Invincible

Is it okay to feel invincible every once in a while?

We watch the teens and tell them to be wary. Slow down, don't be stupid, watch out, that's cray. You just feel invincible, don't you? That's all. But you're not. Remember that I told you that later, when you've broken your arm or gotten 16 stitches in your forehead. Silly kids, they'll learn.

Thus I stifle those feelings sometimes, telling myself I shouldn't feel that way. It's a knock-on-wood moment. What if I jinx myself and then ruin it all? What then? I'll feel dumb, that's for sure. Who feels invincible anyway, it's for the kids. It's for the immature and inexperienced. The naive.

But I felt invincible for a moment today and I'm going to tell you about it. It's another running story.

***

I needed to mail something from Nederlands, so I figured I'd just run while I was there and get to experience a new place. I did some recon, driving around for a few miles on a route I suspected might be good. It would do. Finished with the little shopping I wanted to do (Ramen, popcorn, frosted shredded wheat, you know, the essentials), I drove back and parked the jeep beside the road.

It's windy here in the Colorado mountains. I daresay more so than in Spangle, Washington, which seems crazy. Perhaps not so constant, but the gusts pack a punch and gather en force every couple days for a power struggle between air and legs. Such was the case today here on camp and in Nederlands as well.

The first ten minutes was just the softest incline, an introduction to the surrounding area and road surface. Then I hit the goal: a two-mile uphill stretch to the entrance of the El Dora ski resort with an average pitch of just over 7%. Nothing crazy, but enough to require some effort.

After the first quarter mile, icy snow patches began to swath the road, able to exist due to their proximity to the cliff on my left which blocked the sun most of the day. Temperatures were probably in the 40s, wind chill much lower. Elevation around 8,500 feet. Snowflakes whipped about. Little bursts of wind speckled my way, making me lean in and slow down. Bring it.

Okay.

I noticed the gusts picking up as I ascended. Stride shortened, body felt heavier. Breath mechanical, saliva accumulated faster, beard getting crispy with freezing condensation. Bring it.

Okay. Try this one.

I was momentarily stalled, both feet planted, leaning far in just to stay upright. Whoa. But was that it?

Gazing out to my right, the valley was dropping steadily below me. A moody sky in front of me, sunlight still coming through, illuminated everything behind with a dull fade. The snowflakes were flying through the mountains from the sky a few miles ahead, finally reaching me after their long journey, and biting me in the face. The ears were feeling hollow, the pressure changes and crispness of the air factors in spite of my hat. Arms hung low, just like coach taught me to do when ascending. Feet churned steady, now and then the rhythm disturbed by Wind. Head bent determinedly, as if to drive through the thick air regardless.

I thought of the cold, windy runs I'd had in Washington. When my wrists froze up and it took several minutes for my fingers to thaw enough to be usable again. When the constant whooshing past my ears made me sick for silence and the occasional lull of the wind suddenly sprung me ahead with a new stride. I knew how it went.

Up, up I went. Another minute, another minute. Another curve, another gust, another bite. Not enough to stop Chris Clouzet.

Then came the crest.

After one last curve, there was a small lake on the left, and the road leveled out for about a quarter mile. The lake ran nearly parallel to the road, but just diagonal enough so that when I turned my head to about 11 o'clock I was looking down its length. It had choppy little waves and constant rippling sheets that were evidence of fast-moving gusts exploring its surface. Toward me.

Here, the noise of the wind is constant and strong. The swirls of snow dust tornado quickly across the road, flying under my feet. I am thankful for the sunglasses I am wearing, better for wind-blocking than visibility in this already-low-light environment. I sense the big hit is coming. The open space of the lake a meeting ground for winds from all four corners of the earth to congregate and join forces and gain momentum and rush into whatever is in their way. We're coming. I could see them, the winds, laughing fiercely, aiming for the kill. You've made it this far, but from here, You Shall Not Pass. Nearer, nearer. Now, the leap...

Impact.

The hit. The blow. The rip. The roar. The bite. the chew, the swallow.

But also...

The doubling over. The digging in. The slow motion. The crooked smile.

Then two fingers of defiance up in the air. Head raised, turned to 11 o'clock. Eyes steely. And the loudest yell of profanity this runner could muster.

Is that all you got? I whisper with a mighty sprint.