Can I Afford the Effort Required to Run at 5,430 Feet Above Sea Level?

This morning I ran four miles through the trails leading out of the town of Boulder, Colorado. I don't wear a watch very often when I run these days. After four years of running and racing I have a good sense how my effort at any given moment translates into a minutes-per-mile-pace. In Colorado, however, I estimate my speed by knowing how fast I would be running, given my effort, in my sea level streets of Brooklyn and then I add a full minute per mile.

I am in Boulder this week for my organization's bi-annual conference. For days I have very little time to myself and the time I do have is spent honing and practicing my talking points, finding typos in the program that I should have found BEFORE it went to print, and trying desperately to get enough sleep to make it through the long days. Most of the time while here I am the host at my own party. A bookish loner from birth, it is not a role that comes naturally to me.

Many people here know that I run. They are supportive. They also joke fondly. They ask me if I ran this morning. They ask me how far I ran this morning. They ask me what time I had to get up to get in a run.  And for a moment I think, "Wow, maybe I should have slept in instead."

It often takes a lot of effort to get out of bed and run. This is especially true when I know a very full day lies ahead and the night before involved dinner and a glass or two of Cabernet. And here in Colorado, 5,430 above sea level, with air at a premium, where I get breathless just going up a flight of stairs, with a large room full of people counting on me, can I afford the effort required to run?

Then I remember who I am. And I know that my running allows me to bravely face my days. It allows me to come through for others and for myself.

So today I awoke at 5:30am, slipped on my running clothes and shoes, pressed the down button of the elevator, and stepped out of the hotel lobby into the cool morning air. And two hours later—remembering my breath floating gently outside of my swiftly moving body—I smiled and welcomed eighty gathered colleagues.