A Fickle Training Companion

From GRP Runner Andrew Tario

In the middle of the night, Colorado meteorologists across the state wake up screaming, covered in sweat. Or so I imagine. In my mind, these forecasters spend their nights pacing back and forth, up and down their hallways, muttering to themselves and scarfing down antacids by the mouthful to keep the stress ulcers at bay. I can see the crazed look in their eyes as it dawns on them that in just a few hours, at six in the morning, all the citizens of this state will turn on their televisions and tune into the weather forecast to guide their travel choices, weekend plans, and choice of outfit for the next five days. And these meteorologists have to admit to themselves every day that they have absolutely no idea what the weather is going to be like. That, I have come to the conclusion, is because the weather in Colorado is positively absurd.

The author running at Magnolia Drive in Nederland, CO. Shortly after this photo was taken, six tornadoes simultaneously swept down the road and carried him aloft for five miles, before depositing him in a grove of pine trees.

I have not been a resident of this state very long—about a year—and I cannot claim to have anything more than a cursory knowledge of weather systems. But I have been a resident of planet Earth for all twenty-six years of my life, so I think I have a pretty good idea of what constitutes “normal weather”, and Colorado in the springtime is absolutely not an example of that. This presents particular challenges to anyone who enjoys being active, which is seemingly every single resident of this state, and especially for long-distance runners, whose entire sport is predicated on spending extended periods of time outside, exposed to the elements.

Consider the weather from a recent weekend: on May 1st of this past year, Denver recorded a high of 88 degrees Fahrenheit, one degree off the all-time record for the city on that date. I stumbled out into the mid-morning sun, shielding my face from the blinding light, skin pale as if a mortician did my makeup, and trudged through my morning run, delirious, dehydrated, and unprepared for such warm weather after a winter that saw us receive upwards of 2 feet of snow in a single day. I stumbled back into my apartment and lapped up water directly from the sink faucet, acting as though I had just walked through the desert for a week straight. Two days later, the temperature had dropped 50 degrees, and rain was abundant, speckling every sidewalk and footpath with puddles that required the utmost attention to avoid stepping into. I had to put on three layers of clothing to go for a run, and was still cold. How is anyone meant to prepare for such drastic shifts in weather?

This is just one example of the sporadic weather on the Colorado Front Range, which seems to behave with the whim of a spoiled, petulant child whose interests change from one minute to the next. I can recall many mornings in which I woke up to snow on my car, only for the temperature to climb into the 60s or 70s by the early afternoon. In fact, during the course of a Sunday long run, I have experienced the temperature increase close to 20 degrees, or drop the same amount in as little time. Checking the forecast, then, becomes a futile effort. If you set out from your home in a pair of tights and a jacket, you may find yourself sweltering in an hour or so. If you leave in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, you may be comfortable at the start, then a cold front could move in and leave you shivering for the last 8 miles of your run. It is all but guaranteed that you are going to be uncomfortable for at least part of your run.

Not only can the weather change drastically in a short period of time, but the greater Denver area can see massive differences in temperature over relatively small geographic distances. Owing to Denver’s proximity to the Rocky Mountains, massive changes in elevation are possible in a very short period of time. It is extremely doable to set out from Denver (at 5,280 feet of elevation) on a warm and sunny day, and within an hour’s drive on I-70 park your car at a road or trailhead 10,000 feet above sea level, where the temperature is 30 degrees colder, the skies are overcast, and the wind is pummeling you every which way. Congratulations, your genius plan to get in a run at high altitude has now turned into an exercise in dodging hail and determining if that dark mass up ahead on the trail is a downed tree or a black bear.

Despite the difficulty in predicting the weather here, which is akin to throwing darts at a board, I feel extremely fortunate to be able to spend every day training here, under the mercurial gaze of Mother Nature. There is nothing more glorious than the rare winter afternoon, the day after a torrential blizzard, where the temperature rockets up into the 60s, the sun is out, and all the parks are full of pedestrians walking, running, and biking. These days, while giving you false hope that winter is over, are also cherished for their brevity; you know the weather is only going to stay like this for a few hours, so you’d better go out and make the most of it. 

At the risk of grasping at straws and coming across too philosophical, there are parallels that can be drawn between the life of an endurance athlete and the springtime weather. Both are fleeting: long-distance runners cannot maintain their best training indefinitely; we time our peaks carefully over the course of a season. We are not always going to feel good on many of these early-season training runs. Likewise, Spring weather is not all sunshine and rainbows; it is often cold, rainy, gray, nasty. Much like base training, where an athlete stacks easy miles week after week in order to set a foundation for the racing season months in the future, Spring stacks days upon days of cold, wind, and rain, before bursting fully into Summer. Both can be boring; both can test an athlete’s mental fortitude. But both are vital to ensure success over the course of a year. 

So, next time you are out for just another training run, the millionth 8-miler on the same loop, remember that you, like the Spring, are preparing to blossom when the time is right. And if you are out on a long run, facing the prospect of 10 more miles, and feeling like giving up, think of your run as a Spring day in Colorado; it could change any second, so you might as well just hold on and wait for it to get better.

Andrew seeking shade from the hot Colorado sun during a long run last summer.