A Lucky Fall from Horsetooth

I fell off the Rock on Saturday.
I'm fine, just scrapes and bruises. Considering....everything...could've been much worse.

Here are small pics to spare you if you're squeamish about blood, but clicking on them yields the larger ones:





It wasn't a random accident, it was a preventable incident. I overstepped my capabilities and slipped, end of story. Broke the rule -- no, Commandment, really -- about having solid points of contact with the rock. I was lucky to learn my lesson, I'm not laughing it off, I have no excuses, and if anything I hope someone else learns something (or reiterates something they already knew).

***

24 Hours of Towers was today, so many FCTR folk are heading up and down the iconic, hilly testpiece in a gorgeous September Day. I'm tapering for a race -- remember that? -- so I was looking to join for the premiere lap at 7AM, jog over to the Rock for a weekly summit, and then call it a day.

We had a great group for the morning, alternating between good conversation at a steady pace and Slush and I push each other a bit. At the top, we hung out and cheered on a few more runners, took some pictures, and then Slush, Nick, and I took the Secret Trail over to the Rock. On the way over, Nick and I talked about investigating some Rock options, as we've been excited (spurred by his ideas a few weeks ago) about different climbing routes up the Rock. As you'll recall, there's a South, Middle, and North summit, with the North summit having a trail and light scrambling to the top, while other Class 4 and higher options abound.

We decided to explore the South Rock. Knowing that there are several easy options on the South end, we decided to investigate the North "gap" a bit more, and after sighting a line from the ground and watching Nick lead, it became apparent that it wasn't going to go easily. I wrapped around to the West side of the Rock and it was even more vertical. Cautiously, we abandoned this effort, and made our way to a chimney that Scott had pointed out.

That was a good salvage, as the chimney provided easy and clean passage to the top. It was easier than the Middle Rock is, so it's good, fun practice for that little bit of climbing.

We headed down and decided to explore the south gap of the North tooth a bit further. Nick had done a route recently and was eager to show it. But as we were over there, I tried going a bit further East. It looked like a viable option, except for a tricky move or two near the top, but then it would be home free. But I didn't like the look of it, so I headed down after I wasn't happy with the next move.

Then, unfortunately, I took another glance from below, and convinced myself to give it another try.

I made my way up and was plastered to the side of the rock, but ended up vertical and one good foothold, an OK hand, and the rock bulging slightly towards me. I needed a better 2nd foothold, but it looked like if I pressed myself against the rock and pushed up, I could get a better handhold and then a knee. I got the first hold and moved up, and now I was committed -- I pushed up further with a knee, and then as I tried to bring my foot up, I lost my other foot. I tried lowering myself to regain a foothold and scuttled my feet some more. The rest happened both instantaneously and very drawn-out, but at some point I knew I was going to fall and prepared myself more for that rather than trying to swipe at the rock for more grip.

I kind of fell and slid against the rock. I didn't have time to think or react or shout, but the most distinct sensation was that of incredible speed (mixed with disbelief). I couldn't believe I was moving that fast down rock. I don't know how far I fell or slid, but I was at the incredible mercy of the terrain. I didn't feel like I was at a fatal height, but I didn't spin or flip, and I didn't hit my head, and I didn't break any bones. I didn't twist awkwardly and pull any ligaments. And immediately, I didn't every really hurt.

I shouted to Nick but also myself that "I'm alright" and took more inventory -- scrapes and some blood. I couldn't believe my fortune. I stood up and still felt OK.

Then I noticed a deep gash in my outer thigh -- that one was going to need some attention. It was all the way through the outer layer of skin, revealing gristle underneath like cutting into a piece of chicken, but luckily hadn't penetrated any further. It was only superficial blood vessels that had been affected, so I wasn't bleeding too much.

I tied my shirt around my leg to try to hold the wound closed, and Nick made his way down.

I was OK.

***

We got off the Rock and headed down. Nick was kind enough to stay with me and made various offers about either getting help or getting the car, which I appreciated, but no other options really seemed to be more expedient than just making our way down on foot, which was unfortunately down to the farther Soderberg TH. I alternated swearing at myself, apologizing to Nick (who saw me fall, which is a painful thing to witness as well) and my wife (who wasn't there but deserved the apology) but otherwise was able to jog back down.
Until today, I had never gotten stitches before, but it was clear to me that would be the preferred treatment. I called J and explained, and I thought the Urgent Care (right by our house) should be sufficient, as I downplayed the fact of it being an emergency. Suspecting that it would be harder to do later and that there wasn't other imminent risk, I took a quick shower to get rid of anything sitting on my skin. I didn't want to get too much water in the wound but the little bit that I did stung like hell, probably worse than anything else.

After the typical American administration portion of the visit (standing in a line, dripping blood, getting my insurance card ready), the rest of the visit was great. The nurse was great and helpful, and a PA stitched me up, kindly engaging me in conversation and answering my questions and describing things to me, along with some comical discussion about the health industry. I was also overdue for a tetanus shot, so that seemed like a good idea.

18 stitches later, and the leg is holding up pretty well. The rest of my body, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, is starting to feel like I went through a wash machine.

Stitched up:



***

Ironically, I've been pushing myself toward climbing a bit more, and though am very far from competent or talented at it, I've enjoyed being challenged a bit more than the past. However, the lessons here were clear: I stepped too far and "hoped" to make a few moves quickly that took too much of my weight off the rock, rather than sticking to more assured moves that could be reasonably undone. I also ignored my initial instinct to back off -- several times in the last month or so, I've contemplated something a bit more committing, and then backed off to find a better way. I have to remember that, at this point for me, assessing and re-assessing are invaluable. A 3rd point is the fact that I overclimbed my ability because of the presence of another person and my perceived familiarity with the Rock -- a potentially bad fall is still bad when you're with a partner, so it's irrational to risk otherwise. Finally, I was wearing a brand new pair of Cascadia running shoes -- literally the first mile in them started at 7am that morning -- but they are consistently crappy for me in gripping rock, even when new. I had switched to Peregrine Falcons last month and they've made a huge difference, and that's what I've been playing around with in climbing recently, but was only wearing the Cascadias to break them in for running. Shoes aren't an excuse, but the amount of grip you have on the rock (whether from shoes, the composition of the rock, how wet it is, etc.) is part of the larger equation.

Anyway, I'm very lucky, sorry, and humbled.

***

Steamboat? Who knows. I'm in no shape to assess that. This was a stupid thing to do before a big race. Jogging down was encouraging, but I expect to hurt for the next few days, and can't really think about it until then. Medical-wise, I did get the approval, which came in waves: first, I asked about activity level (keep weight-bearing and water off of the stitches for a day); then I mentioned wanting to run in a week (she said I'd probably and hopefully heal up quickly). Then my wife blurted out something about "100 miles" and the PA didn't flinch, but basically said avoid re-injuring the same area.

If I'm still hurting in a week, then the whole thing is a sunk cost and we'll go up anyway on vacation. Pain will dictate if I run, and if I can't then I have nothing to prove. Typing this will be a helpful reminder in a few days, but the relief at not being injured worse still exceeds me disappointment at being injured at all. But there's also hope that several days of total and complete rest will heal my body up.

March Summary

March Summary
Downhill Ski: 0 miles / 0 minutes
XC Ski Miles: ~0.5 miles / 15 minutes

And there you have it, the March Summary. First March in Colorado where I didn't ski at all. I did have an Eldora Pass this year ($150) and used it 4 or 5 times, total -- none since January. Took one drive this month up to Cameron Pass with an out-of-town guest, and the snow was icy, suncupped, and fast -- our guest quickly sprained her knee, as it was pretty difficult to stop on even small rolling hills (in the tight trees). Turned around and went to the breweries instead.

The winter that never was.

*

So I got more running than usual in, even better since the weather was great and I didn't have to do all the driving to the ski areas. Some reflections: really been enjoying quality workouts during the week (speedwork and tempo or hill-climbing), it's an absolute blast to push hard instead of slugging along slowly. A few highlights from those workouts:
* While Nick and I were finishing up a 2-mile and cruising along steadily, we passed a woman walking her dogs a couple of times. The 2nd time, she said something like, "It was amazing to watch you guys run by like that!"
* Nick had the idea of doing a broken marathon-pace run with local speedster Sarah. It was absolutely fantastic and inspirational to see her nail those final hard miles. But even the flat and evenly-paced bike-path stuff isn't anything like treadmill miles: in one of the middle reps, when we were already getting tired, Sarah still pointed out a tree that was blossoming!
* Running hard repeats up Horsetooth on Thursday AM, Nick and Sam (1:13 half-marathoner) easily took the lead. A group of CSU-age folks were heading down from the hill, perhaps having caught the sunrise. All of their heads were turned watching Nick and Sam, and then me trying to keep up, and they said "Holy shit" and "Oh my God"
We also shared the hill, and ultimately the summit after our last rep, with other trail runners and friends...
* ...including Pete, who ran 701 miles in March. Holy cats! (and Dogs!)


Anyway, I found I really love the structure of those workouts, running with friends, and the incredible vibe and inspirational cast of characters in Fort Collins.

*

But also with those efforts, it's important to have very easy recovery days in between. A couple of times I pushed it on easy days, foolishly, and then paid for it by feeling pretty fatigued. I think/hope I was lucky enough to learn that lesson before it was too late.

*

Definitely have some things to work on for upcoming races, but feel better knowing what they are.

*

I think my rib pretty much feels better now. That makes the timeline thus:
- First few days: hurts sharply with every breath, especially deep ones. Probably hurt the worst on day 2 or 3.
- Week 1: First few steps of running hurt the worst, but wasn't impossible.
- Week 2: Mostly didn't think about it, but occasional pangs. Uncomfortable to lie on that side in bed
- Week 3: Mostly only notice at morning or night, gone by the end of the week (I hope).

*

Ran Double Rock again yesterday (clockwise from HTMP lot). As Rob pointed out, Horsetooth was absolutely packed. (Rob, you've gotta start getting up earlier, man! =) )
I was lucky to nab one of the last upper lot spots at 9:30. By the time I came home, I saw multiple parties walking up the road from Blue Sky TH and other marina parking up to the upper lot.

In case you were wondering, course conditions are absolutely perfect.

Dodged a fair amount of bike traffic (I usually get out of the way so they don't have to clip out) but it was maneagable, and always head-on traffic. Only 2 horse parties that were also courteous. The deep middle sections on the borders of the parks were actually pretty quiet, so if this "full lot" day is any indication, the non-race traffic on race day should also be mostly a non-factor.

Took me 4:10 at a moderate effort, but it turns out I actually cut the course by about a mile by skipping the Mill Creek-to-Arthur's "Aid Station" route. DQ'ed! So probably more like 4:20, compared to Nick and Ryan's moderate 4-hour pace from November, and my 5-hour pace from January under significantly worse trail conditions. Meh. Work for me to do on some of the more steep and technical descents towards the Lory side, where I've spent the least time.

But I was also quite dehydrated in the heat (one bottle with a refill at Lory), having been out for the last 35-40 minutes of the run, and should have drank more water in the morning before I started. (Between the available water in Spring Creek, and the waterfall, and the other hikers on the trail, it's not an actual serious threat to health, but more of a discomfort). The great news? There will be no less than 4 aid station accesses on race day in that "dry stretch" I'm referring to. And the section of trail I missed is simply a fork where I had only remembered "Turn on Mill Creek Link" without thinking about the direction and logistics of the aid station -- it will be obvious on race day.

Still feeling like roughly 45-60 minutes slower than CPTR 50.
Don't blow yourself up early on the uphills! Or the downhills!
(And, it's all hills -- except for the Valley, where it might be hot. Don't blow up there, either!)

Winter Shermanator

Mt. Sherman, 14036 ft
2850ft gain from Leavick Site
Hike/Ski






I had been wanting to summit and ski something high this winter, but most weekends had either bitter cold, snow, or both. Finally, this weekend shaped up to be sunny and warmer, albeit still with high winds in the mountains. The previous couple days had settled the recent snowpack somewhat, but avalanche danger was still "Considerable" on the CAIC website. I opted to check out Mt. Sherman, as I had some familiarity with the different route options and some ideas on how to avoid the riskiest avalanche terrain (namely, the cornice on the saddle towards Sheridan). Also, it is generally pedestrian and considered "easy" in the summer, so it is correspondingly crowded; ironically, this is the only one J and I turned around on due to snow and wind in November.

I brought my skis. The real 14er ski studs are pretty adamant about skiing from the summit, but I was going to see how far up/down I could get.

I went up solo, though when parking at the Leavick site, I met a group of 4 on snowshoes and their dog. They were going to evaluate either avoiding the cornice to the right of the standard route, or heading up White Ridge. I had the same ideas in mind, and headed off up the road, glad to have some company in the vicinity, though we never met up for the rest of the day.

But there were also mountain goats:


The wind was steadily direct straight at me as I hiked up past the lower mines and the cabin. Here, I evaluated my options. White Ridge had less snow and would be an easier hike on foot -- ultimately the other party took that route. Otherwise, there was a continuous layer of thin snow from the summit, but I didn't know how stable it was. There was more mellow snow and scree to the climber's right of the cornice. I decided to take this route up so I could evaluate the snow options for the decent.

However, I made slow progress up toward the ridge as the wind intensified. The skis were a liability, as they would catch any gust and twist me sideways. I could only imagine it being more difficult on the ridge. Plus, I wasn't overly enthusiastic about skiing solo on variable snow in windy conditions anyway, so I stashed the skis halfway up.

Climbing without the skis was remarkably easier. I was glad to have my ax with me for some of the steeper pitches, as well as Microspikes which fit nicely over my boots. Finally, I reached the ridge, which was as windy as advertised, a constant jet engine roaring in my ears.

By staying on the back side of the ridge, of course, it was easier to stay upright in the wind. Occasionally, I crossed back onto the top, and a gust would knock me down to my knees again.



Finally, I got over the false summit, and then onto the summit itself. By lying flat on my back, I could escape most of the wind. I had some great banana bread and still-warm coffee!

Now I headed back down the ridge, as carefully as before, and then back down to my skis. Downclimbing in the wind was even more disconcerting as heading up. I finally reached my skis, but didn't have a good spot to put them down, so I ended up downclimbing further until I was in solid but mellow-angle snow just above the cabin.

Finally, I was able to use the skis and wind to my advantage, as the road and creek below the upper cabin were a solid layer of skiable snow.

So I didn't get to ski anywhere near the summit, but still enjoyed a winter hike with mixed climbing and skiing. Just hiking above the cabin would have been much faster, but the ski down was considerably faster and more enjoyable than walking. This is even a good spot for a mellow ski or snowshoe outing, as I saw a couple of other folks doing, without heading to the summit.

Frostbite? Windburn?

Although I made great time up and back to the cabin, I took more time in between, and ended up back at the car after 5.5 hours. I was glad to relax and get out of the wind.

At some point later -- not immediately -- my watch felt somewhat uncomfortable, so I took it off. I was unpleasantly surprised to find that it was swollen and sore underneath. Within minutes, literally, a dime-sized patch of purple formed on the bony protrusion at the end of my ulna. Not 10 minutes later, that patch disappeared, as it turned bluish-white, though remained swollen. Remembering back, I had fallen lightly while skiing and landed on my wrists, though it wasn't that unusual; and, my gloves and clothing don't fully cover my wrists from the wind if I'm not careful.

A few hours later, it looked more like a swollen bruise -- nowhere near as nasty as most of the frostbite pictures online, but still out of the ordinary. That area of skin still has full sensation.

By the next day, a thin, jagged purple line appeared across the top of my wrist. I can move my wrist in any direction, pain-free, but bumping the bruise is painful.

Even stranger, the wife 'encouraged' me to shave. When I did, I noticed some reddish-purple, slightly painful blotches under my chin(!). I had a facemask on all day, and thought I did a good job of keeping everything covered and warm (my fingers and toes felt fine all day). However, I also had my ski helmet on, and I even buckled it at some point.



The only full explanation I can come up with is that the elevation induced some swelling which constricted bloodflow further at my watchband and helmet strap, made even worse in areas that had some exposure to the cold and high wind. Perhaps I had some trauma to my wrist from falling at some point, but the lack of bloodflow prevented proper inflammation and some of the blood kind of pooled there, only to disperse later.

That's all I can think of on another weird and obscure injury, but yes, more lessons to be learned. Glad to be on the summit of a mountain, but looking forward to warmer, non-windy days!

EDIT: This sounds more and more like windburn, based on some reading online. The skin is quite dry, and it's likely that somehow the sweat and constriction from my watch and having that wrist uncovered more may have affected it. There is also a small patch (much less dramatic) on my right wrist as well. But it appears to be healing somewhat.