open space

Thankful Thursday: trailrunning

/ Tracy Abell / 22 Comments

Just over three weeks ago, I took a pretty hard fall while running on the trails in the open space. I’ll spare you the image of my left knee that I texted to my sons after limping home (an image that prompted Wildebeest to reply, “Ewwwww. Mother I am squeamish”), and will only say that the last bits of scabbing came off two days ago (to which everyone reading is probably thinking, “Ewwwww, Tracy. We’re squeamish!”) The point is, my knee is healed and while I’d already resumed running on the streets, I was very nervous about trail running again.

I got up at six this morning knowing I needed to run early in order to beat the heat, and checked in with my intuition: run on the trails or run on the streets? Trails. Okay, then. In an attempt to feel slightly more protected, I put on leggings despite temperatures already in the 60s.

Not gonna lie: it’s always scary to run on those rocky trails after a fall and today was no different. It was hard to fully relax and I had to intentionally push images of tripping and falling out of my mind. I talked myself through the run (“You are strong. You are resilient. You are mindful. Feet on the ground, feet on the ground, feet on the ground,”) and tried very hard to be in the moment. Whenever my brain jumped to catastrophe, I reminded it to “be in this moment, with these steps.” [Note: I’m sharing these details to document the experience for myself, but also in case this approach might be helpful for anyone dealing with a trauma.]

I wasn’t alone out in the open space. A large dark butterfly flew right in front of me, bringing a grin. Birds sang (lots of Spotted Towhees with their sweet sweet teeeeea) and when I paused to stretch at the top of the slog, I heard the liquid song of a Western Meadowlark.

Not a great photo but this was my very first Western Meadowlark sighting of the year at Lake Hasty on 4.3.24

While I avoided a particularly rocky segment of the trail, I knew it was imperative I run past where I’d fallen. As I got closer to the scene of the fall, all sorts of feelings and tightness showed up in my body, and I paused to allow myself to feel all of that. As I had immediately after the initial fall, I visualized my left foot hitting the rock in the trail and then rewrote the story in my mind. Instead of slamming into the hard ground, I slid into what was essentially a slip-n-slide of banana pudding (yep, that’s what my brain came up with that day). Both initially and today, I allowed my body to feel that frictionless sensation and then visualized myself laughing as I wiped pudding from my face and hands, and licked it from my fingers. I went through that exercise several times. It’s a somatic experiencing trick I learned from my therapist, and I highly recommend this for releasing trauma from your system. It works. As I walked home from the initial fall, my knee hurt but my body was already more relaxed. And over the next week, whenever the image of falling popped into my head, I reverted to my banana pudding rewrite. Pretty soon, I stopped having “flashbacks.”

Today I’m very grateful that I was able to run on my beloved trails again. I’m grateful I remained upright and I’m grateful for the tools I have to help me recover. I know from past experience that today’s run didn’t fully liberate me from my trauma and that I’ll be tentative for a bit, but facing my fear will go a long way toward getting me back to where I want to be. And where I want to be is out running on the trails. 🙂

Snowy aftermath

/ Tracy Abell / 13 Comments

Yesterday my plan to spend the day doing revisions was upended by a snowstorm that began at about 10:00 in the morning and continued for twelve hours. By the time it ended, we’d received at least 17 inches of snow (it was HEAVY so there was compression). This was the view out the kitchen window right after sunrise this morning.

And here’s the patio where we’d sat just days earlier when the temperatures were in the 50s.

Yesterday’s shoveling was an exercise in futility as the snow fell faster than we could clear it. The neighbors and I never had more than a minute or two of feeling a sense of accomplishment before the pavement was covered again and we had to start all over.

A neighbor from farther up the hill made a crucial error when driving up our street on his way home: he stopped to allow a struggling vehicle to get past on the barely plowed street and then was unable to get going again. His vehicle slid to the gutter and my immediate neighbors and I spent a long time trying to dig them out, but the road got too slick beneath the tires and there was no traction. He ended up abandoning the vehicle overnight.

Despite waking up a bit stiff and tired from all the shoveling, I couldn’t resist the lure of the open space. Late this morning, I gathered my snowshoes and poles, and walked up to the trailhead. After strapping on the snowshoes, I veered off the path where others had already walked, thinking I wanted my own adventure. Um, no. The deep snow made each step a major chore and I knew I’d be exhausted within minutes. I instead followed others’ footprints, huffing and puffing as I gained elevation beneath the blue-blue-blue sky. I did my best to ignore the nasty brown cloud hovering above Denver and the surrounding area. Instead, I smiled at the yucca spines sticking up from the snow, marveled at the really deep drifts, and listened to chickadees and juncos. There were deer tracks and ski tracks, and I saw one person carrying a snowboard. Up on the ridgeline, a group of younger people were sledding down the hill.

On the way down, I chose to take advantage of gravity and break trail rather than follow the established trail. Plumes of snow rose and fell with each step, making me feel strong and powerful.

And after getting home and eating some delicious avocado toast, I finally got to work on revisions. Yay!

Thankful Thursday: clean air hike

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

While many, many other communities continue to struggle with unhealthy and hazardous air quality due to wildfire smoke, the air has been clear in the Denver metro area. Zippy, Emma, and I ventured out into the open space for the first time in weeks after lots of rain made the trails too muddy. Hooray for them being almost completely dry again!

Here are a few highlights, beginning with the Turkey Vulture soaring overhead when we got on the trail:

One of a few blooming Paintbrushes:

And finally, an enormous bumblebee drinking from a lupine (I wish I could include audio because this bee was BUZZING):

I’m grateful for the clean air, the glory of the natural world, and my ability to move about on the trails. I humbly receive these gifts.

I researched so you wouldn’t have to

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

I photographed this bee in the open space in early July and hadn’t looked at the image since. But I was intrigued enough just now to go down the online research rabbit hole. “Green bee” gave me too many hits, but “metallic green bee” narrowed the responses.

July 2, 2022

 

I’m pretty darned sure this is a Hymenoptera-Halictidae-Agapostemon melliventris, otherwise known as the Honey-tailed Striped Sweat Bee.

Oh, and that pink thing is a thistle. Just kidding . . . it’s a Musk Thistle (Nodding Thistle).

You’re welcome.

Twofer Tuesday: thistle edition

/ Tracy Abell / 4 Comments

Took my camera into the open space over the weekend where it’s not nearly as colorful and vibrant as last summer. The majority of wildflowers have already been and gone. However, the thistles had ample representation.

July 2, 2022

Thistles are an invasive species and I certainly don’t like coming into contact with their thorns as I run the trails, but they are fiercely beautiful. And the bees and butterflies appreciate their presence. As does this non-pollinator.

I receive these gifts

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

This morning, I ran on the trails for the first time in a while and my heart soared. A Red-winged Blackbird sang its song as I chugged up the first hill, but from then on out it was a magpie-rich experience. They raucously called from trees and flew overhead. One perched on a bush next to the trail and I watched it as I ran closer, regretting that my approach would startle it away. The regal corvid remained there until I was nearly within arm’s reach before flying across the ravine.

Black-billed Magpie out my window.  September 1, 2019

Just up the trail and around the corner on the approach to what we call the Bunny Run (because, you know, bunnies frequently seen there), two more magpies perched on either side of the trail, silhouetted against the sky. That sight prompted me to open my arms wide and proclaim out loud, “I receive this. Thank you!” And as I did, another gift appeared.

Photo by Jim Kennedy (Metzger Farm Open Space)

A coyote about 50 feet away, loping through the brush behind one of the magpies. The dark-faced coyote* stopped to watch me. I stopped and watched it, speaking in a low voice. Reassuring it that I came in peace. Then it took off again and I resumed running. When I reached the top of the Bunny Run, I stopped to look back. The coyote had also stopped to watch me. I waved, shouting my thanks and good wishes, and resumed the run with a smile and a little more pep in my step.

Farther up the trail, I saw two people. As I got closer, I realized one was sitting. In a chair? And then I noticed a hawk circling overhead. I watched the hawk as I ran, wondering at the flash of white underneath the wings. And just as it hit me that it wasn’t a hawk, I heard the loud buzzing sound. That non-hawk was a drone. Ugh. No more bird sounds. No more solitude. No more smile on my face.

But after grumpily running past the people and their drone, I reminded myself of all I’d already been gifted. So I less-grumpily continued up to the turnaround point at the top of The Slog (because, you know, never-ending uphill) and did my stretching. Then I raced down toward the people who sent up an even larger and louder drone right as I passed, and focused on the joy of movement. The only thing that mattered was being out on the trails again. Moving. Alive.

Thank you, universe. I receive these gifts.

* my search for images of dark-faced coyotes was unsuccessful

Round and round we go

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

Despite today’s frigid temperatures, spring is around the corner, and I’m warming myself with memories of a hike in the open space last June. We’d gotten lots of snow last winter and so the flowers were magnificent.

Here’s a burst of color from a type of blooming thistle that’s probably invasive and somewhat annoying when it scratches my legs as I run past on the trails. But pretty, right?

June 24, 2021

I don’t have the time to identify these yellow wildflowers because, well, there are sh*t-tons of yellow wildflowers. But it’s a lovely little wheel, isn’t it?

Here’s another probably-invasive thistle which is also scratchy-scratchy when I run past, but right now reminds me of a burst of warm, pink sunshine.

Lastly, here’s a delicate specimen that, despite its straight-forward appearance, defies identification. White and yellow wildflowers definitely test my skills.

This latest snowfall is priming the ground for another glorious wildflower display and I look forward to exploring with my camera in a few months.

Wrinkles and torn wings

/ Tracy Abell

As much as I loathe this aging thing, I’m beginning to recognize that I am now a healthier person in terms of self-worth and knowing who I am and where I fit in the world. That’s been a good trade-off for the wrinkles. ~ Patty Duke

June 24, 2021

Life does have a way of leaving its mark upon the body. But hey, it’s good to know we can still fly, torn wings or not.

The best reward

/ Tracy Abell / 5 Comments

All those who love Nature she loves in return, and will richly reward, not perhaps with the good things they are commonly called, but with the best things, of this world–not with money and titles, horses and carriages, but with bright and happy thoughts, contentment and peace of mind. ~ John Lubbock

Blue Flax in the open space.  June 24, 2021

Thankful Thursday: full heart edition

/ Tracy Abell / 4 Comments

I got up this morning and went for a run on the trails.

Hayden Green Mountain Park.  June 24, 2021

While this photo was taken a week ago, I enjoyed the same view today (these three dragonflies may or may not have been present this time around as I tend to watch the trail more than the sky due to tripping hazards) and grinned pretty much throughout the entire run. My body felt sluggish, but my soul overfloweth with gratitude as I drank in the natural beauty.

*happy sigh*

Twofer Tuesday

/ Tracy Abell

Twofer Tuesday is doing double-duty today. In addition to the two blooms in this photo,

Hayden Green Mountain Park. June 24, 2021

my online research tells me this plant (Argemone polyanthemos) is a member of the poppy family and that one of its common names is “Thistle Poppy.” (Woot! Two plant species in one!)

Also? Every bit of this plant, including the seeds, is poisonous. So, be sure not to lean in too close when admiring the photo. 🙂

Mutualism

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

Hayden Green Mountain Park. June 24, 2021

Nature promotes mutualism. The flower nourishes the bee. The river waters quench the thirst of all living beings. And trees provide a welcoming home to so many birds and animals. There is a rhythm to this togetherness.  ~ Ram Nath Kovind

Hot on the trails

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

This morning we opted to take our daily walk on the trails and headed out when it was a mild 70 degrees. I didn’t bring water because I didn’t think we’d need it. And at the time Zippy took this photo with his phone, Emma was still handling the heat pretty well. (Telltale sign: tongue flopped forward rather than dangling to the side.)

Emma and a clump of Blanketflower in Hayden Green Mountain Park. June 22, 2021

But by the time we’d walked about 2.5 miles and stepped back on a neighborhood street, Emma was done. She collapsed in a full sploot on a patch of shaded pavement. She absolutely did not want to move and I thought I might have to carry her home. There was precedent for this behavior and I most definitely should’ve known better.

Fortunately, the three of us did make it home without having to take turns carrying each other and, once inside, I immediately set my water holster next to my trail shoes. A pointed reminder in case I somehow (again) forget her overheated sploot. I owe it to my sweet little doggo to keep her hydrated.

Twofer Tuesday: tuckered hikers edition

/ Tracy Abell / 3 Comments

Emma and I just returned from a sunny and warm excursion in the open space. We hiked up the mountain as fast as we could and then ran down. Well, we did some running. My short-legged companion doesn’t like the heat and slowed to a walk multiple times. At one point, she even did her signature “goin’ on strike” move.  She stopped and dug in to pull the leash taut, then flopped on her belly with pink tongue hanging out.

I’d already offered her water from my cupped hand when we were at the top of the mountain, which she refused. So when she was on her belly, I tried another approach: pouring water in front of her. Instead of lapping it with her tongue, she ignored it. Silly dog, refusing libation when hot and thirsty. Well, I wasn’t willing to take no for an answer and pried her jaws open to pour water in her mouth.

Worked like a charm! Emma got up and ran almost the entire way back to the street. Such a good doggo.

(Note: Zippy took the photo with the camera still set for shooting the Brown Creeper in low light even though Emma and I were in bright, bright light. I salvaged the photo via a filter. Artsy, no?)

Good omen

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

Zippy accepted my invitation to run on the trails with me this afternoon. It turned out, lots of people had the same idea so we ran our regular route in reverse to avoid the hiking couple we saw as soon as we got on the trail. I’m so glad we did because as we ran along the ravine, we were gifted a wildlife sighting.

Photo by Jim Kennedy.  Metzger Farm Open Space, CO.  January 19, 2019.

Four coyotes on the opposite slope. Two loped off to our left and the others sat next to the trail where we planned to run. We debated turning around so as to not further stress the remaining two and then decided it was a stress for them either way. So on we went, and the coyotes melted into the brush at our uphill, huffing approach.

I’d thought my coyote-sighting days were behind me as I’ve mostly seen them early in the mornings and I’m no longer an early-in-the-morning runner. But this here Monday played against type and started the week with a wonderful surprise. Definitely a good omen.

Thankful Thursday: 5 items, yo!

/ Tracy Abell

Black-billed Magpie in open space. March 31, 2020.

This morning, for the second day in a row, I got up and ran on the trails.

Black-billed Magpies perched on yucca alongside the trail and flew ahead of me as I chugged along, bringing smiles and lifting my spirits.

I’m excited to regain the strength and endurance I’ll need for the many fights ahead on behalf of the people and planet.

Day by day, I’m inching closer to FINALLY understanding my protagonist in my new novel project. That’s the good news. The bad is there’s a very good chance the 4k words I’ve written thus far will end up in the trash and I’ll be back to 0 words. However, I’m feeling more solid and at peace with this newer understanding.

While knotty writing problems sometimes amp up my frustration, they also take my focus and provide a refuge from our current (and future) reality. Hooray for an inner creative life!

Highlight reel

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

Emma the doggo and I walked on the trails this morning. At one point, as she snuffled at the many odors in the vegetation, something caught my eye. I got a brief glimpse of big ears and two eyes of a creature peering at me from behind a bush farther up the trail. We remained motionless, staring at one another. As my brain tried to process what I was seeing, I blinked, and the animal was gone. I’m pretty sure it was a coyote, although much smaller than this one.

By g’pa bill – Coyote Dad, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22832337

Emma didn’t even notice the coyote, but as we advanced up the trail her sniffing became even more urgent. I searched the surrounding area: no sign of what I’d seen. I could almost believe I imagined the whole thing, but every time I close my eyes I picture the fur, the intense eyes, and those enormous ears.

Definitely the highlight of my day.

Thwarting my brain

/ Tracy Abell

I’ve had to revisit Dr. John Sarno’s mind-body connection lately due to ongoing vertigo. After three weeks of living at a tilt, I had an epiphany and realized it was my brain trying to distract me from the many emotions I’m experiencing during these difficult times. My brain thinks I’ll be better served if I’m focused on bogus sensations rather than doing the helpful things that help me manage my anger/anxiety/fear, helpful activities such as trail-running. Since the onset of this dizzy bullshit on June 9, I haven’t run on the trails. Because what’s scarier than rocks and roots sticking up on narrow , uneven trails, hoping to trip an already-tippy me?

I’ll tell you. A three-foot snake across the trail.

Image from Wikimedia Commons

How do I know? This morning I finally went out in the open space. (note: the vertigo has greatly subsided since I caught on to my brain, but things are still off.) I’d only run about 20 feet from the trail head when my right foot came down close to an enormous snake. I let loose with my customary profanity as I jumped left. The snake didn’t acknowledge my presence, but my heart still pounded as I watched it slither along. No rattling. I now think it was a bull snake, but I didn’t lean in to verify whether it had slit-like pupils (rattlesnake) as opposed to a bull snake’s circular pupils. I will say that I had a whole new pep in my step when I started running again. Adrenaline can be a beautiful thing.

During my three-mile run, I also saw rabbits on the part of the trail we call the “bunny run” and later on kicked up a flock of magpies. The Spotted Towhees were also out in force, singing their “sweet-sweet-teeeeaaaa” songs. It was wonderful being there again. My pace was slow but my spirits were high.

Take that, brain!

Good afternoon, moon

/ Tracy Abell / 4 Comments

Moon as seen from open space. Afternoon of March 31, 2020.

The moon, by her comparative proximity, and the constantly varying appearances produced by her several phases, has always occupied a considerable share of the attention of the inhabitants of the earth.   ~ Jules Verne