’s twists and ignore the vociferous runner who didn't seem satisfied with the course--who cares if the route didn't match the map? And there will be a next time—I was sorry I had never run these woods before or other USole trail races. What was I thinking?

Ski Shape

Hard to believe that it's nearly mid-September? I am. I'm still in shock that the beaches are technically closed--and to be honest, with the weather we've been having, I barely want to venture outside--and that fall is just around the corner. Sure, I say that a lot with the changing of the seasons yet I feel like summer barely started or that I got to enjoy it since I only became my usual, active self in August.

But regardless of what the calendar says or the weather forecast shows, winter is just around the corner. I know it, the mountains know it (they already saw snow!) and the ski resorts know it. One problem: I'm not so sure my legs, arms and core know it. Preparing for running and biking is one thing, but getting in ski shape can be another endeavor entirely. All day on the slopes, moguls, steeps, powder, ice--the equipment can only go so far and then it's all about the engine behind it.

So how can you start revving that engine now before you get back on your skis come November? Well, securing a ski pass or planning a trip are two ways, but I'm talking about the fitness focus. How are you going to get in shape for skiing? Are you the type to engage in a little trail running or mountain biking? Or would you rather pop in a DVD (ahem, maybe P90X or Insanity?) or arrive at the gym for some strength training, toning and full-on muscle building? We all have our own weapons for whipping ourselves into shape--or we learn from the suggestions of others.

My go-tos: running and cycling. They're the easiest, not necessarily the smartest, for me to do. Why? Because I pavement pound and stick to forward motion. As for moves that get you moving across all planes of motion and moving abruptly as we sometimes do when we're skiing (you know, when you have to avoid a rock or tree, or you aren't as stellar as your partner and end up on advanced terrain that leaves you jerky instead of fluid), there are plenty of other ways to get in ski shape. Find them at buzz.snow.com, where it's all about five ways that meet the all-important question, "How do I get in shape for skiing?" 

Next step, start sweating!

Photo grabbed from cnolan011, Christopher Nolan, at flickr.

Trail Running: How Do They Do It?

Give me a trailhead and I'll hike it. Give me singletrack and I'll mountain bike it (or try considering I hop off my bike at every scary turn, descent and tree root). But there's no way you'd find me running that trail with my running shoes--I could only dream of being coordinated, skilled, and any other adjective I can name that a true trail runner embodies.

I know plenty of people who trail run, one friend who even swears by the Palos trails just outside Chicago's city limits for her return to running after repeated injuries. The problem: I'm just not one of them. I can only watch in awe. I barely get along with the pavement (you should see the scars on my knees and elbows, results of running falls). But me and the trails, I'm lucky I can walk or mountain bike them. I can barely survive a hike without tripping over a tree root or turning my ankle on a rock. As for running, I'm scared to even try--unless it was Palos' tamed crushed gravel trail, far away from the singletrack and a far cry from the trails I've hiked ever so slowly especially on the descents.

That's where the above picture comes in. How do these guys run--yes, they were running when I spotted them on the trail in Jasper National Park way up north in the Canadian Rockies--the trails? And how do they run a trail as bumpy as this one so effortlessly? I just don't get it. I almost twisted my ankle on a misstep and could feel each tarsal of my foot on the rock-hard ground. Sand runs: Those make sense. Trails where you're negotiating rocks, tree roots, uneven surfaces: I'm clueless.

Help a girl out. Trail runners: Can you offer an explanation?