Run: 5 miles in :43:22 min. @ 6:30 a.m. (Mountain Time)Heart Monitor Data: 547 cals, 79% MHR avg., 85% MHR max.
Weather Report: Mostly Cloudy, 69°F, 26% Humidity, Winds: N @ 17 mph; feels like 69°F.
This was the last morning before leaving tomorrow at 5:30 a.m. for Fort Collins and the start of the Wild West Relay. When I was slightly awoken this morning, I had committed myself to not going running today, to taking the morning "off," to mentally telling myself I was "tapering" my training. My knees were achy, my ankle tweeked and my throat dry. After a few sleepy motivational comments from my wife, my resolve melted and I found myself pulling on the running shorts and socks on, looking to give the prairie roads one more shuffling pass.
The weather was the coolest yet and the brisk breeze dired the beads of sweat forming on my brow before they could slide down my cheek. TUrning the first corner, an upward climb with no visible decsneting slope, the range dogs began barking what had become a traditional eraly morning greeting. I noticed, however, that one dogf was roaming free unemcunbered by a fenece, inviisble or otherwirse. A young German Short Haired Pointer with predominently liver coloring of the head, the pup began running alongside me, folwing in the "tchk-tchk-tchk" wake of my footstrike. I had learned over the last few days that in such instances, simply ignoring the dog would negate any danger and generally they would follow a few feet and quickly veer back into their yards. Not this mutt.
He followed me for about a ahlf amile until I turned right off of his block. He kept taying with me, occassionally running ahead and into the prarire tochase birds or rabbits, or to yelp hello to his peers who could not escape their crates or pens. A fan of John Steinbeck's The Red Pony, in my head I begna to refer to the pup as Doubletree Mutt, the name of one of the main character's farm dogs. This particular Doubletree Mutt, stayed with me as I shuffled along the self-contained figure eight formation of my brother-in-law's prairie community.
I began to converse wih myself abut this silly mutt: Aren't Doubletree Mutt's family worried about him? Maybe he spends the day running the greater range, returning home only for breakfast and rest. What if Doubletree Mutt can't find his way home? He's probably picked up and gone travelling before. If I run into the paved roads as I had planned, won't Doubletree Mutt get hit by oncoming traffic?
I changed my inetended run course to allow us to remain on the gravelly roads were I had already seen Doubletree Mutt smartly switch sides with me to evade the trucks that would occassionally ramble by in a cloud of dust. Remembering were he had latched onto to me, I selected the paths that would eventually lead us back past what I reckoned was Doubletree Mutt's homestead. It took about two miles for the stars and paths to align: past the llamas, past the horses, aroudnt he mailboxes; until we found ourselves once again shuffling by Doubletree Mutt's house. I fought the dust and my exhaustion from the run to verbalize the first words I had said out loud to him, "Go on home, pup!" He cocked his head and zipped up into the bramble surrounding the house. Smiling I began to make my way home.
As I made the final left and ascent to the edge of the driveway, I heard the familiar (though more quickly paced) "tchk-tchk-tchk" and turning, saw Doubletree Mutt running up behind me. "You've got to go home, mutt!" I wheezed. I stopped at the entrance path to the house and pointed toward the path he'd just come down,"THanks mutt, but its time to go."
Doubletree Mutt turned and walked about ten feet to sniff around some brush, at which time I darted down the path, behind the house. My feeling is that after touring the yards briefly, Doubletree Mutt found his way home, too.
Breathe in, breathe out... YOU AND I ARE ALIVE!
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