Damn skippy I’m eating vegan pizza at 7:51 AM MST! After my AM, self-imposed, kick-butt sessions, I sometimes indulge in faux cheesy goodness and take in a couple pieces of pie.

Boulder is one of most healthy and active cities in the country and I truly enjoy being a member. Yes - I occasionally eat pizza in the morning, and come to think of it ice cream too, but at the core, I am a health nut. I have a regular exercise routine and feeding schedule. I look to these chiseled, toned, determined bodies around me for inspiration. This community runs, cycles, climbs and swims right past fast foods and eats spinach, apples, edamame and sustainable fish at the organic grocer.

As I’m about to pledge my undying loyalty to this great city and launch into a rendition of “What a Wonderful World”, I discover this super-star community that breeds Olympic athletes is not the Eden I so blindly hoped for.

Meet Boulderite Diane Israel; she’s a former triathlete and marathoner. I recently caught her speaking on Colorado Matters and was dismayed by what I heard. I expected Israel to sing praises for the mile high training grounds. Israel instead spoke about exercise bulimia - a rare psychological disorder in which a person purges through an excessive amount of physical activity. It is a disorder that effects many of the athletes in Boulder. Israel documents this condition in her film Beauty Mark.

Distorted body image is not a new topic. It has been simultaneously belabored and encouraged by the media for the past however many years. The new concern that Israel points out is that filter we applied solely to the print, video, and film world now expands into every day life. The race to be the fastest, thinnest, best, athlete in Boulder can so consume the mind it turns into a detrimental lifestyle.

As the walls of athletic inspiration begin to crash down around me, I realize that I run, cycle, climb and swim because it’s fun. I may never run an ultra-marathon. I may never kayak in Malaysia. But I will continue to be motivated by those around me that do. I will add an extra mile on my run. I will kayak somewhere in Colorado. And, most importantly, I will continue to eat that occasional slice of AM pizza and finish with a side of ice cream. That is a breakfast of champions.

Just imagine moving from the Midwest to LA. I spent two years in the valley. Yes. That valley. Like I was a valley girl, OK? Coming from the mitten state, it was quite the adventure. In LA, they had triathlons: you could get a mani, pedi and waxing all in one spot. I could backpack with the latest oversized Marc Jacob’s bag. And camping was as easy as hanging out under heat lamps at the Roosevelt Hotel! Wow. Sandwiched between desert, ocean and mountains, SoCal was “like sooo not” the adventure that I had hoped for.

I just had this preconceived notion of LA; the people were super healthy and active. The women all had raw vegan diets and easily shimmied into a size 2 Vivienne Westwood ensemble. They jogged along the Santa Monica coast and saved beached whales. Not the case. A three step process of lipo, cleanse and repeat seemed to be the way to supposed good health in that concrete jungle.

Then there was Boulder. Ahh Boulder! I had previously been to Boulder for snowboarding and fell in love with their progressive ideals and call to the wild. The women out here were a completely different breed than that of LA and Detroit. These women wore shorts in the 30 degree weather of March! I was scared, intrigued and challenged.

My move to Colorado meant a move to new adventures, real adventures, welcome adventures. I went out on my 5AM trail runs and was shocked to discover I was the only one out at that hour. I was in disbelief that my peers did not fathom the idea of waking early to climb before work that started at 11AM. And how could it possibly be that these super-buff 50+ year old women enjoyed a couple of beers every evening?

I was disenchanted with LA and Boulder when the reality of the city became everyday. No longer were they magical, mythical cities; they were the norm - human - real. Now, as I drive north over the 36 and peer into the valley of Boulder, I can’t help but remember my drive over the 405 back into Burbank. How different these two cities are. How different they are from what I expected.

I always felt like I was missing out on something living in Michigan. I thought real adventure could only be found in the wild west. It always seemed like there was the BBD (bigger, better, deal) someplace other than where I was at. Maybe I’m overlooking how daring it is to just pack-up your bags and leave the state you grew-up in. Maybe I just didn’t find my surfer group in LA. Maybe I’m trailing running in the wrong locations. I’m beginning to realize that cities are what you make them. And maybe adventure is the same.

I’ve never been camping overnight by myself.  I’ve never even hiked by myself.  There’s always some other hiker around, or, better yet, a poor, ill-prepared friend that I dragged along with me.   I realize these statements give me just about zero street “cred” in a city with mountain climbers that made the summit of Everest.

Therefore, in an attempt to begin earning my Colorado stripes, I decided to go hiking before sunrise and slowly start breaking into the upper echelons of the Boulder elite.  Even on a simple hike, it’s funny how the mind goes into some pseudo survival mode.  I actually started noticing those signs that warn about bears and mountain lions - those animals that could take you out with one swipe of the paw.

This got me thinking about the Chupacabra video I watched on CNN.  Yes - if CNN did a video and posted it online - that must mean it’s real!  That little creature, that Chupacabra, looked part pit bull and part boar.  I was the proud mama of a pit bull for eight years and immediately felt some sort of mothering instinct when I saw the Chupacabra video.

Never the less, I really didn’t want to run into one.  I fell into the gentle “grind-grind” of my shoes on the gravel when all of a sudden, some dark creature rushes 15 feet in front of me!  At that moment, I swear what I saw was a cross between the Chupacabra, Frank in “Donnie Darko,” and the wolf in “The Never Ending Story.”

I kept telling myself, “It’s cool.  It’s totally cool.  It’s too small to be a bear.  Well, maybe it was a cub.  Great.  Now, I have to keep an eye out for the mom.”  I walk up the 15 feet and look to the east side of the trail and what do I see?  It’s a mama deer with her baby.  Wow.  I’m not getting any cred in Boulder so far.  With my Chupacabra scare safely behind me, I press on and get to the top of the trail.  It’s a spectacular view over my new home.

I’m glad to be alone with my thoughts and start wondering why am I out here?  What is it inside that pushes me?  Why wasn’t running a 5K enough?  Why were 1/2 marathons the next logical step?  Why wasn’t hanging in Detroit enough?  I mean, come on, Detroit . Have you walked through that city at night?  I got some cred there!   Here I was, overlooking Boulder and ready for the next adventure.  I did Mt. Whitney with my brother and sister-in-law and I was itching to get back up in some altitude.  Hopefully, the next summit would be on my own.

I started coming down the trail.  The sun was up.  Other people were now out hiking.  I got into the car and flipped on the radio.  The morning newscast was discussing the tense situation between Georgia and Russia.  It was a slap in the face - a wake-up call to the world in which I live.  This was why I went hiking before sunrise.  It was a moment to escape.  A moment to let my imagination run wild.  A moment to appreciate that I can hike.  These moments of adventure are a way to unplug, reset and then dive back into a frantic world with a fresh perspective.