Emerald: A Singularly Satisfying Run (Part 3 of 3)

Sun Rising On Gnarled Tree - Eye to Eye, Emerald Mountain, October, 2025

Snow, Fog, and Witches' Brooms - Stairway to Heaven, November, 2025

It's 5:00am. I switch on my light, wrap myself in my fleece-lined flannel while still under the warm covers, and reluctantly get out of bed. While my tea water boils I look out the window to determine my clothing choices - the snow is blowing sideways and there’s plenty on the ground. Shortly after 5:30 I head out the door, swathed in layers from head to toe, headlamp beaming into the dark, my Salomon spiked running shoes biting into the icy snow.

By the time I make it back, around 8:30, I’ve done battle with Mr. Grumpy in an old work truck outfitted with a plow up on Fish Creek Falls Road, avoided SUVs filled with eager families racing down Steamboat Boulevard to the ski mountain, and, though I’ve been snacking and sipping from my running vest, I’m hungry, tired, and ready for some hot coffee, even if it is decaf.

That was my Saturday morning routine last winter. I was training for the Run Through Time trail half-marathon in Salida last March, and my daughter and I compared notes on training all winter since she was doing it too. Most of my Saturday long runs involved some version of a blizzard, although there were a few clear mornings that were so frigid I got colder as the hours went by. That’s winter training.

I would not say that I looked forward to those long run days - and most especially I dreaded the run-ins with the foul-tempered snowplow driver. But I was highly motivated to get the miles in, wanting to be as prepared as possible for Salida.

This year is different. My daughter and I are doing the full trail marathon in Salida this coming March. After a decade away from trail running (with the sole exception of the half-marathon last March), I started training on Emerald Mountain in August. But instead of my long runs being something to be gotten through, I’ve discovered that running Emerald Mountain is my favorite thing to do. 

I’ve written about some of the things that make Emerald special (There’s No Place Like Emerald Mountain Part 1 of 3, and Emerald Mountain - More Than A Gem Part 2 of 3). But I’m also aware that it is running specifically that makes my time there so fulfilling. There is something singularly satisfying when trotting along those trails. Ducking under gnarled and blackened tree boughs on Eye to Eye’s crazy maze-like switchbacks. Climbing the steep Stairway to Heaven, knowing that it is getting me to the top as quickly as it can. Hudson alternating between sunny clearings and patches of woods ominous and dark from trees tightly packed. The quiet peace and long views to the west on Wild Rose, delicately sprinkled with a touch of white. Of course this could all be experienced at a walk. But it is the running, where even at my slow pace, there is a brief moment when both feet are off the ground. With each and every stride, I am flying, just that little bit. 

It could also be the endorphins. I’m up there long enough for the endorphins to come and go, and return again. The trail marathon, with its 4000 feet of climbing, might take me over 7 hours to complete. Although my longest run to date is only 4.5 hours, that is still tons of endorphin-marination for my body and brain.

But the other morning, I realized one of the key reasons that running on Emerald is my happy place. I headed up in a soft rain, which was pleasant until the build-up of heavy clay mud rendered my trotting to a slip-slide-squelch. With a bit more elevation the raindrops became snowflakes, the mud firmed up and gave way to snow. When I reached the top I paused before heading back down. All was hushed. The dark trees stood, eerie in the misty fog, their witches’ brooms prominent. The trail, carpeted in thick white, beckoned as it disappeared around a bend. 

Eager to accept the trail’s invitation, I headed down. I made my way towards Blackmere (the main dirt/gravel road up to the Quarry), aiming to hit it towards the bottom to avoid the worst of the muck I’d come through on the way up. Thus, I exchanged one trail for another all the way down - a mountain do-si-do: Stairway to Prayer Flag, a quick side step to Hudson, back to Prayer Flag, then Blair Witch to Larry’s. Navigating roots and rocks, up and around curvy switchbacks, pushing the pace on firm ground, tip-toeing through slushy puddles. 

In the midst of all this, it came to me: play. Yes - play - that was why I loved it up here - I was having a great time! I remembered how much fun Charlotte and I had one morning, even though we got separated, because we were always just missing each other on the trails, always nearby but not close enough to see one another. It was like playing a game of tag with the mountain as our playground. 

I think Emerald is wise to this. It welcomes the sense of play, and the love of its stories and its history. Emerald Mountain is aware of the fact that there are silly humans like me running around its generous flanks, reveling at the way the icicles drip from horizontal branches as the sun rises, at the glimpse of a chestnut fox darting across a meadow, or a chocolate brown moose tranquilly chewing breakfast. Or the way the Tree Sprite gives me a wink at the end of every run. 

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Tree Sprite - Emerald Mountain, September, 2025