Welcome to Boulder

Yesterday I learned the term OIB. Only In Boulder.

I went on my maiden mountain hike through one of the most beautiful mountain preserves I've ever seen. We (4 adults and 3 kids) hiked over snow packs and mud and sweet little white wildflower patches to arrive at Long Lake in Brainard Lake Recreation Area. After about 2 miles of slippery, snowy conditions in my Keen sandals, and with only a few steps to descend down to the beach, I slipped. The weight of my backpack, filled with ice and beverages and snacks and weighing at least 20lbs, brought me down fast. And with a loud crack in my ankle, I was down for the count.

The pain was familiar. About 24 years ago I took a spill while jogging and ended up in about the same predicament. My ankle had hyperextended and I was forced to crawl home on my suburban street. Overwhelmed with pain, I remember entering my parents house and sobbing like a toddler from the pain. As the least accident prone of three kids, I had never been to an emergency room, and it was clear that my military-trained father wasn't about to take me there. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Those words were repeated to me yesterday by savvy hikers who rallied around me so I could get myself off the sketchy slope where I had fallen. Within minutes I was being carried down by men with big shoulders and big hearts, who handed me ibuprofen, an ace bandage, and kind words of encouragement. Next a soft spoken couple offered me their ski poles, since it was clear I'd have to get myself to safety using my own strength. Dale and Jeff, it turns out, live no more than a couple blocks from my south Boulder apartment, and were happy to loan me the poles and return them once I was safely home.

My hiking companions fed me beer and "roast beast" sandwiches (with giardinera, no less), and some cbd, which to those in the know is a natural anti-inflammatory and anti-anxiety balm. A young bearded man living out of his camper happened to be nearby. When he heard I had just rolled my ankle, he trekked back to his camper and returned with a natural healing gel for athletic sprains and tears. He didn't want the tube back, didn't ask my name or for any repayment. I slathered on the gel and got myself to the car. I made the drive home with all 3 kids, amid gorgeous views and glowing cloud formations. After a cool bath, I retrieved my antique cane, which I uncannily had saved instead of donating like almost every other random item I had owned before this move. I wrapped my swollen ankle tightly, iced and elevated, and after a glimpse of the impossibly bright Solstice Strawberry Full Moon, I let my daughter tuck me in for a well-deserved rest.

Only In Boulder.