Dylan Buell / For BuffZone.com)
It was a cold, January day, early morning, and the Boulder Creek path was empty. I was running west, up from the Flatirons golf course into steady, dropping snow. A couple of creatures were stirring, as I could see from the tiny tracks crisscrossing the new snow, but not a runner was stirring. The snow was soft and the solitude very pleasant.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of laughter. Skimming around a corner came the University of Colorado distance runners, chattering away like a flock of birds at meal time.