I did it wrong. Over and over and over. Not sure which part I did right – well, maybe getting home again –but other than that, Saturday's escapades read like a Litany Of Wrongness. On the plus side, of which none was my doing, so as to not detract from my Doing It Wrong, animal activity abounded. I saw birds everywhere, evidence of deer, rabbits, various rodents and this Big Boy/Girl:

That, mis amigos, is a puma print. Since it snowed on Wednesday, and I was doing my Thing o' Wrongness on Saturday morning, s/he must have sauntered up the trail sometime Thursday or Friday. Cool as all get out, but it did make me rubberneck a bit more than usual.

The first wrong thing I did, I did even before setting out; I forgot to eat breakfast (#1). I had every intention of eating a good breakfast, but my family was leaving roughly the same time I was, and it sorta got lost in the shuffle. I did have coffee though. It counts in my book, but not enough.

Along the same lines, I forgot to bring adequate food along for my adventure (#2). A single 300-calorie PowerBar isn't enough for what turned out to be a 4+ hour event, even for my skinny butt. On the bright side, I did bring along enough water. However, I didn't drink enough of what I brought, bringing the Wrong-tally to 3, and counting.

I had decided to do a little more exploration in the Eldorado Canyon area, however, I didn't tell anyone specifically where I was going (#4). Add to that, the fact my family left town not to return until Monday night. If anything had happened to me, I wouldn't have been missed for nigh on 60 hours or so (#5).

Keeping up? So far, five tactical errors, and I hadn't even started the truck yet.

Speaking of the truck, I descended a 4x4 track that was snow-and-mud covered to get to my intended start point. I didn't really have a lot of options to get back out. (Two alternates, I think. Both potentially equally treacherous.) The snow and mud on the departing ascent might be more than just a little difficult (#6).

My intended plan was to ride my bike to investigate. The bike I haven't been on more than twice in ten years (#7). My helmet was ill-fitting and painful; I took it off for part of my ride to alleviate the nascent headache (#8 & #9).

Once I got going, I changed my plan of where an how far I was going to ride (#10). A bit further along, I changed it again, and went where I had no idea the trail led (#11). Why, you are asking, did I take an unknown trail? Good question. I though it might get me to where I needed to go, but wasn't sure, because I had no map (#12), but it headed in the correct general direction, and I was running on empty. (See wrongs #1 and #2.) That particular path was a motorcycle track. Anyone try to ride up a motorcycle track covered with 1" of mud when not covered with 2" snow (#13)? Personally, I think riding a bike up a motorcycle trail is a Wrong all on its own. With a motor, up means straight up: follow contour lines – are you kidding? Yeah, runners can follow the motortrack for short distances, bikes - nah.

As for getting me home, sure, I could use the GPS on my phone to locate me and the truck, despite the lack of cell service, as the GPS uses satellite. But the phone has to be charged for that to work (#14). All that aside, I wasn't able to do a lot of riding up the trail, and – here's a protip for you all – bike shoes, even 18-year old classics with laces – don't have a lot of traction in snow and mud. With >1000' gain in just two miles (see below), making those two miles took me seemingly forever. The Hills Were Alive With The Sound Of Cursing.

I did finally make it back to the car. I was exhausted and thought seriously about sleeping a few hours before attempting to leave. I desperately needed some fuel input into my system, and reached for the Recoverite that would alleviate the twitchies in my leg muscles (calf and quad this time - special!). Alas, I had forgotten that, too. (#15).

Needless to say, I survived, and I was able to glean some positives out of the experience: (a) The route is a viable run route. Rocky in parts, steep in a few, but overall, for a distance maven, enjoyable. (b) I only spent 8 miles of the 14 total in the saddle. My butt-bones thank me.  (c) I hopefully learned something from this.

To sum: Do as I Say, Not as I Did, and if you yearn to sojourn solo like I do:

1. Tell someone your start point, your route and your ETA to the startpoint. 
   
2. Do not deviate from your planned route. See something interesting? Do it another day.
   
3. Take enough nutrition for twice the expected distance and duration.
   
4. Take a phone and make sure it's fully charged.

As my curses and self-recriminations echoed off the canyon (who knew how many times I could drop F-bombs in a row?), I realized it's good for me to go alone. There isn't a person on the earth who would have enjoyed my company for more than the first mile/15 minutes. Doing it this way, at least some will enjoy my route, though. If you want to see any of the routes I've found check out the trail maps page on ccrunners.com and download the ccrunners_routes.kmz file. Some interesting places.

When I run, I don't wear headphones (a dog attack several years ago cured me of that), but I am a person that likes music. Usually, I get something well known - at least to me - have it rattling about in my head, then change the lyrics to suit whatever is happening. Some highlights from this weekend's activities:
Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill"  Didn't have to change much of it, except I did substitute "Walking" for "Running" most of the time.
The Beatles' "Hard Day's Night" This one got mangled as follows:

"It was a long downhill, and my IT hurts like hell.
It was a long downhill, and my IT hurts like hell.
But when I get to my car, 
I'll know in my heart,
It really wasn't that far."

That one popped to mind when I was coming off an exploratory activity, looking for a way up to McTarnahan from the west. I did find a route that isn't too bad. The problem for me was on the planned route down, I missed a turn and ended up slogging cross-country, cross-slope, timber bashing through the snow to get to where I thought I was supposed to be. I guess that's what I get for trying to memorize the route and not take a map along. 
The route up was a bit sandy:

On Sunday, I marked a route far too long for me to run for others to do. I did do a down and back in Sullivan Canyon to mark the turn from Eldorado Canyon, since I couldn't drive it. While descending the canyon early, it was a bit chilly and my nose was running more than usual. That, of course, brought to mind the Bellamy Brothers' classic "Let Your Love Flow" but with the lyrics "Let your snot flow" instead. Fitting.
The rest of the route, I drove to mark. Still, I barely finished ahead of the runners. Fast bunch.

I went out afoot in the dirt on Sunday for the first time in more than three weeks. Why so long, you ask. Well, I had been traveling, but mainly it was the result of Pop & Whoosh (see below). Regardless of how I got to this point, I did. Trying to recapture some spark, I decided to do a little exploring to the east. I had seen Sullivan Canyon from the air, it looked inviting, and exploratory events tend to be interesting.
As a result of my sedentary lifestyle for the last few weeks, within the first we steps, I was generating lung butter to beat the band. Seeing as how I was doing an out-and-back type of run, I figured I could mark my trail with the chunks.
Along the way, I saw no people, heard no motors, and only saw birds. During the many times I stopped, the silence was profound, once you eliminated my laborious breathing.
My return route was punctuated with my constant mantra of  "Follow The Yellow Phlegm Road" as I watched for my markers, and footprints.

Sullivan Canyon itself was worth it. Going down was entertaining, and, while making my slow way back up, I though about nonsensical comparisons of canyon to person (in Angela Sullivan) instead of the nagging and incessant pains I was by then experiencing:

I'm sure there are more comparisons that could be made, but that was enough to get me back to the top. If you know Angela, or another Sullivan, feel free to create your own comparison table. 

"Pop" and "whoosh" are noises not normally associated with trail running, and in a sense, they still aren't. However, as it relates in this case, they are the sounds I associate to January 21 – the day I lost my already-wavering motivation. Let me describe it. I understand the description might stretch credibility, but whatever. Suspend your disbelief for a few and humor me.
There I was, sitting in a Starbucks with my homies, Motivation, Annual Goal Attainment, and Nascent Existentialist Depression. I was slamming my second (or was it my third?) venti Komodo  and working; I can't exactly say what the rest were doing, but they were there with me. Probably eating coffee cake.
Anyway, there we were, and in walks Soul-Crushing Reality.He's a big, ugly brute. Not someone you'd want to meet under any circumstances, let alone working a weekend, two thousand miles from home. He didn't say a word: just glared at me. Motivation saw the look, my reaction, and - as they would have said 40 years ago - split the scene.
Now's the time for a little physics lesson. As something evacuates a space, the air surrounding it collapses to fill the newly created void - the normal process of actualizing a pressure differential. This typically goes unnoticed, except on a large, slow scale, where wind is created or a smaller (yet still large) scale, where lightning rips the atmosphere and the air returning is heard as thunder.
On a small scale, if something evacuates fast enough, the air replacement can be heard as a popping sound. My buddy Motivation disappeared so fast, the pop was plainly audible.
Annual Goal Attainment was quietly picking his nose and examining the results when he heard the pop. He looked up and saw the door swinging shut behind Motivation. "Hey... hey! Wait for me!" and with an audible whoosh, Annual Goal Attainment was likewise gone, leaving me only with Nascent Existential Depression for company. Swell.
I was hoping that getting out again would revitalize my motivation and bring the guys back. The jury's still out on that. If I had turned around at the point when I felt great, and finished strong, I might have had done so. Unfortunately, that point came at around 25% of the total distance. Should have listened. Motivation and mood dissipated as distance increased – lung-butter fun notwithstanding. I walked the last 40% of the journey. That, my friends, is demotivating.

Despite the beauty of the area, the solitude and spectacular weather, be glad you didn't participate in my phlegm-fest, you'd have been frustrated by incessantly waiting for my slow ass, and grossed out by the constant hacking. As for the title, that's how I answered the question of "How did your run go?" upon my return to civilization.