Home Run: How the Braford Family Connects by Foot
Some families share religion, camping, lavish vacations, opera. Other families go running.
On an unnaturally warm February morning, one of many in a winter that never made up its mind south of the 40th latitude, the Braford family went for a run. Through town on Shrine Road, up toward the local water supply, to the Boulder Gulch trailhead where the dirt and slush turned to snow. The oldest son, Blaze, bounded ahead, his long blonde hair bouncing with each gangly stride, while the younger two children, Raja and Soren, lagged behind, lobbing snowballs at each other. Raja鈥檚 pink top and blue tights stood out brightly against the snow. Their father, Cody, called back, 鈥淐ome on, runts!鈥� as he charged ahead toward a bend in the trail overlooking town.
Cody Braford and Ivy Lefebvre moved to Silverton, Colorado, eight years ago after a slow courtship with this tiny former mining town, the population of which shrinks to around 420 in the winter and expands only slightly when the snow melts. Cody鈥檚 car broke down here when he was 17, back when he was aimlessly following the metal band Ministry around the country, and he always planned to come back. These mountains tend to do that.

Time just below tree line is the family鈥檚 unifying force. Raja plays with puffballs during a pause to regroup. Photo: Steven Gnam
Cody is a contractor, and Ivy is the janitor and electrician at the public school, which has so few students鈥�65 this year鈥攖hat their oldest son, Blaze, is the only kid in his math and science classes. He and his father share the same laugh, an animated and frequent explosion. Both parents plow snow for the city during normal winters. Raja, the middle child and only daughter, skillfully fills in the gaps of her siblings鈥� stories. The youngest, Soren, was born in the living room of the family鈥檚 green prefab house which they call, 鈥淭he Aid Station.鈥� It nearly killed both him and his mother. In addition to the kids, who range in age from 11 to 17, the house is also occupied by a cat, a dog, at least five tarantulas and a 160-pound pig named Simba.
Running is a tool that the Brafords have given their children. It鈥檚 economical and configures their time together鈥攆rom weekends to vacations. It鈥檚 a replacement for one alcohol addiction and distracts from the possibility of another. It鈥檚 time together and an outlet, a way the family has learned to artfully navigate their respective interests and use small-town loneliness to foster intimacy and independence. Intentionally or not, it鈥檚 nurtured a precocious curiosity. Blaze wants to be an engineer. He wants to go to college in a place where he can still run in the mountains. And he says this, not as if it鈥檚 a line he鈥檚 been fed by overindulgent parents, but as a genuine requirement he鈥檚 arrived at on his own. Just like he decided to become a vegetarian after learning about Hinduism in school and when Raja decided she wanted a pig.

Simba (with the curly tail) gives Ivy a kiss for good luck before a run. Even the pig has his own Strava account. Photo: Steven Gnam
鈥淚t can be lonely here,鈥� says Ivy, glancing down at the slant-roof houses below. She鈥檚 struggled for the past few years with diabetes, trying to manage it while continuing to run. She鈥檇 like to open a health food store in town someday. The kids agree about the loneliness, but they shrug it off like it鈥檚 an inevitable compromise for the mountains. Which in many ways it is. The Brafords fold running into their family as habitually as brushing teeth. Their lives aren鈥檛 easy, but they鈥檝e never known anything different.
鈥淥nward, Macduff!鈥� Cody shouts, calling his children to attention from where they鈥檝e stopped to scramble on the rock formations at the base of the trail. They shout the misquoted Shakespeare back, 鈥淥nward, Macduff!鈥� then sprint in formation, careening down the trail, Ivy sweeping from behind. They jostle for position and race, agile and without hesitation, over the rocks and patches of slushy snow, hollering at each other as they go.