As a youngster of 9 or 10, I decided that I wanted to join my Dad, and his running partner Steve, on their jogs. I fancied myself capable, and they were kind enough to indulge me. My Dad, for his bit, had completed the erstwhile running bible by Jim Fixx , and had added the complete Rocky (cue the music) workout wardrobe to his exercise paraphernalia. Dad was all grey sweats, oatmeal & raw eggs. Committed to personal fitness. I was hooked. Our first jaunt took us outside the Aspen Glen trailer park, down a fairly steep, paved grade, and on to the gravel shoulder of Highway 82 towards Aspen (more on this in an upcoming post). I pedaled my stubby legs as hard as they would go in an effort to keep up. Easily distracted by passing traffic, actually afraid I was going to die of a burst lung or at the bumper of an oncoming Chevy Vega , I fell forward - hands out - into the cinders. The meat grinder of runners and cyclists alike. Barking your han...
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