Six Feet Deep in the Mud

Running is not really a team sport. A pretty blunt statement, I know and I'm saying that even as a runner who has received great support from team members who were critical to any success I've ever experienced as a runner. But it wasn't until I ran my first cani-cross race that I felt part of an active, flowing team again as I ran 5 kilometers leashed to my ten month old husky pup Wild.

I don't want to get too much into what is really a "team" discussion, certainly as I don't want to sound unappreciative of those who have supported me. I guess the big difference to feeling part of a team again is that when I looked up 'our' time on-line and saw only my name listed in the results, I felt disappointed that he really didn't get any credit for his efforts. That's kind of like saying Michael Jordan won six NBA championships, and not the Chicago Bulls. In this race I felt more like Scottie Pippen and Wild was Air Jordan. Or as those who saw the conditions at the Pineland Trail Running Festival, Mud Jordan.

My greatest worry about the race was that every Memorial Day Weekend for the past seven years it is always extremely hot and humid, even when it is not sunny. I was concerned under the same conditions that my husky puppy would feel the effects and over heat his system. Instead we had a cold and soggy week that ended with every last drop of moisture being squeezed out of the clouds just about the time of our race.

A few days before the race I found a skijoring harness I had used with our first dog, Quasi. It fit Wild well and we did go on a small run to check everything.

About a half hour to kill before the race and managed to get totally soaked and then told we had to wait another ten minutes to give the 10 K racers a little more space before the dogs were let loose. Wild finally took care of biological needs, which I properly disposed of. We were just walking into the starting gate when the commands to start the race were given.

Wild had been curious about some of the dogs and still wanted to say hello to a few as we started. Then after he rounded his first corner he seemed to know this was a race. I felt like we were moving faster than a hungry lion smelling a steakhouse. Wild had no interest in other dogs in front of him other than to be in front of the next one. He didn't care that we were sprinting through ankle deep mud. He didn't notice that the rain was falling heavy even through the tall pine forest. He only wanted to run, and run fast.

I decided not to crush his spirit and slow him down, not yet, as it was really just so fun. As we approached a few sharp, downhill turns I did hold him back a little so I wouldn't end up on my ass while I'm sure Wild would just keep going dragging me along. I managed to keep my balance and Wild made up time by charging back up the hills.

After the road crossing we caught a few 10 k runners but with less dogs ahead of us, I slowed us down to make sure he had enough energy for the finish. This is where I felt like we were running as a team, and not that this was my race, and not entirely Wild's race either. I also was breathing heavier than expected and wanted to save some energy for my own race of 25 kilometers on these same muddy trails the next day.

Somehow I had messed up my watch at the start so I didn't  know our pace, but it was only a 5K, so just tough it out and find out the results at the end. I wasn't real sure how serious others were taking this race. Then as we were at the bottom of the Campus Loop I could look to the trail above us and saw a couple guys really moving along with their dogs. And now this is where the race would get tougher as we had to run mostly uphill and I wasn't too sure how much Wild had left in the tank.

He still attacked a couple short hills and we were still passing other teams but I knew the long hills and he seemed to sense my pace so we didn't burn out before reaching certain plateaus.

It was fun to see all the different dogs running as there was not a dominant breed. We passed only one other husky who was bigger than Wild, who I think has topped out at just under fifty pounds. There were all different types of harnesses/leashes, of which the most uncomfortable looked like the most serious as it was worn like a jock strap by the human and thus revealing one runners exotic choice of underwear. My leash could be adjusted to fit around my waist and hooked to the back of his harness and I tucked a couple poop bags in to my shorts and carried some Beggin' Strips in my hand and shorts. I can't believe I hadn't forgotten his normal treats at home and had to make an emergency stop at a convenience store in Pownal for treats. Some teammate I am!

As we approached the top of the last hill, we passed two more teams with no one else really in sight. I kept us on a pace so as not to be caught and as we made our last turn I encouraged him to show some speed to the finish line. Nicely we, well I spotted my wife and kids near the finish braving out the conditions to see our puppy in his moment of glory. I knew dogs had finished ahead of us but what a thrill it was to cross the finish line and see our time of about twenty three minutes which far exceeded my expectations.

Wild still wanted to greet other dogs and people at the finish, but now with a little less gusto while I began to empty my pocket of treats.

As a family we hung in for awhile cheering on other teams and by the time 10K runners began coming in and passing the dog teams, I began to quickly cool off. All dogs were nicely given collapsible bowls and the humans water bottles, although Wild drank from nearby puddles, of which there were plenty. And he did actually have a couple drinks during the race, no need for aid stations when there are puddles.

Back at hone that afternoon I fixed our fence once again, as Wild had found a new way to escape the afternoon before. And so now he could run free through the backyard untethered and unsupervised. And the next morning, Wild did what all great runners do the day after a race, he went for a run, but since I still my 25K race, this time he ran with his Mom. After all she and the kids are part of the team, that I am proud to say is my family.

 

Final result 23:07, 12th place of 119

Postscript, since the time of writing this report dogs names have been added to the on-line results.

 

Running in Indy

Carmel, Indiana Half Marathon

The medal hadn’t been hanging around my neck for five minutes before I gave it a kiss and then dumped it into a plastic bucket. It was certainly the biggest medal I had ever earned for running any race, still was smaller than a few cowbells I had earned running an ultra at Pineland, but was never going to be displayed with my small handful of other shiny metal objects I had earned as a runner. Instead, this medal was going to be taken by the volunteers who were collecting other finishers medals and sent to a local hospital to be given someone unknown to me who was facing greater challenges than running a mere 13.1 miles.
I do love shiny metal objects, so part of me almost reached back into that bucket, especially since I hadn’t run a race since October where I earned a hoodie that I just may be buried in. My brother-in-law, Jimmy, was a little surprised when I dropped the medal in the bucket, even refusing to have my picture taken with the medal. He was the only family member or friend around me at the finish line at one of the biggest races I had ever been involved in. He was there paying off a bet just having finished his first race ever. He did not have a medal for his 8K race, but was certainly more proud of himself for finishing as opposed to me for my half marathon efforts.
The bet had been made during the NFL season as my beloved Patriots where to once again play the hometown team of my wife, the Indianapolis Colts. Jimmy and I make a bet every year and I usually win, except for the previous year I bet the spread versus a straight up win and somehow the Colts scored something like twenty one points in the fourth quarter to beat the spread of the same number. When it came time to set the wages for this year’s match-up, I checked the race calendar for our annual April break and found there where races to be held in Carmel, Indiana, Jimmy’s hometown just minutes north of Indianapolis. Jimmy agreed to the wager, if the Colts won I would run the race wearing some sort of Colts gear and if the Pats won then he would have to run one of the races. He agreed to the 8K and all I had to do was let Brady and Belicheck do their work.
Although I had plenty of time to prepare for this race, I never really got into serious race training mode mostly as I just didn’t enjoy doing any long runs on the road. I also spent more time running with my pup Wild, which has been wonderful but certainly a little slower than training pace. Maybe if the last couple of months had better weather I might have spent more time pounding the pavement rather than doing loops around the trails not far from my home. So with that said, I went into the race with the mind set that I probably wouldn’t get a PR, even though this would officially be only my second road half marathon ever. My only other one was also in Indiana five years ago just months after my son was born.
We had driven to Indiana a week before and even though I should have been tapering, I actually got in some really decent runs rather than taking it easy. My first was just around my mother-in-laws gated neighborhood where I got in some decent speed work the day after our four person family unit had driven just under seventeen hours through wet weather in order to get from Maine to Indy. The next day I went out to some trails I knew at Fort Harrison. I was really pleased to find that there were many new trails in the section that I normally ran that were now much more single track than before and added about a mile to this part of the park within the Fort’s grounds. Although I got in just around five miles on the loop, I didn’t feel like it was quite enough, but too much to do another complete loop, so I drove over to another part of the park that was closer to a river. I got in a couple more miles and had more people on these trails getting out of my way as I was pushing the pace on the flatter terrain.
The next day was Monday, marathon Monday, and I really looked forward to watching the marathon on my in-laws big screen. Unfortunately I couldn’t find any station that was covering the marathon, despite the thousands of channels they had to chose from on their cable, digital, satellite, shit I don’t know even know what kind of system it was. Instead, I frequently checked on the computer cheering on fellow Trail Monsters, a few other friends and of course Kara and Shalene. It wasn’t until much later in the day, when I had the house to myself that I learned about the horror that had taken place on Bolyston Street that afternoon. I won’t go into my emotions but I quickly scrambled to check on the times of runners that I knew to be sure that they and their families must be out of harm’s way. My wife and family came home about an hour later and I pulled my wife aside to tell her the news and to keep the news away from our seven and five year old. There was nothing we could do other than to pray and hug our children for a few moments longer than normal.
I got out for a run in the neighborhood again the next afternoon. I had spent a very rainy afternoon with my kids at a pretty decent rock gym, and although the rain didn’t let up very much I still felt the need for some exercise, especially since I wasn’t really hadn’t been eating all week like someone about to run a half. I ran past the gated community within the gated community where Larry Bird actually lives wishing that I had on a Boston shirt or hat in case he came driving by in his car. Instead, I did more speed work as the rain picked up and it felt wonderful. I wished I had trained more like this the last few months as my soaked shirt was sucked to my body and my legs were driving my body past houses that were nearly impossible to differentiate from one another and I ran alone with no one to cheer. I thought about those people who would cheer for a total stranger at a race and it really fucking pissed me off that those were the people who were killed and injured just twenty four hours before in Boston. As much as I love the solitude of the trail and don’t feel the need for encouragement while running other than from my own psyche, I have always appreciated the kindness of strangers to me while I’ve toiled. I prayed for all those affected and also prayed that the spirit around any race would never decrease.
My last run before the big day was on Thursday as I drove out to Butler University to run on the canal trails. I parked near the infamous Hinkle Field house, infamous if you’re a college basketball fan or ever watched Hoosiers. The bell tower rang three o’clock as I made my way down the hill to the canal. Technically these are trails but they are so well packed and flat that they made most Maine roads feel like mogul runs. Of course it began to rain again as I started my run but that only meant that there was practically no one else on these trails which were very popular. I figured I would do about five miles and there was only one other person on the trail, riding their bike in the two miles I covered. I saw more turtles in the water than people. I got to a spot on the canal near the Indy Art Museum and was surprised to find some map kiosks. These were new to me, and although it appeared the trails were quite long, I still had to check them out. Well, the maps were a little deceiving as I circled a lake, pond, body of water on some slick trail having once to dodge out of the way of a girl walking her dog while on her cell phone. There were a few interesting pieces of art (?) I passed and I was pleased to discover more trails. I thought that places like this needed more funding than we do here in Maine in order to build and maintain more trails. The rain really started coming down as I approached the campus and heard the bell tower playing America the Beautiful. I was glad I didn’t wear headphones anymore.
Paranoia will destroy ya’, or at least keep waking you up all night worrying that the alarm clocks won’t go off. After cooking a pasta and chicken dinner for my family, my mother-in-law set a couple alarms for me to wake up at six o’clock. I set my watch as well. The starting line was really less than fifteen minutes away, especially in Saturday morning traffic, but I didn’t want to take any chances missing the start when I didn’t have my own alarm clock(s) to trust. I kept checking my watch throughout the night, which was between every forty-five minutes to an hour and a half, and so when the first alarm went off I felt a little relief that I could finally start my day. As I was getting ready in the bathroom I began to wonder why I hadn’t heard the second alarm. It was just after five o’clock. I contemplated just staying awake and loading up on caffeine but soon dismissed that thought and hit the sack again now with my running shorts on.
Luckily, the second alarm was right on time and I was out of the house in about twenty minutes with a cup of tea and half a bagel in hand. In less time that it took me to get ready I was parking my car in a lot that was already nearly full not far from the starting line. I listened to NPR for updates on the arrest of the second Boston bomber which I had been watching the night before. I was reminded of watching O.J. Simpson and his white Bronco chase nearly twenty years ago. That event I remember watching at a bar in the Old Port and now I was imbiding in Gatorade. As I listened in the car I got further ready keeping the engine on in order to stay warm as the temps were somewhere in the thirties. There were actually some snowflakes in the air the night before. Another brother-in-law, Bruce, who was also a runner offered me some cold weather gear, of which I politely declined, feeling that I would be fine with a long sleeve under my black Trail Monster shirt. I did buy a cheap shirt to wear and discard before the race after I had picked up my race packet the day before the event. The pick up area was at Carmel’s community center which was a virtual palace. There were many booths set up to attract the attention of the runners, some of whom would be doing a full marathon besides the half and 8K. I passed by all of them, and only sought out directions for parking. All the info was good I discovered as I stepped out of my mini-van with about a half hour to go before race time.
I hit a porta-potty at a construction site on the walk to the starting line. It was still really cold, so I popped inside a lobby to a really fancy parking garage with many, many other runners. I stretched a little, but soon felt too confined and headed back out into the cold. I walked around, found more porta potties which had huge lines so I began a little warm-up jog knowing the race had to start soon. I chose to hop in the coral for those at an 8:00 pace. Slower than I even planned to go, but I figured on taking it easy to start the race. There were a few speeches, honoring the victims of Monday’s senseless tragedy. The banner in front of us all did have a countdown going, but no one could see it as we were all looking directly into the sun. I took my recently purchased shirt off and threw it off to the side and eager to get this race started and over with so I could begin my drive back to Maine later that morning.
It took about a minute and a half to cross the starting line, as I had started my watch at the sound of the starting gun rather than wait for the beep from the timing chip. The claustrophobia I had felt back in the lobby was now upon me again as I moved with the throng of runners. I began to wonder why in the hell was I really here. This wasn’t any fun. I had to spend all my time focusing on people in front of me instead of taking in the scenery around me. One runner ran into a traffic cone in the middle of the course, so I stayed closer to the left hand shoulder making my move around a few people by hitting the dirt.
I will say the roads were in incredible shape. I chuckled about seeing the occasional pot hole, as otherwise the public works department of Carmel should receive medals even more glorious than the one I was to receive in a little over an hour. There was nothing that could be done about the sun we were still facing. Despite it’s strength, it didn’t do all that much to warm the atmosphere. I was feeling good in those temps though and in looking around at other runners who were overdressed I knew they were going to be suffering later on when it did get a little warmer and their bodies much warmer.
Pleasantly, the race course was not as flat as I expected here in Indiana. The hills were not long or steep but they did nicely break things up and allowed me to pull away from some runners. We were also taken through some planned neighborhoods, where there were the occasional group in their driveway to cheer on the throng of runners. A couple older ladies were sitting in their chairs banging on a couple of pots. I commented to another runner that it was appropriate for the ladies to have their pot as the day was 4-20.
Closing in around mile four, the pack was sticking to the right side of the road and there were some fast runners coming at us in the left lane. Clearly, we were about to split away from the marathoners. I yelled out encouragement to those going the full distance as I turned around a traffic cone hoping that I wasn’t cutting any of them off. A little down and a bigger up now had me feeling like the race was really starting for me as there was now elbow room even though many more runners were still doing the half.
My pace picked up with the benefit of space and I was now really beginning to enjoy myself. A little smile was on my face and I looked at the spectators with renewed appreciation. We turned left at an intersection that had a long line of cars all stopped. I was filled with even more joy as I noticed the scowls on many of the driver’s faces. Another runner and I joked about the looks and he yelled out to them to spend their time by updating their Facebook status.
My mood continued to improve through the middle miles and so did my pace. I wasn’t taking splits but I’d say I was moving close to a seven minute pace. There were about 4,000 runners on the course between the two distances but there wasn’t much in the terms of fanfare along the side of the road. Where there were some timing mats to cross there would be some music playing on a boom box but that was about it. In a few weeks would be the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon which has something like 30,000 people and I guess all the fanfare was being saved for that one. No problem for me. I was feeling good and running well. I still didn’t expect a PR but at least I was feeling well.
I got somewhere past the ten mile mark and was going thru another planned neighborhood when a couple fans actually gave me some useful information. Usually most spectators just yell something like, "Run, you look good, oh god you’re nipples are bleeding!" which is all great but as a runner you really can’t do much with to turn those yells into something tangible. Now just as I passed a couple guys younger than me, this couple on the side tells me that the 1:40 pace group is just up ahead. Going into the race I had figured anything under 1:45 was all good, anything under 1:40 would be much more pleasing and the closer to 1:35/1:30 would have me feeling extremely proud. I did start to feel now that I would have to put in real effort to keep my legs moving but otherwise the rest of my system was strong even though I wasn’t fueling the system like I would during an ultra. Really I had probably less than a total cup of water and nothing to eat. I did have a couple Clif Blocks in my back pocket along with a small stick of Body Glide as my nipples had gotten a little torn up on my Thursday run. Luckily those were fine as well. So with all that, I didn’t reach in my back pocket for the Blocks. Maybe in the back of my head I didn’t want to bite into the wrong items, especially since I knew where else I’d used that Body Glide.
It was feeling more like work now but I was still passing people, and more people who looked like runners. I’d never seen so many MP3's, I-Pods, or other listening devices before in a race. There was one guy I passed whose device was broadcasting his pace out loud. I’ll admit, I used to run with music and may break out the tunes again but for now I do prefer to fill my head with my own rhythms and lyrics.
I did have a GPS watch working for me though. And it looked like I was closing in on the final mile. I pulled ahead from a couple other runners just before another timing mat, and they asked about the mileage. The volunteer said one mile, the guys then started to complain about the mile marks on the course. I had no such complaints, didn’t really care. A short time later there was a time clock clicking away right next to a sign marking the twelfth mile. Maybe the guys did have a legitimate complaint. Ah, who cares I figured again, my watch indicated something like 12.2 or 12.3, close enough. What really concerned me was the clock was just approaching 1:33 which meant that I certainly had to run under a seven minute mile to catch that pace group which had been eluding me.
An uphill then the course brought us to downtown Carmel and past the hamburger stand where I had paid off mybet from the previous year to Jimmy. I had seen this restaurant on Man vs. Food where if you can eat one of their oversized burgers you could get your picture on the wall. And the more of the burgers you eat the bigger your picture. I forget the exact weight of one of these BUB (big ugly burgers) but it was served in a extra large sized pie pans. I passed on the challenge, even though the largest picture, which was covering a door, had a guy holding four pans and he actually looked much more like a runner rather than a disgruntled Colts fan.
Through downtown I caught a few more people and made my move on a couple more headed back up a hill. I could hear one guy’s heavy breathing from a couple horse length’s away. I wished there was another runner closer to me so I could say, "That’s what she said." So instead I cruised by him and then cheered for someone on the sidewalk wearing a Red Sox hat. The final stretch was all downhill and I resisted the full sprint to the finish while eyeing the clock, slightly bummed that I was just a little over the 1:40 mark.
A woman handed me my medal and then I was even more pleased to see Jimmy just on the other side of the gate. His race had started a half hour after mine, and so I was never really sure he was going to pay off his bet until the race was over. I grabbed a chocolate milk as Jimmy came through the gates to join me. We talked as we grabbed some good grub. Volunteers then cut off the timing chip and I passed through the end of the gates. It was then the buckets came out. I did hesitate to hand over my medal. It was a good one. But it was just a medal. It was not a cowbell. And I thought of those people who lost limbs just watching a race earlier in the week. So in it went.
I walked with Jimmy over to his bike, yes his bike. He biked to his first ever race. It wasn’t too far away but I was impressed. The rest of his family was too busy to be at the event and mine was hopefully getting ready to head back to Maine. I bid Jimmy farewell, looking forward to seeing him this summer.
I didn’t get to check the official race results until later that night when we stopped somewhere in Pennsylvania after ten hours of driving. I was really pleased to find out my official time was indeed under 1:40 and that I had placed 96^th of over three thousand runners. Sixth in my age group and the faster runner from Maine. There was actually one other runner from Maine in the race. And although none of the data reported it, I think I was perhaps the most carefree runner along the entire course. You don’t need a medal to prove that.

Lost in Bradbury

For the first time in my running history, I turned on the mapping function of my GPS watch hoping that it would help me find my way. There I was standing somewhere on the East side of Bradbury, looking at a bunch of dotted lines on my watch unsure how to follow the lines back to my car. As concerned as I was, I had Wild excitedly sniffing about while on the leash, unaware that I had no idea where we were or how we were going to get back.
It all started so simply as I had about forty five free minutes before I had to pick up my son at pre-school just a few miles away from the park. There were less than ten cars in the lot at Bradbury but I still decided to avoid the ‘crowd’ and darted over to the East side.
There was still plenty of snow that was nicely packed down and I was glad I had put on my ice grips. I could have followed the snowmobile trails but I decided to turn on the Lanzo trail even though there were only a couple ski tracks to follow. It wasn’t ideal running but I wasn’t looking to go fast and even though I knew there wouldn’t or shouldn’t be any other people I decided to hold onto Wild’s leash instead of letting him run totally free.
I got to the Island Loop intersection and after I turned onto it I turned back as I had noticed a ziploc bag hanging from the trail kiosk. There was an envelope inside the bag marked, ‘For you.’ Since I am a ‘you’ I opened it up and found read the note which stated something about me being wonderful and other loving stuff that was just really nice, granted a little sappy but nonetheless a genuinely nice gesture by a total stranger meant for other random strangers.
It was here along the trail that the trouble began. The ski tracks were easy to follow but then I began to notice that the tracks were leading off the trail once in a while but would loop back to a noticeable trail underneath the melting snow which was about ankle high.
I pressed on figuring I would be able to still complete the loop and get back to better packed trail. I’m not really certain if I lost the ski tracks or just decided to follow what I thought was the trail but I soon found myself standing in the snow looking around wondering just where the hell was I? Then I noticed some yellow blazes on the trees so I made my way toward one and then the next and so forth. What was puzzling me was that nothing seemed like a trail around me. I wasn’t pushing my way through branches but clearly the path I was following the blazes was not a path most normal people would not be following. Once in a while though it did seem as if I was on a ‘trail’ and this false confidence was actually getting me more and more lost.
I came to the realization that I was truly unaware of my location, in other words lost, when I came back to my own tracks. I figured that I shouldn’t follow my own tracks back since they had gotten me lost to begin with and also I didn’t feel like cutting short my run even if my tracks led me directly back to Island intersection. Wild could have cared less which direction I chose as he ate some snow between sniffs.
I tried following more yellow blazes, still thinking these were trail markers and thinking once in a while there was a trail at my feet beneath the snow. There were more deer tracks around us than signs of human travel, except whenever I came back to my own prints. I had managed to go in circles at least a couple times. I knew I was circling around as I came across one of my ice grips that had fallen off unbeknownst to me. I picked it up, and took my other one off not wanting to lose them, and there was little ice and just ankle deep snow. Now I knew that I was truly lost. I couldn’t believe that I had gotten lost in a place that I had traveled so many times. Despite the countless miles I had run at Bradbury I didn’t know where I was or how I would be able to find my way back.
I came to a spot where I could identify a rough field through the woods, a place that I couldn’t recall ever seeing but there were still plenty of yellow blazes that I continued to follow and once again there seemed to be a trail as I crossed a couple of small bridges. My watch was set on auto-pause so although it indicated I had only been running for about twenty minutes I knew I was probably out for a while longer and I needed to find a way out soon in order to pick up my son in time.
I passed by a rusted out bed frame, something that I defiantly had never seen before and even though it seemed like I was on a trail I knew I had to do something different to get unlost. That was when I clicked my watch over to the map option even though I really didn’t know how to use it properly. The screen showed a bunch of dotted lines going relatively straight until it came to a spot where there was a small mass of dots all circling around one another and then one small straight one leading to where I was presently standing. I could try to follow these small dots out of the woods but I decided to head back to where I had seen the field instead.
It was here I spotted what seemed to be a woods road. As rough as it looked I made the decision to check it out. After all it had to lead somewhere right. I knew of some roads surrounding the park besides Route 9 and hoped that this woods road would lead to one of them if not Route 9 itself.
Coming out of the woods onto this little road, that was of course not plowed but clearly a road, probably leading to a woods lot, I could now see a couple houses and a small farm. And in a short while I could even see a couple green road signs on a telephone poll. At the end of the road I stepped around a rope barrier and read the sign hanging on it stating ‘No trespassing’. Too late. I was pretty certain I had come out to Route 9 and just needed to turn left to get back to the park. Still I checked the road signs a little ways a way in the opposite direction but confirmed that I was on the Hallowell Road, also known as Route 9. Yahoo!
Wild still had plenty of energy left as we ran down the road back to the park no more than a half a mile away. It was the first time in quite awhile that I was truly happy, if not even thrilled to be running on a road. I got back to the mini van and filled Wild’s water bowl saving a little for myself. A few minutes later I was greeting Quinn getting some awesome five year old hugs.
I look forward to my next run, which most certainly will still be at Bradbury. Next time I think I’ll deal with the ‘crowds’ and stick to trails that I know will not let me live up to trail name, The Lost Osprey.

Two Runs

I did a foolish thing the other day. I put my name into the Mount Washington Road Race. I’ll know in a couple days if I’m in, until then I need to focus my running on becoming stronger. I don’t need to be faster but certainly stronger. I signed up for that race just after I had gotten back from a six mile trail run in the woods near my house. There was nothing in my running to make me think that I was ready for the seven plus mile run up New England’s highest peak. I was originally supposed to be going out for an eight mile road run but there was really no part of me that wanted to do eight on the road. I didn’t even feel like running whatsoever, but after reading a couple more chapters of Scott Jurek’s book I felt inspired to hit the trails. Also having my newest edition of Trail Runner magazine also helped get me out the door.
I figured I would run for about an hour, as this would be close to the time I would put in for eight miles of road running. So I carried my ice grips in my hands for the half mile to the trail. I didn’t need many layers as the temps were somewhere around forty and the snow soon felt like it was melting underneath my feet. Every time I landed a foot it would slip away from me in an unpredictable direction. The ice grips were on mostly to prevent me from falling on my arse if there were some real ice spots but they did little to help me from gliding with the melting grains of snow. So this of course made for a real slow run but I had to power through it. It was a tough workout. It became even tougher when I had to break some trail. I wouldn’t have minded so much but the melting snow I was breaking through was also quickly soaking my feet. I’m sure my feet would have been much drier cutting through snow drifts in sub-zero temperatures.
I did have to retrace my steps a little in order to stay out for an hour but I felt that was better than driving anywhere, even if that would be less than ten miles away. By staying close to home that gave me time to get home and put my name in the lottery. I even had some extra time to sign up for a half marathon when I go to Indiana in about a month. I know, road, yuck! But it will be a bit of a family event that I look forward to. I just don’t look forward to doing much road work. After all this snow actually melts and there is nothing left but seven feet of mud, I may begin to appreciate road running a little more.
　
I watched the driving rain Tuesday night from my window feeling sad that winter was not going to be with us much longer. I was planning to go for a run at Bradbury the next morning and I began to wonder just how bad the trail conditions would be and the same weather pattern was predicted for the morning. I also wanted to bring Wild with me and I began to wonder whether he would be up to the run. But then I put him outside while the rain came down sideways and then had a hard time convincing him to come back in, I knew then that he would be up for just about anything.
The rains did stop the next morning, and after I dropped off Quinn at pre-school Wild and I headed to The Brad. There was one car in the lot, and a young couple were putting on their boots. They were not exactly fit bodies, but bless ‘em for getting out there on a day that really had little appeal for an outdoor adventure. While I waited for my watch to find some satellites, I eyed the trail and saw that the rains had really only melted away the top layer of snow and exposed all the packed ice. So I immediately took my ice grips out of my pack and put them on.
Wild and I quickly caught up with the couple and we broke free some ice in order to get around them. I kept hold of Wild’s leash as we continued on the Boundary Trail but once we turned up the Northern Bluff trail I let go of his leash and let him do his own thing. He came and went while I slowly made my way up and took a small break at the summit to look around. I wasn’t sure what I really wanted to do so I decided to continue on the Boundary Trail. There were a few good slushy puddles along the way and I did what I could do to get around them. I started to feel a little less powerful by going around but then I noticed that Wild didn’t really want to get his feet wet either.
I turned off the Boundary to intersect with the Tote Trail. There was more snow here than ice but it was all firmly packed down. There was one small stream crossing, well normally a stream but now lots of ice covered with flowing water. I got across without getting soaked but the trail just up ahead proved to be more challenging. Here I started to unexpectedly break through the snow. It was only a few steps here and there but a reminder that this snow was really not going to be around much longer.
I made my way back to the Boundary Trail but then turned back up the Bluff Trail. Wild thought quickly followed and was soon ahead of me as we headed straight up. I thought of Mt. Washington as I slowly found my best footing getting up this hill. We were only at about two and a half miles as we stood at the summit once again. I had figured three miles would be a fine workout for the both of us, but Wild was looking much better than usual at this point in our runs. So instead of just heading back down I decided to head back on the Tote. Wild enjoyed this choice as he bounded down the trail all eager for more. I noticed a large pool of water to the side of the trail that actually looked like the world’s largest pool of piss. I could have taken urine samples to my doctor with that water. I don’t know what turned the water yellow and I don’t want to really know.
We passed the crossing once again, this time I got a little more wet but nothing that chilled me to the bone. I was slightly surprised just how cold I was when I did start the run. The air temp was in the forties but I soon came to the realization that not only hot air rises but so does cold air as I could feel the temp coming up from the ice below.
I was able to avoid breaking through the snow better the second time by spotting my steps from the first time through. Wild was still going strong, checking out things off trail and then catching back up and not just running right behind me which he does when he starts to tire. At another intersection I had to decide to take the quick route back to the car or do an extra quarter mile. I opted for the latter and once again Wild took off wildly down the trail and I felt justified by my decision. He did start to slow the closer we got the car and I took him back by the leash right as the field came into view.
The car was still in the lot and I was glad the couple was still out there. A truck pulled in and the driver was accompanied by three dogs, and as he said two birders and once couch potato. I refilled Wild’s water bowl and had some myself before we headed home, he for a nap and me to write this report.

Windy Wild Run

I awoke for the second time of the day to find that snow had started to cover over the couple of feet from the storm the weekend before and the wind was blowing so hard that the snow seemed to be blowing in from snow guns rather than falling from the sky. In other words, a perfect time to go for a run.
Earlier in the morning I had risen in order to drive my wife and kids to the airport so they could fly down to Florida to see my mother in law and her husband. That was really early, so I didn’t even bother to let Wild out of his crate when I got home, and headed straight to bed for a couple extra hours of sleep. Now it was light enough to get up and start to prepare for a good run.
I had taken him for a couple runs a little longer than he had been doing and so I decided that I would take him for my long run of the week. Now my long run of the week wasn’t anything like it was during my real training period, so I knew whatever I did for mileage it wasn’t going to be anything that Wild wouldn’t be able to handle at now his tender age of seven months.
A good cup of tea was in order before I headed out the door. This gave me sometime to think if I really wanted to run in this weather as gusts were not whistling but screeching past the windows. One good look at my little husky made me realize that this was just the kind of weather that he would absolutely love and so I picked out some of my best windproof gear while pumping a little caffeine into my system.
I hadn’t worn my Nathan pack since my fifty miler in October but I broke it out not to carry water or treats but ice grips. I decided to head out the door and follow the road to some nearby trails rather than drive to any other trails. Wild started to take our normal left hand turn for our runs but when I turned right he seemed a little excited to be doing something a little different. We made our way past all the shops and in a few minutes were entering the cemetery where a trailhead exists for a very surprising trail network.
Here I put on my ice grips while Wild waited patiently. The wind was drifting the snow as there were plenty of patches of visible slightly dirty glaciated snow then spots of fresh white crystals. We got to the woods and after but just a minute of still holding onto Wild’s leash I decided to let go. Let go instead of stopping to unhook and although I’m sure this leash will get damaged by dragging on the ground, I’ve always found it easier to pick up a leash when a dog runs away rather than trying to put one back on.
Wild moved ahead of me but was looking back at me and I was feeling really good about his behavior. I had his treats in my pockets and in my hands all ready to praise anything he does properly. And then of course he darts off the trail into the woods. I move ahead of him and give him a moment to catch up. Which he doesn’t. I call to him. He keeps his nose in the snow. I decide to gather him up and notice near the tracks that his furiously sniffing at there are drops of blood in the snow. I quickly look at him but there doesn’t seem to be anything noticeably wrong with him. I spot some unidentifiable tracks leading further into the woods with more spots of blood near them. I manage to grab the leash and with much vigor lead him back to the trail wondering what is was that left the blood spots. It had to be pretty fresh or I’m sure the snow of the last couple hours would have covered it more. But this was one mystery that I wasn’t going to attempt to solve and would leave that to Scooby-Do and his friends.
Wild was plenty happy to be running with me again and so after we turned at an intersection I let go of the leash again. I was pleased that I was able to run on these trails which were well packed down in only a weeks time. They certainly weren’t packed down enough to go anywhere near race pace but that’s not where I wanted to be anywhere.
Down a hill that put Wild a little farther ahead of me and then soon up a very steep hill that I like to call Brick Hill due to efforts by whomever helps maintain these trails that puts bricks on the trail to help stop erosion. Wild does well to follow the trail as it is packed almost smooth but then he spots something that no dog can resist. A squirrel! He darts after it and I call for him to come back, but no, not even his most favorite treat will keep him from having one of his first off leash chases. Of course the dumb squirrel doesn’t just climb the first available tree to get away from his pursuer. Fortunately, it isn’t too far but I still have to posthole through some snow to get to Wild who is now looking up and wondering if the rodent is ever going to come down.
After I coral my buddy we head up Brick Hill together and it isn’t too much farther before I decide to release the leash again. We move well together through the woods and I look at my watch for one of the first times, not for me but to make sure I really don’t push it on my friend.
After we cross over a small bridge rather than break through some ice covered by snow, we, well really, I need to make some route decisions. The trail I usually take up a hill has not been broken, one leading to my left is broken but means a longer run but the trail on my right is broken and means a slightly shorter run. I decide to take that knowing that my running partner after all is only seven months old and no matter which route I choose that this will be the longest run of his life.
Wild listens well when I tell him my decision on which way to go. He always almost seems to be more excited to change his direction and follow me when I go a different way than he thought. After a while more on the trail we come to a spot that I know is close to a couple houses. About a week and a half earlier I had been out here by myself and surprised to discover a sign on the trail. It was at the end of an old logging road where a turn to the right will have someone follow the trail but going straight for another fifty yards will put you into someone’s backyard. The trail appears that one should just go straight ahead and I always felt like it was a little known secret to turn right and experience a hidden trail. Now here was a homemade sign pointing to go right and stating that dogs should be leashed and kept off the homeowner’s property. I was aware of this new sign and request before I got close to it so I made sure I had a hold of Wild’s leash. I totally wanted to respect this landowner’s request for he or she may just be the one who maintains some of these trails, besides it was just the right thing to do.
It wasn’t too long before I released Wild again and we enjoyed running close to each other. He did get a little ahead when we came around to the intersection at the top of Brick Hill and although he started to dart down he did slow himself down once he found out that gravity can be a real bitch sometimes. I caught back up but then he decided to show off when we became to climb another hill. I knew we had less than a mile left before home, and I was feeling good about his condition as he was now really darting ahead of me but I just kept a slow steady pace not wanting to over excite him by making it seem like a game of chase.
At the next intersection Wild decided to follow our previous tracks by turning left when I wanted to go the other way. I could spot him although he was farther away from me than usual. I called to him and could see him react to my voice. I didn’t want to keep calling over and over again, so I ran on a little and soon saw him trying to take a shortcut through the deep snow rather than follow the trail back to me. Once he finally got back to me there was lots of praise and some treats.
Free leash again until we got near the cemetery then I grabbed hold again. The drifts that I noticed earlier were still drifting as my tracks from less than a half hour before where now non existent. The ice grips came off just before the road but I just held onto them versus putting taking the time in the driving wind to put them in my pack. The woods had blocked much of the wind but the snow had still managed to cling to most of my front side including my full beard.
The road wasn’t too clear and I started to second guess my decision to take them off especially when I saw one of Freeport’s finest spin his wheels trying to get up a hill. Less than half a mile later we are home and I’m giving Wild more praise and more treats in our driveway.
Certainly not my longest run ever at just over four miles but it still felt like an awesome little adventure by taking on some challenging weather and doing it with a little husky that hopefully be ready someday for some bigger miles.

March running in January

Today I felt as if I went on a run sometime in late March much more than the actual day being the last of January. My running lately has been pathetic. This was actually my third run of the week, including Sunday, which is something I have not been able to do in the new year.
I can’t recall exactly when my left ankle began hurting but when I nearly dropped to the floor in pain a couple times while merely walking around the house, I knew it was time to get it checked out. The Physician’s Assistant had no idea what was wrong, and called for an x-ray and for me to see someone else. The x-ray was negative, although it did reveal some arthritis but that would not be causing my pain. I finally saw a physical therapist, who happens to be my neighbor, and he diagnosed me with acute tendinitis. I was glad there was nothing structurally wrong with me but the pain did not go away immediately. So I took off a good week of running while downing ibuprofen and occasionally icing my ankle.
All seemingly went well with my minor treatment, and so after more than two weeks off from running I finally laced up my shoes. A few small runs on the road, not wanting to be far from home if the familiar pain reemerged. I was glad to be running again, although I could tell by my watch that even a couple of weeks off severely affected my times.
The weather of course throughout my recovery was quite variable and I didn’t feel all that bad missing out on a run when the temps were in the single digits. But today I actually had to contemplate wearing shorts when planning out my run.
After spending the morning with my four year old son Quinn coloring, which I seem to be making real progress at, I gathered up my running gear while getting his things ready for afternoon pre-school. There was some rain, some clouds, some incredible sunshine and of course there were strong gusts of wind. What the weather was actually going to be like when I went our for a run, I couldn’t be sure. So I still layered up with my lightest weight tights, a long sleeve tech shirt under a short sleeve tech, which was my new Trail Monster shirt that I got for Christmas. It was the only thing I asked my wife for and now I was thrilled to be sporting it for the first time. I did however put a light jacket over it, as I still wasn’t completely confident that Mother nature loves all Trail Monsters.
I easily could have gone for a run out on the road but I had been looking in my backyard all morning agitated in the fact there was not a trace of snow left in it. I noticed a few banks left around the neighbors and one in our front yard but it was all but gone after all the rain last night and a thermometer that read in the fifties. Last day of January? With this absence of snow and my new shirt on I knew I had to head for a trail. So after I dropped off Quinn, I whizzed over to our town dump which is situated right near the trails of Hedgehog Mountain. Not really a mountain, but certainly the best spot in town to get a view of Mt. Washington a hundred miles to the West.
I got a little nervous pulling onto the dump road and looking into the woods and noticing much more snow than was in my backyard. I began to wish that I had packed my ice grips. I didn’t want to miss a couple weeks or more of running because I fell on my ass.
The trail was exactly as expected. It was packed down like a glacier from everyone using it during our once again limited winter and now all the ice from those forces was being exposed from the rain and warm temperatures. My gait was slow and very calculated but I did not slide around quite as much as I thought I would, and was then pleased to round a corner and see open trail. Open trail really translated into mud. Not deep mud one would sink into but rather a top layer of mud lying atop frozen turf. Here I was glad not to have ice grips on, as they would have torn the trail to shreds. Still I had to use caution in my gait so as not to take a fall that I did not need.
I continued to venture down the trail never sure which surface I would come across next, hoping for something in the middle. Then I got exactly what I asked for. In the middle was a couple of inches of snow covering a mix of slush and ice, never really knowing if I would slide or sink. Well, at least I was more used to running a little slower now over the past couple weeks so I wasn’t disappointed with not getting a fast workout. No, this run was becoming more of a physical workout than any speed workout.
I headed down a hill that is usually muddy even when there is a drought but the frozen ground kept it better shape than expected. At the bottom was a small stream crossing where a bridge built by snowmobilers awaited me to cross. Sometimes the stream is barely a trickle but today the water was nearly flooding the bridge which sits a good three and a half feet above. The bridge is always at a slight angle with planks separated from one another by about five to eight inches. I decided to just walk across the smooth, wet planks rather than take a risk slipping into the cold water below. Really I didn’t fear drowning, I just didn’t want to freeze my parts off.
More of the snowy, slushy mix back up the hill. I hadn’t run here in quite awhile, so I was surprised that my watch indicated that I had only done one mile. Yah, one mile and I had the texture under my feet change probably a couple dozen times already. A road run would have just been one continuous step after another. Oh you silly mindless roads.
I grew used to the change of texture just by keeping a nice slow pace and short gait. I certainly wasn’t racing anyone, or even myself so I just moved along eventually looping back to the hill leading to the stream. A few little slides down on the slushy snow and then I was once again stepping carefully over the bridge.
For the first time in the run I did check out my pace as I crested the top of the hill and saw a twenty minute pace. Twenty minute! Yah, this was a slower run than I ever expected, but on the bright side at least I wasn’t feeling winded after my January slumberings.
I followed my tracks along an old woods road making note that it looked like someone had already cut back a fallen tree as there were wood chips on the trail. There were quite a few branches blowdown and although I couldn’t feel the wind as much due to the shelter of the trees I knew that gusts were still blowing hard.
A small loop off the woods road was followed by my ascent up the mighty Hedgehog. Here the trail showed real signs of affect from the melting snow as it was a pure top layer of mud coming down the mountain. The melting snow must have flowed directly down the trail as leaves lay perfectly where they had fallen months ago just off the path that people used to walk up and down the mountain. Every step forward slipped back but I didn’t get discouraged, I just looked forward to viewing Westward from the Hedge Ledge.
The sky was blue but there were just a few too many clouds to clearly see Mt. Washington a hundred miles away. I knew exactly where to look from, the right side of the tree growing between two boulders.
Onto the actual summit and back down, and I began to pick up a few more blown down branches on my descent. I had moved a few others in my way, but really only if I could reach them without totally stopping to bend over. And now, I realized that moving a couple extra was not going to slow me down all that much more.
There was one blow down that was a little too big for me to move and it lay at the intersection of the summit trail and that one leading to the woods road that I had previously come across. It wasn’t that big of an evergreen but still may require a little cutting to get fully out of the way. Maybe next week I’ll have to bring my foldable saw.
Back to the minivan but my watch indicated I was actually under three miles. I couldn’t stop short of three miles! So I crossed the road to where just earlier this week I had taken Quinn out on his cross country skis and now what little snow there was was only suitable for squeezing the water out of and then remixing with the snow to make a nice ice pack for swollen joints. I checked out another bridge which sat much higher over the same stream but was much narrower. I noted to myself that it would have been an excellent day to play Pooh Sticks there with my kids. If you don’t know how to play, well then you’re missing out on some real excitement.

Back to the road where I still had to run on the paved surface just a little in order to get the three miles. Oh, the sacrifices. I stopped my watch at exactly three miles and wasn’t really surprised to see a time of over thirty three minutes. Hey, Larry Bird was 33 back in the day so it can’t really be all that bad. And it wasn’t. It wasn’t because I finally was back on a trail. No ankle pain, no traffic and no frostbite. Let’s hope February is nothing like March.

Refrozen Ground

A week removed from my last run at Bradbury which featured a wet, soft ground, whereas the week before it was all frozen, and now, well, frozen. I wonder what will happen next week? Maybe some snow. That would be nice. I am looking forward to breaking out the snowshoes. Not to run, but just to enjoy.
Well, I did one loop of the Breaker Course again. I haven't studied my times comparing weeks, but I felt good. Took in the views a little less, although I did try to look more west from the summit, really hoping to see some of the Whites, but instead only got a view of a smokestack probably from a mill in Westbrook. It was about then my stomach started feeling very uncomfortable. After I turned on the Tote Trail, it got much worse and soon I was running off trail. I tried to dig a little hole, but of course the ground was frozen, so I did just what I needed to do. That is something I love about trail running. System all set and back to normal, no need to feel too uncomfortable for too long. It was a further challenging with the ground frozen that all the leaves seemed to be frozen to the ground as well. But I managed to free up just enough, and used some more to cover my remants along with a couple sticks. Chances that someone comes across that same exact spot and soils their shoes is probably greater than winning the Powerball, but with much less reward. Sorry.
After the Tote and up Northern, I decided to head down the Terrace Trail instead of the Switchback as there was some ice and the Switchback has a few known wetspots. It was after coming down the Terrace that I opened it up a little heading back to the parking lot. I always love running almost all out here on the Boundary Trail. And I especially love it when I know there aren't going to be any people around. It felt great to come in to the lot breathing heavy but still having my legs feel nice and fresh. Even as I fired up the minivan I couldn't wait to come back later in the day for a walk with my Quinn and Wild.