Photo: Martin Dugard
My two weeks of solitude are over. Arrived back from Mammoth High Altitude Training Camp (I used to call it a "high altitude leadership seminar" for those kids looking for something high-falutin to put on their college resume) Saturday. Door to door from the condo to our front door in just under five hours.
It was a great week of training. A little tempo, many hills, short speed, a long run, then an eight-mile climb to Minaret Vista to close things out. First year ever that everybody did every workout, every day.
This is the twentieth Mammoth, so a couple of the neighbors who live in Mammoth year-round used the term "it's that time of year again" when they saw the team gathering on the grass outside the back door of the condo. I used to think they saw us as an annoyance, a bunch of loud high school kids in running shorts with no volume control. Now I know these neighbors look forward to our arrival.
Now it's time to move on. Mammoth marks the end of summer training. It's a nice milestone. August is just a lot of busy stuff as school begins. September is when the racing starts. First competition is just twenty-four days off. Then, of course, we get into the season, which does not end until November 30. The roller coaster still appeals to me and I look forward to the racing.
For some reason this feels like a season of closure, as if not just Mammoth Camp is over. I'm awash in melancholy. This usually means big change is on the horizon. Or maybe it's just the end of summer.