Head Up, Eyes Down

 

 

                He just kept going and going and was totally out of sight. At times I could still hear the bell attached to his collar, but other than that I had to trust that he was still following the trail leading up the mountain. On occasion, I would catch a glimpse of him up ahead, or he would even walk back a short distance or stand and wait until he saw me, but once he understood that he was on the right path, he would once again be off.

                It was actually the second time that my dog Wild, now thirteen months old, and I had been on the Firewarden’s Trail leading to the col between the West and East Peaks of Bigelow Mountain. A couple months ago we hiked up to the East (Avery) Peak and he did wonderful but I was slightly worried about over stressing his young body and opted to head straight down from Avery rather than continue to do a complete loop around Horn’s Pond. So now, I figured we could skip Avery and just focus on the loop by hitting the West Peak and then towards the Pond.

                My plan for the day was something else without Wild since my wife and kids were heading to Boston to meet an old friend of hers. But with no one to take care of Wild and not wanting him to spend half his day in his crate while I was running, I decided to head to one of my favorite places in Maine, the Bigelows. I hate driving nearly anywhere for more than an hour or so, and was feeling like I was regretting the decision sometime before I hit Farmington. A couple of stops for biological needs and a couple treats, and two and a half hours later I found I was about the eighth car in the small ‘lot’ at the end of the Stratton Brook Pond Road. Which I had missed the turn off to once again despite being down that o-so-many times.

                Wild was very anxious to start, not only because the car had finally stopped and I was changing shoes, but there was another dog in the lot and Wild just loves everyone. I had to show the dog’s owner the right way to the trail, and although I was in a rush to get going I did take it a little easy in order to give them a little space before Wild and I hit the trail.

                The couple was a little older and so I was surprised that it took us nearly a mile to catch up to them. In fact we caught a couple of other guys first, who were slightly overdressed for a glorious day and thus sweating pretty profusely. I had kept Wild on leash not wanting him to be a nuisance to the other dog and after we got past them I still kept him on leash for a while, until he stopped for a drink. But then once free, he ran back to greet the black lab that was much bigger than this fifty fit pound husky frame. Back on the leash, the lady said she would give us a couple minute head start, which was very nice I must say.

                Soon we passed the intersection where we would be looping out of after the Horn’s and I let Wild off leash so we could begin the real climb up to the col. I had my Garmin watch going and was surprised by its little beeps for miles passed. We had been going along quite well and I was glad he had spent so long on the leash so that he wasn’t worn out by the time we would be facing the toughest ups of the day. It was here that he cruised ahead, checking occasionally on me while his bell warned off little critters that a natural born hunter was moving along the trail.

                The Firewarden’s Trail certainly is the toughest way up, but much easier going up than coming down. It can get quite steep and of course it’s all covered with roots and rocks so there is no way to just get oneself into a steady pace to conquer the trail. I was giving up a long run in my training plans in order to be on the trail, so I took it as a challenge to keep pushing myself up the trail hopefully without a break. No running, that hopefully would come later, but three thousand feet up in only a few miles would be a good workout. Fortunately I had a great training partner in Wild, who did not want to stop and pushed the pace by staying just out of sight. I didn’t want to see just how steep the trail was in front of me, and so I focused back to my race on Mt. Washington years ago, by keeping my head up in order to take in as much oxygen as possible by keeping my diaphragm open, yet keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me in order to see all of mother nature’s obstacles and not seeing just how steep that fragging’ trail really is.

                I heard some voices ahead of me just about the time when we hit the major rock work done on the trail by the Maine Appalachian Trail Club. Three guys, all looking rather fit, were chuckling as Wild tore past them and I tried to catch back up to make sure Wild wasn’t a nuisance. Wild was happy to say a quick hello but more ambitious to keep on hiking. Unfortunately, a short time later he did need a rest. I knew we were only about a third to a quarter mile away from the Col but Wild was digging around some rocks where there was very, very shallow pools. He couldn’t drink any, so he lied down instead to cool his belly. I offered him a bowl of his water, but you can only lead a horse to water as they say. I gave him a few treats and got him back on his way.

                Still with plenty of energy we were soon at the Col, where Wild was checking out some tent sites but I was calling to him in order to take a proper break. Instead he went darting past me and towards the West Peak 0.3 miles away. I thought, sure, why not take a break on the summit instead of the woods and followed him.

                I heard some voices once again as we came out of the woods to the summit and soon met up with another hiker and his dog. I could tell right away he was a thru-hiker and saw three others fitting the same profile. I got Wild on leash to keep him away from precious thru-hiker food and took off my pack to enjoy some of my own treats, while offering Wild more water and treats once again.

                I had a pleasant conversation mostly with one of the hikers who was dual citizen from Israel, while two of the others were from Germany. I shared some of my pretzel bits with them while asking their trail names. I only remember the young ladies who said it was Giggles, who did exactly that while I was pouring pretzel bits into her hands.

                I kept Wild on leash coming off the summit in order to keep him on the trail and off alpine areas, although I think he knew very well how to follow the right path. He continued to show that proper judgment as we cruised through the forest around three thousand feet up meeting more people than I expected heading in a northerly direction. Wild just kept pushing on keeping to the trail and I would occasionally ask people if a husky was just ahead, or they would ask me if that was my dog who only had one objective, to hike.

                I only ran just a little bit on this section, and probably should have done more as it was mostly down but I was still reluctant about wearing down Wild who can come home and pant for nearly an hour after some runs with me. He was doing well, and that was more than good enough. He was happy, I was happy and we hadn’t seen really any wild animals that may distract him.

                There was a group on top of the North Horn that were incoming freshmen at Tufts. Wild barely paid them any attention and I only could talk for a moment having to keep up with him. Usually that is a nice place to take a small break and enjoy the views but not on this day. Instead, we b-lined it up to the South Horn where we got the summit all to ourselves. The view back to the West Peak was perfect and I managed to get Wild to pose for a couple of photos.

                It was less than a mile down to the Horn’s Pond Campsite, but I still took a small break by getting Wild into the water a little. Most huskies aren’t swimmers and I hadn’t tested out his abilities or desires very much, so I was pleased that he would at least get his feet wet. I checked out the log book at the shelter, not much news really and we pushed on.

                A sign indicated it was 4.3 miles back to parking lot, and most of it would be downhill. At a normal hiking pace this would take someone nearly two hours, or an hour and half if they hiked fast, I decided that it was now time for us to run so we could do it an hour. I felt pretty confident in my ability to cover that distance in that time but I didn’t want to bring home an injured or heat exhausted dog. So I set a moderate pace and Wild seemed up for it by staying slightly ahead of me on this Horn’s Pond Trail. We were now officially off the Appalachian Trail.

                The footing was still once again a challenge as I had to be careful not to trip and knock my head on many of the rocks. As much as I appreciated the trail work of many volunteers to build rock structures to divert water off the trail, these structures were really testing my foot agility. By the way, my feet were feeling great even as my Garmin indicated we were around ten miles as I was wearing some New Balance Leadville trail runners. They stuck well to every surface, had plenty of cushioning and yet were still light enough to cruise along down the trail and I only wished they made them in Wild’s size so that I would be sure that his feet were getting enough protection.

                Wild fell into place behind me, which meant that he was getting a little tired, so I pulled back on the pace a little suppressing my desires to run like hell all the way back to the car. We would stop at any water that crossed the trail for him to get a drink with me following suit. It had been this way the whole day and it seemed to serve both of us well as we were now running under a ten minute pace.

                I have been on this trail enough to recognize certain places and I had a feeling that were just about at the intersection when moments later there we were. Now we were more than halfway back to the car from the campsite and right on the pace I had hoped for us. The trail actually flattens out here quite a bit, except for one area of downhill ledges, and I kept us moving along looking forward to getting Wild to Stratton Brook Pond so he could cool himself off. He was eager to go into the pond once we got on its edge but not quite the area that I had planned, so I called him and he obeyed ignoring the treats I was offering as he charged past me.

                We came to the crossing where the stream divides the trail from the dirt road and this is where I wanted Wild to spend as much time in the water as he wanted before we were back to the car in just a few minutes. I encouraged him to get in the water by tossing in a couple of sticks, which to my surprise actually sank as the bark had been stripped off apparently by beavers. Still, being a dog, a creature some may say of less intelligence than us, he dove in after the sticks as they sank to the bottom. He must have found the water to be refreshing as he soon began to just swim around paying no attention to where the sticks had sunk. He then rushed to the shore and shook the water from his coat, looking as if he were smiling from ear to ear. I knew I was, as I was so pleased to know that he really had cooled off his body after twelve very steady miles of hiking.

                Wild was now re-energized as we ran along the road. I noticed a couple of random flip-flops on the road and then we soon came upon one car and then another that was trying to turn itself around in the middle of the road. A couple young men were giving the driver directions on how far to back up and as soon as he stopped Wild dashed past him and so did I having to keep up. I quickly asked about the flip-flops and the young men said they were the owners and I practically sprinted in order to catch up to wild.

                I opened the back of the car and he jumped right in and I treated him with more treats and gave him plenty of water. I had stopped my watch and noted that it took us about four hours and fifty minutes to complete the twelve mile loop. Wild was not breathing heavy, neither was I and I felt much stronger than I do when I complete a long training run.

                I felt glad of my choice on how to spend my day in the outdoors. It is seldom that I look back and say that I wished that I hadn’t done something. Even though it can be hard to get the motivation to go, or regret that I’m not doing something else, I am glad to move my feet across this blessed planet. My eyes that day saw plenty of it just below me, and yes they also saw the beauty of all of this creation in the endless vistas from some of nature’s castles.

 

               

 

End of July Training

 

 

So when do you go from running to training? I know I’ve been through this phase many times before, and even within this year and I think it all comes down to actually tracking and counting the miles I’ve put in for the week.  Still, the only race I actually have on the calendar isn’t until the first week of November, but if I’m going to have any success (finishing) at all I’ve got to be in that training mode more so than running.

My training for the week actually began just past midnight on Monday morning. The moon was nearly full, I had just gotten out of work while loading up on caffeine and the weather had actually broken so I put on the reflective vest, donned the headlamp, leashed up my dog Wild and was out the door. The moon was partially blocked by clouds but I still had no trouble finding my way around the streets of Freeport just through the moon’s light and a few well placed streetlamps as well. I only turned on my headlamp once when I knew the road conditions were really crappy due to some construction. Wild held up real well as we made our way to the water just to check out the moonlit scenery. The temps were fabulous after suffering through ninety degree days and although it was a road run, it felt adventurous to be out at such an hour.

I squeezed in a run Tuesday afternoon in order to get some groceries and exercise Wild at the same time. I did add a few miles on my own in the woods and it felt great that I was rushing my run. It made me step up the pace in order not to miss out on my family and the responsibilities that go along with being a dad.

Although I keep feeling stronger on my runs, on Thursday’s run at Hedgehog I began to get a little disappointed in my actual pace. There’s only a few places where I can really open it up out there, and I did climb to the summit a couple times so of course my pace would be slow but it just felt slightly frustrating to look down at my watch a couple times and see four numbers instead of three.

My feelings changed quite a bit as I did my long run on Friday morning. I decided to head over to Bradbury and due the same route and distance of the previous week. It would be under ten and although I should build miles I thought it would be a better idea to try and get in a better run than just to add a couple more miles. So I started from the Pownal School in order to do a loop I had devised in training for the Big Brad Ultra last fall. Up Lunchbox Hill to the summit and then down the Switchback Trail. That trail was in awesome condition due to much trail work but I noticed that there were a few switches missing. Alas, over to the Boundary Trail and cutting back toward the Tote after the steep climb up on the backside of the Boundary. Up the Tote and then back down to the school. This route was about 4.5 miles and had kicked my ass the week before. Sure the week before I started about 5 am with about four hours of sleep and it was already more hot and humid than most normal people would tolerate. I wasn’t moving that much faster than I had but I was feeling sooooo much better. There was a slight rain but I was more drenched in sweat the week before than I was moving through the canopied forest.

I knew I was stronger than before as I didn’t have to walk up the Tote to get to the summit. I flew down the Lunchbox trail only to turn myself around and start heading back up. I felt really good but made the smart choice of mixing walking and running back up while getting in a little snack and taking in some fluids. Down the Switchback again, but this time I found the old Switchbacks and although they were blocked off I still ran them. I knew I shouldn’t but I needed at least one more time on those curves. My body felt good coming back to the Tote and soon I was back to the summit for the fourth time and still all by myself. I had only run into one group all morning, and I wished my single friend had been out with me as there were about five young ladies all with dogs. From the summit I skirted over to the South Trail just to have a peek down onto the town of Pownal and then back down the mountain. I did add a loop around the school to try and bring me a little closer to a full ten but I figured 9.89 was good enough without running around an empty parking lot.

Now my week was not over yet mind you but I did not end the week like I planned. On Sunday morning I drove out to Bradbury to meet for the 9 am Monster group run. I saw plenty of cars but no one there. I waited in the lot for awhile hoping runners would come looping back. I did see Val, Rick and Mindy cruise by when I first got there but they never came back. So finally I headed up the Switchback, figuring I would check out the Ultra course around Tyron. The Switchback kicked my ass going up and I was glad no one was there to watch me suffer. I cruised down the Tote and made a couple turns and then found a new little trail marked by some red flags. So I followed it. A nice little run and I was pleased to find it came out on the Boundary Trail right where it intersects with the Tyron-Pineland Connector Trail. Up and around Tyron, across Lawrence Road and a modified loop through the fields on the other side. It was all good and I felt good about just heading back to the car. But then turning right after the quarry I spot Ryan coming up the hill. He was with someone I didn’t know but then Ian is right behind them. They said I should come with them as they are doing the Ultra loop but I just want to head back to the car as I’d figured on only running an hour and it was now more than half an hour into my run. But I couldn’t say no.

The pace was nice but the conversation was better as I got some good firsthand reports on the Vermont 100 the previous week. Ryan’s friend, Kevin is the Nordic ski coach at Bowdoin and had a wife due anytime with their third child, and his run was becoming much longer than he had expected as well, so I didn’t feel all that bad that I wouldn’t be home at the usual expected time. I felt strong as I was able to move efficiently up a few hills and cruise along a couple other spots. I did reel it back in as I knew it was a group run and was much more fresh than them as they had all started at 8 am instead of the usual nine. We all made it up back up to the summit where a couple other runners were waiting who would join Ian and Ryan on the rest of the loop but Kevin really needed to head back home and I followed him down the Summit Trail wanting to get back to my own family.

A bigger mileage week than I expected. My body feels better than expected. My spirits are good. I feel motivated to stay on track, build just a little more and focus a little more on quality and speed versus distance. I need to keep getting out with Wild a couple times a week and get him back more on trails and off leash and then I can run feeling more untethered as well.

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.