When I first started writing for Springs magazine, I had no idea I was signing up for a decade-long education in how to fail spectacularly at things other people make look easy.
I figured I’d write a few articles, avoid killing myself, eat at a few restaurants — maybe more than a few — get to learn a little about the place where I’d just moved, and call it good. Instead, I found myself soaking in clothing-optional hot springs, falling off paddleboards and learning that in Colorado Springs, even going to the grocery store can turn into an extreme sport.
Here’s what 10 years of saying “yes” to things I had no business doing taught me about life, adventure and this peculiar place we call home.
1. Ghosts in the Machine (And the Kitchen)
Colorado Springs made a national list of “Strangest Haunted Locales in America” thanks to our haunted Arby’s. That last sentence is not a mistake. According to legend, a former manager shot by an employee in the mid-’90s still haunts the place, moving stools and poking lazy workers.
I took my 14-year-old son, Jimmy, to investigate. He’s the kind of kid who thinks there’s a logical explanation for everything. “Ghosts don’t eat people,” he informed me. “And this is not a movie.” Then Siri spontaneously said, “Let me check on that.” Even Jimmy admitted that was “a little weird.”
The restaurant was spotless, the staff cheerful and confused about any supernatural activity. Until a voice from the kitchen shadows said in response to my question about the haunting, “I’ve heard that, but I don’t lend it much credence.” I never got a good look at him, but he kept saying “credence” in a way that freaked me out. We stared at the supposedly moving stools, waiting for paranormal activity. Nothing happened until: “Steve, your order’s ready.”
What I Learned
Siri is not to be trusted.
2. Follow Is What You Do on Strava (Especially in the Springs)
My neighbor Thor (not his real name) finished a triathlon by 11 a.m. with a broken arm and still had time to mow his lawn. When he asked if I was “on Strava,” I had to admit I didn’t know what that was. Remember, this was a decade ago. Now everyone knows Strava is an app that ranks your cycling and running times against everyone else’s. In Colorado Springs, this means discovering you’re the “short, fat, unbelievably slow guy at the very back of the pack who gets eaten by the bear.”
But Thor gave me his old bike, and a year later I finally beat his time on Gold Camp Road Middle by exactly 32.5 seconds. The next day, he went out and beat mine.
What I Learned About Living in Colorado Springs
In the Springs, there’s always someone faster, stronger and more committed to their fitness routine. But there’s also always someone willing to lend you their old bike and cheer you on. Also, you don’t need to run faster than the bear, just faster than the person behind you.
3. The Art of Losing Your Patience (Fly Fishing)
Mr. Colorado (again, not his real name) tried to teach me that fly fishing is “the ultimate form of fishing” because “you are simply fooling fish by duplicating Mother Nature.” My first cast was what he described as “an Indiana Jones” — I whipped the delicate fly right off the end of the line. My second cast somehow knotted the line around itself.
But then, with a strike indicator (fancy name for a bobber), I caught what I claimed was a 25-pound rainbow trout. It jumped out of my arms before we could take a picture, which is probably for the best since the Colorado record is only 19 pounds, 10 ounces.
What I Learned
The Springs teaches you to embrace tall tales and small victories. Sometimes the fish that got away makes for a better story than the one you actually caught. And also, if you maybe bend the truth about the size and weight of a fish you caught, readers will be seriously interested. They will send emails. A lot of them.
4. Elvis Leg at 80 Feet Means You’re Still Alive (Rock Climbing at Garden of the Gods)
Fifty feet up a cliff face, clinging for dear life, my right leg started shaking uncontrollably. Spider-Man (again, no, not his real name) called it “Elvis leg” or “sewing machine leg” and said it would happen. When it did, he told me to plant my feet, take three deep breaths, and look around before giving up.
The handhold I needed was right in front of my face the whole time. I just couldn’t see it through my panic.
What I Learned
When you’re scared and can’t see your next move, sometimes the answer is literally right in front of you. Plant your feet, breathe and look around. Good advice for climbing. Good advice for living in Colorado Springs. Good advice.
5. Sharp Objects and Second Chances (Ax Throwing Redemption)
Five years after putting an ax straight through my left foot while camping near Crestone, my editor assigned me to write about ax throwing. “It might be good to get out of your comfort zone,” he said. I told him I liked my comfort zone — I was comfortable there.
Jack’s Axe Throwing (run by Bryan, who admitted there is no Jack) offered to teach me and “everyone I know” how to throw axes, ninja stars and shovels. The shovels were still “in development,” and I confess I haven’t got an update. They may still be in development. They may remain there.
Bryan/Jack was amazed when I told him about my foot incident. “It is extremely difficult to put an ax through your foot,” he said with new respect. “I have never even heard of that happening.” As in other areas, I was an innovator in the field of ax-related self-injury.
What I Learned About Living in Colorado Springs
The Springs celebrates innovation.
6. The DisInclined Among the Inclined (A Lazy Day in the Springs)
In a city where everyone looks like they’ve just finished a workout or are on their way to one, I discovered I belonged to a secret society: the Dis-Inclined. While others tackle 14ers and run the Incline, I perfected the art of the strategic nap and the three-breakfast day.
My ideal Colorado Springs day involved avoiding the Incline entirely, taking the Cog Railway up Pikes Peak instead and rewarding myself with doughnuts while watching the sweaty hikers who’d actually climbed Barr Trail.
What I Learned
Buy an electric bike.
7. Becoming American, One Hockey Reference at a Time (The Citizenship Test)
Taking the U.S. citizenship test, I discovered my only real knowledge of American civics came from Schoolhouse Rock. When my daughter asked how I knew there were 27 amendments to the Constitution, I explained that 27 was the legendary Darryl Sittler’s number on the Toronto Maple Leafs. If that’s a reference that escapes you, this is the time to google it — 10 points in a single game. That’s still the record.
“Maybe don’t say that thing about the Leafs in the test,” my wife advised.
The USCIS agent asked how many amendments there were. “Twenty-seven!” I announced, and somehow passed without mentioning hockey once.
What I Learned
The Springs welcomes everyone, particularly Canadians who memorize the Constitution through hockey statistics.
8. S’up and Namaste on Monument Lake (SUP Yoga)
A Trader Joe’s cashier suggested I try SUP yoga, and before I knew it, I was attempting a Modified Camel pose on a paddleboard in the middle of Monument Lake. I fell into the freezing cold water twice, but for three glorious seconds, I executed a perfect pose while a millennial somehow rescued all my possessions from the depths.
The instructor said I looked like “a still, silver surfer in the middle of a tranquil lake,” which was exactly when I finally understood what the universe was trying to tell me.
What I Learned
The universe is a poor communicator.
9. The Kitchen That Almost Broke Me (Kitchen Remodeling)
Remodeling a kitchen, I discovered, involves making approximately 47,000 decisions about things you never knew existed. Paint colors have names like Amenable Gray, Amazing Gray and Porpoise (why is a brown called Porpoise?). When the paint store employee asked what color my cabinets were, I realized I wasn’t 100% sure.
“Is this a prank?” she asked.
What I Learned
Home improvement in the Springs is like everything else here — it looks easier than it is.
10. Finding the State of Slim (And Maybe Myself)
For five years I avoided doctors, but my wife finally made me an appointment. The news was not great — high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and triglycerides literally off the charts. “You need to lose 20 pounds immediately,” the doctor said.
I accidentally wandered into a State of Slim meeting at work, where Coach Lauren explained we’d “kickstart our metabolism and rewire our brains.” The program was based on eating like people in Colorado do. “Think of your body as a bathtub,” she said. “Most diets only shut off the water. We open the drain.”
For 16 weeks, I ate from an approved list six times a day and kept a food log more complicated than my taxes. By the end, I’d lost 18 pounds and my doctor took my blood pressure three times before believing it.
What I Learned About Living in Colorado Springs
Sometimes Colorado Springs literally reshapes you from the inside out. The State of Slim isn’t just a diet — it’s a real place, and apparently I live there now. Also, there are two kinds of people: those who need to lose 20 pounds and those who have nothing to worry about.
The Real Lesson
After 10 years of spectacular failures and unexpected successes, I’ve learned that the Springs doesn’t just tolerate beginners — it celebrates them. This place has a way of pushing you toward adventures you never planned while surrounding you with people who will cheer you on, lend you their old bike or, just when you need it most, help fish your glasses out of Monument Lake. The secret isn’t being good at things. The secret is showing up, falling down, getting back up and laughing about it afterward. In Colorado Springs, that’s not just acceptable — it’s a way of life.
