Chris Wristen

A little more than 24 hours after returning from Colorado, the fingers no longer are too numb to type.

Last year, a Roommate Reunion/New Year’s ski trip/Colorado getaway helped me dodge the frigid Kansas weather. This time, we ran head-on into the first major snowstorm of the year — as well as sub-zero temperatures — in Breckenridge.

Regardless, the frigid temps did nothing to derail some outdoor adventures. Instead, they enhanced the experiences.

The trip actually began with warmer weather in the Denver area. After spending Dec. 26 hitting a few local bars with the first full reunion of Mike, Darin, Tim and I in years — we’ve had three of us in the same place numerous times … OKC for the NCAA Tournament, Dallas for Mike’s surprise 30^th, last year’s ski trip, the 2008 Orange Bowl, the original Arrowhead Armageddon … but it’s been ages since we’ve had all four — the next day featured another reunion.

I met John and Nicole during my 2007 trip to Switzerland. We hiked to the top of Schilthorn together, and since then we’ve remained in touch through Facebook. Our schedules aligned this year, so John and I spent Dec. 28 hiking at Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs before meeting up with Nicole for dinner at an Indian restaurant in Boulder.

The next morning, Darin and I hopped in the car and headed to Breckenridge. Tim would join the next evening, and Arron dropped in a day later.

Day One consisted of settling into our condo and exploring a few bars in downtown Breck.

On Day Two, we hit the trails. Darin introduced me to snowshoeing last year near Idaho Springs, and we brought them along to Breckenridge. The temperatures on Dec. 29 were chilly, upper 20s or low 30s maybe, but plenty comfortable for snowshoeing. With little wind and some well-marked trails above the Nordic Center, we found a trailhead, strapped on the snowshoes and took off. About two hours and 1,300 vertical feet later, we reached the trail’s highest point at close to 10,700 feet. Another hour later we were seated at Sevens, the bar at the Peak 7 Lodge, wolfing down soup and sipping on pints of Kona to celebrate a successful five-mile hike.

It was a day worth celebrating, both for the views and the weather. Tim rolled into town later that night, and a snowstorm soon followed. By the next morning, temperatures were flirting with single digits and the streets were painted white. The ski slopes were invisible from our deck, so we opted to find more trails and snowshoe some more.

This time we added an extra layer for warmth, brought our ski goggles and headed to the other side of town to another trailhead. In about 3 1/2 hours we covered six miles on more gradual, winding trails through the woods and gained maybe 700 feet of elevation. Our pace was slowed significantly because of the thicker layer of powder on the trail, as well as because strong wind gusts blasted our faces. Visibility wasn’t bad for the most part, despite the steady snowfall, but the hike was significantly tougher than the previous day.

By the time we finished, we were ready to warm up with hot chocolate and peppermint Schnapps before heading downtown for dinner at the Breckenridge Brewery.

Darin and I were the only ones who didn’t get enough of the cold. With the high for Dec. 31 pegged at minus-1, Tim and Arron chose to chill out at the condo while Darin and I headed for the ski lifts. A somewhat unexpected sight awaited us in the form of nonexistent lines. Not only were many of the Breckenridge visitors clearly staying inside for the day, but many others stayed back in Denver thanks to the snowstorm. As a result, we didn’t wait in a single line for the lifts and we frequently had slopes to ourselves.

Even the lodges, which we figured would be crammed with skiers warming up, had available seating and short lines for food and hot drinks.

After about six hours of skiing — and our cores thoroughly frozen thanks to a relentless, bone-chilling wind on the upper slopes — we headed back to the condo to warm up and join the others.

Conditions were even more bitter when we headed out that night to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Temps had plummeted to around minus-10, although the snowfall had dwindled. We only spent a few minutes watching the fireworks show over the mountains, opting to duck back into the bar and spend the final hours of 2010 warm and cozy with other revelers in a downstairs bar on Breckenridge’s main drag.

Snow didn’t follow us back to Denver the next day, but the cold weather did. It also awaited me back in KC as the thermostat read just 17 degrees when I got off the plane.

Now, a little more than 24 hours later, the numbness from the cold and limited sleep has worn off. Another epic trip has come and gone.

It’s officially 2011, and it’s back to reality.

Was it a good idea to wire money to Cyprus?

How about to a guy I’d only been in contact with over the Internet?

That was just one of the questions that rattled my nerves while planning my Kilimanjaro climb last spring. It’s one thing to book a hotel room in the United States online, but it’s something completely different to trust someone overseas with a few thousand dollars and my safety.

I didn’t have many options when it came to booking the trip, though. I didn’t have anybody to consult, so I had to rely on my research and instincts.

Ultimately, things worked out perfectly. Better than that, actually.  My expectations were completely surpassed in every aspect of a trip that hinged completely on trust.

Since returning to Kansas City and writing about the adventure, I’ve received about a half-dozen inquiries from people seeking my input as they plan their own Kilimanjaro excursions. Most of those likely will happen sometime during the next year, but tonight was my first sit-down information session.

I’m hardly an expert, but it was a welcome opportunity to share some advice and knowledge I gained first-hand. Preparing for the meeting got my adrenaline pumping just like it did when I was researching my trip.

This meeting was particularly special to me because it was with Neal and Chris, two guys I used to report on when they were high school athletes. Now they’re both a year out of college, but we’ve stayed in contact during the past few years. They’ve gone on numerous outdoor adventures together, but this will be their biggest yet.

I could tell they are a bit anxious about their planning, and that’s a good thing. They had lots of questions — the same ones I was asking not too long ago. My hope is that based on my experience I was able to offer useful advice and guidance that will help them have just as memorable of a trip as I did.

We talked about which route to take (Don’t do Marangu. Look at a longer one that will offer a better success rate such as Rongai). We talked about cost of the climb, flights, tipping, vaccinations, visas, gear … a little bit of everything. We talked about preparing for altitude and the benefits of Diamox.

Eventually the conversation drifted to making it to the summit. What will it take? How will the body react? They don’t want to go all the way to Tanzania, spend all that money, spend all this time preparing and then not get to the top.

Ultimately, that’s the greatest unknown on a trip loaded with unknowns. Trust is involved every step of the way. You have to trust your guide, your porters, your cook, your drivers, yourself. That’s something they’re beginning to figure out, but they won’t fully understand it until they’ve been on the mountain. I’m sure it’s a topic I’ll discuss with them again before they depart — probably when it comes time for them to wire about two grand to some stranger in Cyprus.

The concept of Wriststrong bracelets began as a gag on ‘The Colbert Report” after host Stephen Colbert — a faux conservative TV pundit whose act is part Bill O’Reilly, part Keith Olbermann — broke his wrist and needed a way to entertain his audience.

In an obvious spoof of Lance Armstrong’s yellow “Livestrong” bracelets that became an international symbol for cancer awareness, Colbert launched the “Wriststrong” campaign — featuring red wristbands — to raise awareness of wrist injuries.

It’s worth noting that the proceeds of Colbert’s wristbands don’t pad his pocket. They go to the Yellow Ribbon Fund, a charity that provides lodging for the families of wounded soldiers who are receiving treatment at Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C.

I ordered one in early 2008 for a combination of reasons. First, because the money went to a good cause; second, because of the obvious correlation to my last name.

In the nearly three years that I’ve had the band, it has only come off my wrist a handful of times when it slipped off accidentally.

In a sense, it has been a personal motto. I’ve always believed myself to be a strong person who can do anything I put my mind to, and its motto on my wrist has been a daily reminder.

The band has been on my wrist during great times and challenging times. It was on my right wrist while trekking in the backcountry at Denali National Park in Alaska. It accompanied me up multiple peaks in the Swiss Alps. It was on my wrist every step of the way up Mount Kilimanjaro and back down.

It made its last go-round with me on Saturday when I ran my first-ever 10K race, the Pilgrim Pacer in Lee’s Summit, Mo. The race went much better than I’d expected, especially considering the 38-degree temperature. I clocked a time of 49 minutes, 57.1 seconds, and finished sixth in my age group and 30^th overall out of 172 runners.

Today the Wriststrong band was handed off from me to my mom. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in late May, and in the months since then the band served more as a daily reminder of mom and her battle than it did as a symbol of personal strength. The years of wear and sun exposure caused the band’s bright red color to fade to more of a pink — the color representing breast cancer.

I recently purchased a few shiny new Wriststrong bands for the rest of my family to wear as a sign of strength for mom. Mom wanted a pink one, so I gave her my well-worn one and snapped on a new one.

The bands have taken on a new sense of family strength and unity, and I know mom’s will bring her good luck. She’s a strong woman — and she certainly doesn’t need a wrist band to remind her of that — but the band was on my wrist through numerous adventures and while conquering many mountains. Now it’s going to be there while she overcomes the greatest challenge she and our family have ever experienced.

A half-mile from the finish line at Rim Rock Farm in Lawrence, Kan., rests the state’s most feared incline in the minds of most cross country runners.

Suicide Hill, as it is lovingly referred to, is dreaded as much for its steepness and sneaky turn half way up that fools novices into believing they’re near the top as it is for its location close to the finish line. Many a talented runner has had championship or state medalist dreams shattered by this strength-sapping hill.

Still, Suicide Hill has nothing on the inclines at Wyandotte County Lake Park — site of the Kansas City Trail Nerds’ Veteran’s Day Fantastic 4-Mile Trail Run this morning.

After spending the past couple six or eight weeks running with the Nerds on Wednesdays at Shawnee Mission Park and mixing in runs of my own two or three more times during the rest of the week, I figured I could handle four miles with no problem.

The goal was to finish, not to win the thing.

Less than a mile in, however, I began to wonder exactly how I’d be getting back to the starting/finishing line.

In addition to going out a bit too fast (as usual), we quickly found ourselves ascending a steep, rocky incline with tricky footing that turned a once-comfortable pace into an awkward stumble upward. Moments later, we weaved our way back down a steep grade on the other side that was covered with large, loose rocks. The trend repeated itself about three or four more times before reaching the turnaround point where — after a quick cup of water — it was right back up another hill as we did the whole thing in reverse.

The only reprieve for weary legs was that some areas were so steep and rocky that it was nearly impossible not to slow to a walk for 30 or 45 seconds simply to avoid falling.

Finally, after hopping over a creek and settling back into my pace during a level, clear stretch, another steep, rocky downhill section emerged. I lost my balance after a bad footing, and picked up speed on the hill to avoid falling. I went with it, expecting the momentum to carry me out of the woods and back to the finish line — only I’d forgotten there was still one more open stretch, then another 50 meters back into the woods. My legs kept pumping through all of it, and soon I burst out into the open, only to be greeted by one last hill.

Normally a mild, grassy hill, it felt like a 14er thanks to the wear and tear of the previous four miles. Fortunately it only required one more quick burst to the top, and then it was on to the finish line.

The Trail Nerds’ Web site advertises the course as “one of the toughest 4-milers that you’ll ever run.” They weren’t kidding.

Compared to this, Suicide Hill is a piece of cake.

My results:

Place: 34th out of 107 people

Time: 35:21

Camelback Mountain might be just a walk in the park for Phoenix fitness buffs. For a flatlands guy from Kansas with a post-wedding hangover, it was a serious ass-kicker.

I flew to Phoenix on Wednesday evening to serve as a groomsman in a friend’s wedding. We played golf on Thursday, and the wedding was Friday night.

When I booked my flight, however, I tacked on an extra day and a half to make the trip more of a vacation and have extra time to hang out with friends. In addition, I wanted to have time to enjoy some of the area’s outdoor recreation opportunities. In particular, I’d targeted Camelback Mountain — the highest point in the Phoenix area.

Towering above the surrounding suburbs, Camelback Mountain juts 2,704 feet into the air. It’s a local landmark, and the view of its beautiful red rocks always captivated me when I viewed them through the airplane window as a boy on my way to visit my grandma.

I knew better than to go during the afternoon. Given my personal knowledge of Arizona’s weather, as well as recommendations I’d seen about climbing Camelback, it was clear that morning was the ideal time to climb it.

A fun-filled wedding day, followed by an after-party that roared at the hotel until about 3:30 a.m. made an early-morning departure for the mountain unrealistic. Sleep was a priority, as was breakfast.

Against my better wisdom, I hopped into my rental car around 12:45 p.m. and headed to Camelback. I arrived with backpack, energy bars and plenty of water in hand and hit the trail at 1:30 p.m.

Almost instantly, the effects of Friday’s festivities — the minimal sleep, the endless flow of drinks and the side effects of wearing rental shoes — settled in. My legs felt heavy, my lack of pre-hike hydration slowed my pace and my shirt was soaked like a sponge.

Railroad ties provided steps along the early portion of the trail, along with plenty of loose scree. Quickly it gave way to steep inclines requiring both hands and feet to proceed. Large boulders encompassed most of the trail and turned the hike into a full-body workout.

It took about 45 minutes to go from the Echo Canyon Trailhead to the summit. It wasn’t far — a little less than a mile and a half — but it was strenuous and exhausting. Along the way I encountered a few female track athletes from Arizona State who were using Camelback to train. A few trail runners jogged some of the way. Some of the hikers used it as training to strengthen their legs for a marathon. Some handled it better than others, but everyone at the top showed signs of fatigue and paused to enjoy the reward of their work — the panoramic view of the city below.

After about a half hour of enjoying the scenery, sipping on my water bottle and catching my breath, I headed back down. The large rocks and steep inclines that made the ascent challenging made the descent more difficult.

The round trip — ascent, descent and break at the top — took about two hours total. It provided a definite sense of accomplishment and a killer workout. It also made me long for the opportunity to live in a place where such outdoor playgrounds are just a short drive away.

I fly home Sunday, and the extra days added onto the trip were well worth it.

Two years ago when I first reported on the Kansas City Trail Nerds, I vowed to one day join them.

A few of them asked me to do so that night, and another has sent me occasional invitations since then.

My knees were in shambles at the time, and my back wasn’t much better. Time has passed, however, and my body is healthier than it’s been in the last five years.

That’s why tonight I finally followed through on my promise. I ran with the Trail Nerds, and I’ll definitely be doing it again.

The group offers runs almost every day of the week at various locations from Kansas City, Mo., to Lawrence. Tonight was the so-called “trail running for beginners” option at Shawnee Mission Park. About 15 of us showed up. I was the new guy. Some had been running less than a year. One guy — obviously not a “beginner” — sported his Iron Man Kansas shirt.

The faster runners headed one way on the trail and quickly disappeared into the woods. The rest of us went at a more conversational pace, spread out every 15 to 20 feet, and wound our way along the hilly, rocky root-covered trail for about 45 minutes. We began in daylight and finished by the beams of our headlamps.

It didn’t feel like we’d run for very long. I spent about half the time chatting with other runners, never realizing just how hard my legs were working. I felt like I had at least another mile or so in my legs. At the same time, it was probably wise not to overdo it. I am just a rookie, after all, and I headed home tonight feeling good and excited to run again.

I’ll be in Phoenix next week, but I already have the following Wednesday’s run on my planner. I hope to make this a regular thing. I waited two years to join the Trail Nerds, so I’ve got some catching up to do.

Two summers ago I wrote a feature story about the Kansas City Trail Nerds, a renegade group of anti-road runners who left paved surfaces behind for the more scenic, more challenging and less joint-jarring backwoods trails.

Tomorrow night, I will join them.

I will be a Trail Nerd rookie, and I’m excited for the challenge.

There aren’t nerves like I had the night before my first cross country practice in high school. That was a much different atmosphere trying to fit in as a 15-year old and wanting to go out and compete.

From observing the Trail Nerds as a reporter (as well as having a few friends who run with them), I know that fitting in will be no problem. Competitiveness won’t be an issue either. I’ve seen them in action. I know there are trail studs I could never keep up with, but I also know there are plenty of runners at medium and slower paces. Every one of them that I’ve witnessed — whether fast or slow or somewhere in between — was laid back and out there to have a good time.

The main challenge of the trail could be running in a large group on hilly, rocky surfaces where footing is already tricky without the extra sets of feet. To prepare a bit, I took a test run on Monday evening on the trails at Shawnee Mission Park. My run was solo, accompanied only by the tunes on my iPod and the glow of the setting sun. I encountered a few Trail Nerds and a group of friendly Mud Babes (the Trail Nerds’ girls club) on the trail.

I ran for about 40 minutes until it grew too dark to safely run (I’d left my head lamp on the counter at home), and came away believing I could have gone for another 20 minutes and still felt good.

Wednesday’s “trail running for beginners” group offers runs of 2 1/2, 4 1/2 and 9 miles. I plan to do the 4 1/2 and see how my legs feel. I think I’m ready for it.

I’ve got my running gear, watch, head lamp, hydration system and well-worn Salomons ready to go. Now I just need a good night’s sleep.

I’ll be a rookie tomorrow.

It didn’t take long for the dream trip of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro to feel like just that — a dream.

Three days after leaving the mountain behind … after spending a night in transit, another night in London and a third in Chicago … I touched down in Kansas City. Tanzania already felt like more than half a world away. That week on Africa’s highest mountain seemed like a distant memory, if it had even happened at all.

Five months of training went into the trip. Ten pounds peeled off of my body before I left and another five evaporated during the climb. My knees still ached and my sleep-deprived body felt weary. Still, if not for the 500 or so photos I’d taken during the trip I wouldn’t have believed it happened.

It was so vivid during the moment, but just days later it all seemed like a dream.

I’ve had little time to reflect on the trip in the three months since returning home. A seemingly endless string of bad news and disappointment occupied mid-June through mid-August, and then work ramped up to its usual chaotic pace with the start of fall sports.

Two weeks ago I finally began making some time to reflect. I downloaded hundreds of photos and some video clips of the trip from my fellow climbers. Since then, I’ve begun mashing those up with photos and videos that I took. I am rebuilding each day of the trip, photo by photo, video by video, and crafting a multimedia retrospective of the climb.

Doing so has struck a chord deep in my brain. Suddenly, those days on the mountain and the overnight assault on the summit seem oh-so-real again. It’s the first time since the trip that it has felt like reality. It’s quite refreshing, too.

Each time I pop open the laptop and do some more editing, my heart races and I can’t help but smile.

I can’t wait until it’s finished. I look forward to sharing it.

It’s been years since I was last in Arizona, unless you count visits to the Phoenix airport in transit from Vegas or Southern California.

My family made regular visits to the Phoenix area when I was growing up. Nearly every spring break in elementary school was spent there. My grandma lived in the Sun City West retirement community, and we’d spend four or five days at her house. We’d hit the local pool, play miniature golf, drive the golf cart around the neighborhood and pick grapefruit and oranges from the trees in the backyard.

The final day there, my mom, sister, grandma and aunt would go shopping while my dad and I would visit the spring training baseball parks.

Since 1994, however, I’ve been back maybe once. High school and college schedules made it tough to get away, and now grandma lives in Kansas City.

My Arizona drought will end a month from today when I fly to Phoenix for a friend’s wedding. Most of the four-night visit will revolve around golf, lounging by the pool, catching up with friends, drinking wine and participating in wedding activities.

It will be a much-needed vacation, providing a welcome break from work as well as some soul therapy with friends.

I would be remiss, however, if I didn’t take time to enjoy some of Arizona’s outdoor playland while I’m there. Fortunately, you don’t have to go far to find it when you’re in Phoenix.

The city of Phoenix website makes it pretty simple to find a few options, and I’ve narrowed down my possibilities to three.

The first is one of the city’s signature landmarks that I remember gazing at from airplane windows as a boy. That’s Camelback Mountain. It’s a gorgeous chunk of red sandstone that is at its most magnificent at sunrise and sunset when the first and last rays of the day reflect off of it. We hiked on its lower slopes one time when I was little, but we never journeyed to its 2,706-foot summit that, according to online reports, requires passing over some strenuous segments of trail.

My other options would cover completely new turf for me. One is the Piestewa Peak/Dreamy Draw Recreation Area which has miles of lightly-traveled trail and a 2,608-foot peak to conquer. The other is the South Mountain Park/Preserve, an area that has 51 miles of trails to explore.

All three of these places offer countless physical challenges and opportunities to explore, whether for a full day or just a few hours.

This will be a busy trip already and I don’t know how much time I will have to get away, but an outdoor escape — even if just a brief one or a pit stop on the way to the airport — will be a priority.

It’s been too long since I’ve been back to Phoenix, and there are trails to be traveled.

More than three and a half years had passed since my last road race, but with a healthier back and stronger knees I made my return to the starting line Aug. 8 for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure at Union Station in Kansas City, Mo.

I put the competitive juices aside and signed up with simple goals of participating, finishing and not getting hurt. A friendly former co-worker ran with me, helping set a leisurely, conversational pace. Still, the mostly uphill, all-road 5K jarred my back and knees and gave a quick reminder why I abandoned the roads — and running as a whole — all those years ago.

Five months of training for Kilimanjaro helped rebuild my legs, though. The patellar tendonitis that made walking, let alone running, a painful experience was gone.

It was time to give running another shot.

Shortly after returning from Tanzania, I began running two to three times per week. The plan was to ease back into it.

I recalled a feature article I wrote two years ago about a local trail running group in Kansas City, and I remembered some of the runners telling me why they chose trails over roads. The scenery was better. The camaraderie was more uplifting. The softer surfaces helped reduce aches and pains and injuries as a whole.

When possible, my runs have been on grassy surfaces rather than roads or sidewalks. The pace has been slow and steady. The fatigue has been noticeable, but the recovery time more rapid.

I chose Race for the Cure as my first race back for personal reasons — it’s a massive fundraiser for breast cancer research — but race number two had to be on a trail.

I checked out the Kansas City Trail Nerds’ Web site and found my target: the Mud and Muck 5K on Saturday, Aug. 28, in Lee’s Summit, Mo. Billed as Kansas City’s dirtiest 5K, the race covered mostly gravel trail and included a massive pit of thigh-deep mud about a half-mile from the finish line.

About 300 runners showed up for the event yesterday at Unity Village, many of them decked out in all white to accentuate the mud pit’s magic. Others wore costumes. I rocked my Cobra Kai T-shirt and a ratty old pair of Solomon trail runners.

Unlike the Race for the Cure, I approached this one ready to dig in and go. The first 200 meters were downhill before arriving at two large gravel mounds that had to be cleared. A low-crawl obstacle course lingered a few minutes farther up the trail, followed by two steep uphill climbs.

Exhausted, I chugged along a gravel road a few minutes back of the leaders but well ahead of most of the pack. The gradual downhill wound through a forest and around a bend. That’s when the mud pit came into view.

There was no avoiding it. I cruised down the hill and through a pool of water, hopped up on a ledge and down into the pit. Instantly I found myself knee-deep in mud.

My body sank deeper with each step, the suction on my shoes growing stronger with each struggling step forward. Soon I was thigh-deep and losing my balance. My right leg somehow twisted behind my left, and I almost fell sideways while wiggling the leg free. I almost lost a shoe in the process.

Eventually I reached the end of the approximately 40-foot long pit and dragged my body onto dry land.

From there, it was about a half-mile uphill to the finish.

Each step was a struggle. The fatigue from the mud pit had sapped most of my energy and I was gasping for oxygen. Plus, about 10 pounds of mud coated my legs. Mud splattered everywhere with every step I took.

Finally the finish came into sight. I dug deeper, pushed harder and charged across the line in 26:10.5, good for 28^th place. It was more than five minutes faster than my race just three weeks earlier and every bit as rewarding.

Mud coated my legs and spotted my face, my lungs screamed with exhaustion and my sneakers were ruined, but it was an absolute blast.

It was my first trail run, and it certainly won’t be my last.