Staking out local territory

Everyone who drives ten minutes to go running has unmet needs. Here are mine

I was about five paragraphs into a version of this when it inexplicably disappeared. When I lose a piece of writing that’s between about one-third and two-thirds complete, I experience two things: A deep sense of harmony with others singled out for chronic abuse by the good God above, and reluctant acceptance of the fact that the newer version will be better.

So if this sucks, be thankful you were spared worse. I also apologize for the late hour.

I live within two to ten minutes on foot of multiple premier recreation paths; two tracks (one albeit usually closed to commoners); several small networks of trails on various portions of the University of Colorado campus and the open space near the East Boulder Rec Center; and a municipal golf course with inviting fairways I probably shouldn’t be exploring with a dog even in the off-season.

The logical result of all this is that I usually drive to go running, at least when it’s light out. No more than six or seven miles, but always at least one.

Most people who use cars to reach the starting points of runs either live in pedestrian-inhospitable neighborhoods or are meeting others to run. I’ve already established my own neighborhood as acceptable, and I almost never run with others anymore because that would mean spending one hundred percent of my time either sleeping, looking at a screen, or talking instead of ninety-five percent.

As you’ve probably guessed, I choose places to run that Rosie especially enjoys. And even though she can’t talk, it’s easy to tell.

My standard easy run starts at or near a middle school two miles to the east, follows one of many related routes on mostly uphill pavement though a quiet neighborhood, includes a circuit around a plateau of open space rich in prairie dogs, and returns to the car along the same streets. It usually takes us about forty minutes. I know Rosie likes this run, because as soon as we’re out of the car, she starts leading me in the same direction and boogies around the same turns, running tangents if possible. Although we’d wind up at the plateau in any number of parallel-ish ways, Rosie likes the route that goes up the steepest hills even though it’s not the shortest.

I was consciously aware of this the first time I did this run or one like it, but I have come to appreciate the reasons I have perhaps unknowingly placed it high in the rotation. One is that the streets are very wide. This is always nice, but anyone who runs with a dog appreciates the reality that size, or at least girth, really does matter a great deal in certain scenarios.

These streets are also lightly traveled, and the typical motorist appears to be in his early sixties—old enough to be grudgingly cautious, but not nearly old enough to be a steering-wheel-obscured hazard even at his top speed of 12 MPH. Also, this is an affluent neighborhood—at least half the homes could sell for $2 million—and is outside the City of Boulder on unincorporated county land, which means larger property lots. These in turn mean wide expanses of lawn always dotted with a blend of squirrels and rabbits. Rosie doesn’t chase any of these creatures when she spots one; she just runs faster in whatever direction she’s running and stares sideways.

This is more or less what I do with the female human creatures in the same neighborhood. While most of the male residents look hearty and well-maintained, the women are on average fifteen years younger and all look like they were just released from a Patagonia catalog photo shoot. I’m tempted to propose a mutual relationship between the affluence of this neighborhood and its wide difference in median age between men and women, but that would be facile, boorish, and accurate.

Finally, there are a couple of spots where Rosie can get into creeks or ditches to cool off or grab a drink. This isn’t as important when the weather is cool, but dark-colored fur causes a running animal to heat up quickly in even mild temperatures when the sun is out, which here is usually the case.

One part of this neighborhood always goes to extremes for Hallowe’en, and Rosie is consistently fooled by fake crucifixions and other lighthearted morbidities.

I took a photo across the Sombrero Marsh, then used Google Earth to verify that what I had seen was actually there or at least had been within recent months.

When a dog stares into the sun, the wolf ancestry in her always comes out.

This is a shot of the Baseline Reservoir from Fairview Drive. Fairview High School used to be in this neighborhood, but since the mid-1970s the building has served Nevin Platt Middle School. But it was proper for this street to retain its name.

I have had some jarringly pleasant interactions with random Boulder people during runs lately. Well, today, and parts of this weekend. I’m the same grinning dickhead as always, so I assume people are being friendlier owing to the advent of the holidays, even though this would be a first here or anywhere.

This morning, I was walking Rosie when a woman came running by the other way with her dog. Her dog was protective and started barking, but that’s all there was to it. The woman stopped and started apologizing profusely, and I just said. “I get it believe me, she does the same thing.” The woman apologized again, looking distraught over nothing, and so I yelled “I SAID I FUCKING GET IT! IT’S NORMAL! HAVE A NICE DAY!” but only in my head, and hours later. (My mind seems to get off on purely imaginary bouts of horrific social incongruence in which I instigate harsh lessons with no embedded learning.)

I feel like I am behind on writing about pressing issues, but that is more a consequence of annoyances happening in my everyday life than writing neglect. Even the most eager of you can generally wait an additional 24 to 72 hours for the latest outburst on influencers, demoralized companies, and fact-averse journalists. I also can’t help but mortified by some of the video footage emerging from China right now, which tends to recalibrate by sense of “pressing issue.”

I’m also one to three behind on responding to emails and thanking new subscribers. While this is not a substitute for those personal rejoinders, I did want to note playing catch-up in certain areas. I even thought I might have covid as I’ve been exposed to multiple infected people lately, but I took a test yesterday, and while I hate to end an upbeat entry on the usual note, I was negative.