Golden

Last weekend we drove to Golden so Gary could run with Bob, his coach.  We had been scheduled to go there the week before but the temperatures had dropped and ‘struggled’, as the weatherman said, to reach single digits.  The wind-chill drove the temperature to -40^o.  It should be mentioned that Gary contemplated running those days.  He ran before the bottom fell out of the thermometer on a night when water in his bottle turned to slush.  It was Bob who recommended postpone the run for a week.

The drive through Colorado was spectacular.  We drove first to Boulder, then on to Golden and stayed with Mary and Bob’s friend's house with possibly the best overlook of Golden to be had.  Bob and Mary's house full of young musicians.  Their presence made the house feel fresh and young; full of vibrancy, voices and mandolin playing.

Bob is Gary’s coach; he has run since he was in high school.  He is built like an athlete; lean, strong legs and passion.  Bob could vie with silent Bob for the title; he isn’t much for speaking.  Instead he listens and thinks, pondering your ideas like a mathematical problem before he responds.  In his other life he is an engineer and he manifests that in conversation.  Gary is full of questions; ‘How much do I run?  What schedule should I keep?  What should I eat?  When should I eat?  What if I can’t keep up?’  Bob just nods. ‘Let’s go run.’

They head up one of the mesas that flank Golden; the run is 13 miles and 1,000 ft. vertical climb.  Gary does just fine.  And while they run, Bob talks; he answers Gary’s questions, he talks about his dreams and fears, he gives Gary advice about his running.  They are like young boys although I suspect they are some of the older people on the mountain.

Mary and I begin logistics.  Mary is scout mother material.  She is always cheery and encouraging.  And organized. I suspect she knows every Girl Scout song by heart.  It would be hard not to love her. We had hoped to fly to Chihuahua together then take the train to the canyon.  I am worried about Gary’s back; sitting is his enemy.  I want to keep the travel time to a minimum and while the bus to the canyon is much less expensive, the train will allow him to walk.  Mary agrees.  But we run into a snag.

The people at Entres Amigos, where we are staying, told us that there would be at least 200 runners besides the Raramuri.  That means the hotels and camps in the town of 1500 will fill up quickly; by Wednesday they cannot guarantee us space.  The train leaves Monday, Thursday and the weekend so we need to be there on Monday. We will leave the Tuesday after the race to take the train back to Chihuahua and fly home the next day.  They cannot be gone from work that long.  Mary is the only one of us that is truly bilingual.  Gary and I are learning Spanish by watching old Westerns and Disney movies with Spanish subtitles.  All of us are unsure how practical the ‘the witch is dead’, ‘Well, pilgrim’ and ‘I’ve just tarred and feathered my own brother’ will be.  I guess we will find out.