Icy Hike

I’m in Boulder, Colorado, where I have spent the last three days shooting pictures for my next book, a practice guide, about which more later. It’s been a treat to be in a place whose beauty is so different from that of my native North Carolina. Yesterday, I ran on a semi-icy bike path toward the sunrise, then turned around and ran back toward the mountains, lit by the dawn. Today, remembering my previous experiences with altitude, I didn’t even try to run. Instead, when the shoot wrapped, I ate a hot bowl of spicy tomato-tortilla soup, then headed to Chautauqua Park for a hike on the icy trail into the Front Range.

My running shoes weren’t designed for such surfaces, so I trod carefully. It was just the focus I needed, looking at the very immediate picture, after spending these days looking at a group of bigger pictures and how they’ll fit with the book (and, by extension, my career). Each step had to be both heavy enough to sink in and light enough to not overcommit my weight to an icy patch. Periodically, my mind flashed to other images: my athlete Dave, who has just gained entry to a 100-mile trail race; how to fall gracefully; peeks of the spectacular view; “Ice Walkin’,” set to the tune of the Bee Gees’ “Jive Talkin’.” But it kept returning to the now, this step, and this, and this. A great yoga practice for the day, one of many.