Where SHE is

Yesterdays, how quick they change
All lost and long gone now
It’s hard to remember anything moving at the speed of sound
-Pearl Jam/Speed Of Sound

 I want to scream. Screaming in the woods, as I run, seems like a good way to let go of some stress. Of course it could also make some dwellers of the woods angry, so I think twice, although, at times I do run with the imagery. It all seems very dramatic; me running, throwing my hands up, screaming and then falling to my knees – cue the music. Tears flow and revelations awakened. Then in a triumphant moment I struggle to my feet and continue on the path, better for having had the meltdown. I told you – very dramatic.

I run. I run during happy times and I run during not-so-happy times. I run when I want to and when I don’t want to; sometimes the latter turns into the better run. I run when I feel good and I run when I feel lousy. At times I can run the lousy out of my system, and then other times it gets lousier. Either way, I run. There are times when I run happy and then times when I run sad. Times when I run with a clear head and times when I have so many thoughts that I cannot even remember how I got from point A to point B. I run when all the elements come together, and I run when I seem to have forgotten the simple act of one-foot-in-front-of-the-other. Recently, however, I have been running to suffer.

I am no masochist. I do not wish to inflict pain upon myself for the sake of the act. I only wish to feel a pain that I could not see. I am also no idiot, so I do this on my solo runs, the runs without HE, because my “suffering pace” is a walk in the park for him and I do not want to diminish my perspective. This is something that I need to do, and I need to do it alone.

It has been easy to suffer during the heat wave. The heat has made my crusade even more intolerable and I am preferring that right now. At times I feel like I am on fire, and not that, “Hey I’m in Vegas and I am on fire” kind of fire, but more the, “I think that I may hear my brain sizzle when I finally get to pour some water on my head,” fire. When you are in control of your environment, when you know the amount of time that you will feel discomfort, you really cannot make too many excuses. In this case, I know that the pain and suffering is temporary, that it will come to an end, but I have to remind myself of that when I feel my muscles ache and my lungs burn. I have to tell myself how there are those that suffer through worse; there are those who suffer, and although you see them all the time, you never really see them at all.

                                         “And yet I’m still holding tight
                                           To this dream of distant light
                                         And that somehow I’ll survive”
                                                                 -Pearl Jam/Speed of Sound

I am running with ghosts. I am running with Gods and Monsters, Angels and Demons. I am running with hindsight, and it is too clear to not have seen. I am running through rooms of a forgotten past, of my lifetimes lived and remembering familiar faces whose voices are too far away to remember.

The solo runs have left me exhausted for the runs with HE, but that is all part of the suffering. I do not think that I am abusing something that I love dearly, but rather using it as a vehicle to understand the things that my mind cannot wrap itself around.

All of the training for the ultra, all of the preparation and I wonder if the training serves a dual purpose. Not just the race, but also, or yet more so, life. Perhaps all of the physical and mental conditioning prepares us for not only the intended purpose, but more so, for the blindside of the truck that you never see coming; for the events that occur during lifetimes, regardless of where you stand on a podium or land on a list of finishers. Can I cope better than I would have because I have trained my body to keep going when it no longer wants to move? I imagine so, but I cannot say for certain. All I can say for certain is that I am running, not training for any specific race right now, but rather for quality of life. Who knows, maybe I’ll even scream in the woods one of these days and then a new path will be forged.

                                         “Riding high amongst the waves
                             I can feel like I have a soul that has been saved
                      I can see the light coming through the clouds in rays”
                                                                        -Pearl Jam/Amongst the Waves

For those interested: Check out Pearl Jam’s Backspacer. Once again, Vedder and the gang have found a portal into my brain and sing the songs that seem so relevant to my now. http://pearljam.com/music/releases/studio-album/backspacer

The Bear Mountain 50 miler and HE-What an amazing day

Bright and early on May 8th…well not bright because it was 2:30 in the morning that my day started and by the end of this, I would have learned many lessons, and I would have experienced one of the best days of my life.  I would have also run 50 miles.

THE ACTUAL RACE

I must give proper due where its due.  North Face puts on a great race.  I imagine its tough to make things go easy for 50 miles through rough trail.  But they did it.  Save for a couple minor difficulties traversing the course and getting a little lost, the rest of my problems were self-imposed by stupid decisions made during the race. 

It was quite interesting to see how friendly people are at 3:45 in the morning,  but I guess because we all chose to be there to test ourselves, why waste energy being grumpy.  People like to make corny jokes and chit chat because I think we all can’t fully understand why the hell we are actually doing this.  Sensing people’s great need to talk, I chose to omit the fact I was doing my first 50 to anyone that I came upon.  That backfired when a gentleman wearing what appeared to be a small camel on his back said to me “that’s all you’re gonna carry?,”  referring to my handheld bottle.  I had to fake my way through the conversation, acting like I had done this many times and knew what was going to happen.

Hanging out in front of fire pits on a brisk morning in the pre dawn darkness is  a unique experience.  The trepidation of a normal race is missing because there is no rush in the race.  It’s going to take hours even for the fastest people so patience and calmness are virtues.  Even as the seconds tick down, the shot out of a cannon mentality is not there.  In fact it is quite bizarre at the start because the announcer tries to be all upbeat and excited and get everyone crazy only to watch us all explode from the start line at a gentle jog. 

Since the first hour or so was in the dark, we all wore lights on our heads which makes for a really cool way to run.  Groups formed to take advantage of the shared lights and our path lit by glow sticks hanging in the trees created one of the coolest experiences of my running career.  Being guided by little green beacons of light, not knowing what lies directly beyond them really plays tricks with the mind. 

One thing that made this race so great was the volunteers.  Each aid station was handled perfectly, with enthusiastic and excited people which really helped me along the way since I was able to draw energy every time I encountered these little oases.

Running for so long through the woods really taught me a lot.  That comment about patience I made earlier…I didn’t listen to it and I paid dearly for it.   It’s one thing to fake it through the last mile of a 5k or even to struggle through the last 10k of a marathon.  I learned that at 27 miles of a 50 miler is not the best place to realize you went too fast,  but a unique thing about this race is you have lots of time to turn things around.  By taking stock of where you are and what you have ahead of you, you can rebound and gain back some strength, if you so choose.  Don’t be fooled by my big talk here.  I was one step away from getting in the backseat of a friend’s car and calling it a day.  I was comforted by the fact that said friend told me she would have locked the doors and not let me in the car…  but more on that later. 

Now I won’t bore you with details of my race.  I thought about my son and best bud Eamonn a lot.  I struggled a lot.  I suffered a lot.  And I learned a lot.  I know where some of my mistakes were and I figured out where I could have saved an hour or so.  I challenged myself and while mildly disappointed with my finish, I was elated with the journey,  and crossing the line, I realized that all the pain and suffering were so worth it.

THE DAY

Why was this such a great day you ask?  (Well maybe you didn’t ask but I’sa gonna tells ya anyway) 

First, the weather.  After a week of threatening thunderstorms and basically crappy weather, the morning started off perfectly.  Cool, clear skies allowed us to get ready comfortably and relaxed.  No hiding in our cars or under tents in the rain waiting to start.  Just some loud music, happy people and fire pits.  (I like fire pits.) 

As the race wore on, it heated up but not uncomfortably.  It stayed clear until I was greeted by a thunderstorm around 27 miles.  The cool rain and the blasting soundtrack helped me to realize that I was on a run in the woods.  Nothing more.  Why worry about place or time, that will come later.  I had to just realize that I was blessed with a gift to run and experience the beautiful earth around me under my own power. 

After I finished, I got to enjoy an absolutely perfect day of sunshine and warmth with friends.  Relaxing and recovering and cheering on the runners as they finished their journey, I reveled in my luck of being in this place at this time.  The great spirit above decided that everyone on Bear Mountain worked hard enough and deserved to enjoy a gorgeous day.

And now for the real reason it was such a great day.  The people that shared it with me. 

Mr. SHE:

I must say somethings here about Mr. SHE.  The sacrifices he made during all this are truly a testament to their love for each other.  His support was impeccable  through all the hours of training and then on the big day.  How many people would have been so upbeat at 2 freaking 30 in the morning?  He was prepared for anything to help SHE out and he did it all with joy and love in his heart.  His worry that she was ok out on the trail turned into pure happiness when SHE came running down the final straight and his excitement was so much fun to watch. 

My Dad:

My dad, who has always been one of my biggest fans, was so excited to share this day with me.  He constantly asked me how I was doing, where does he have to go on the day and he bragged to everyone he knew about his son running the 50 miler.  So on the big day he was planning on catching me at the 40 mile mark and the finish line.  I run along and at 40 miles, as I drag my ass through the station, I don’t hear his familiar yell.  Maybe he got stuck in traffic or something and will just be at the finish.  No biggie.  So I come out of the woods and down the straight and cross the line…  and nothing.  I catch up with my friends and relax for a while and say to myself, “hmm I wonder what happened with my dad?”  It is totally not like him to miss things like this.  So I stand up and look around.  And who is sitting mere feet from the finish line with his country music blaring in his headphones.  What the f***?  I slowly shuffle over to him (because by this time my legs are cramping and tightening up like a snare drum).  He looks up and this is a direct quote “Holy S***! Did you finish?”  Yes, my dad was sitting at the finish line and completely missed me running by.  Not a glance, not a small peek out of his peripheral vision.  He missed me completely.  I can imagine my mom watching from above and laughing her butt off at my dad.  But I would not have missed having him there for anything in the world.  I owe him more than he knows and I love him…  but really?

My Friends:

During one of the toughest legs of the race, I was alone in the woods and hurting.  It was one of the longer stretches between aid stations and I was really struggling to keep my legs moving.  One of the things that kept me going was knowing that I was going to see two great people at the 27 mile aid station.  Liz and Bev drove all the way to the aid station to see me for a brief amount of time just to support me. (Bev almost was forced to stay the night when she scouted the area out the day before and had a gate locked behind her.  Screw those authorized vehicles only signs.  Who are they to judge which vehicles are authorized or not!)  Liz would be the friend that threatened to lock the car doors and not let me in.  Such a sweet lady.  But to be honest, seeing them waiting when I came out of the woods was one of the best sights I could have asked for. 

At 40 miles, Liz and Bev were joined by Mati and Vincenza.  Their timing was impeccable, because as I pulled into the 40 mile aid station I was greeted by their cheering from the car as they  pulled in to the parking area.  As I came out of the woods toward the finish, I saw them jump up to cheer me on, which at that point gave me the final burst of energy to make it to the finish, a finish that was only made better by having Bev be the first person to greet me as I crossed the line.    Post race, I got to hang out with Bev, Liz, Mati  and Vincenza  laughing and talking and just enjoying the gorgeous day.  There is nothing like having good friends to make good days great.  I can’t thank those ladies enough for just being there. 

SHE:

What can I say about SHE?  All the hours of suffering and trials and questions came down to her quieting all the doubts.  On this day she confronted every fear she had.  SHE showed the strength that I always knew she had.  I am more proud of her than I have ever been.  And I have to thank her for helping me get as far as I did.  She was a symbol of strength that I was able to draw on.  I knew that she was nervous, but she never backed down.  To see where she started from and where she is now shows just how amazing a person she is.  I am honored to call SHE my running partner.

I have but one regret to express.  The only thing that would have made the day better would have been having my son, my best buddy Eamonn Pre there with me.   The amount of times I thought of him as I trudged through the woods kept me strong when I wanted to be weak.  I did, however, did get to enjoy the next day with him.  We did a lot of things that required me standing in one place because I couldn’t move, but he didn’t seem to care.  We did try hide and seek briefly, but I couldn’t convince him to count to a thousand so I’d have time to get to a hiding spot.

So that’s the close of this chapter.  Where do we go from here, you may ask.  I have no clue.  I’m already looking for my next race.  I can be faster and run smarter.  But the challenges that lie ahead are only there to make us stronger.  We may not win the race, we may not run our fastest-but we finish the race.  It’s not about the end, it’s about the journey.

Eating and being eaten by Bear Mtn- by SHE

It gets late early out there-Yogi Berra 

Nausea. That is what I am feeling 30 seconds before the clock goes off. All of the preparation, all the time spent training and I want to stop before I’ve even started. Nerves. It’s my nerves. That and the whole 50 miles thingy. 

HE and I have worked up to this moment; each of us having different goals, but the same ending point. Prior to signing up for this race I hadn’t even run a marathon, so the announcing of my 50 mile trek through Bear Mountain left a few puzzled and even more concerned. I had toyed with the idea of dropping down to the 50k, and even entertained the thought of a DNF, if I didn’t have it on the day, nevertheless, here we were at 5:15 am toeing the line of our first ever 50 mile race. 

There are about 171 runners at the start of the race. Some are seasoned ultra runners, some are newbies, and all have heart. We mingle before small fire pits, exchanging names and experience, or non-experience, for that matter. We are sleepy eyed, excited and nervous, all at once. The row of porta-pottys that line the perimeter are extraordinarily clean, and being used quite often, probably due more to nerves than anything. We are all, on this day, ultra runners. 

The weather is mild, after a week’s worth of thunderstorm threats. The humidity is low and the sky has some cloud cover. The weather, assuming the storm stays away, will be most ideal for hours worth of running. Somewhere on the horizon the Sun is rising, and as the darkness slowly starts to turn to light, the silhouette of the mountain that we will be spending our day climbing makes its presence known. 

Gulp!…and we’re off. 

The plan is to go slow, walk all the hills and fuel properly. I will not push any pace, since my only goal is to finish, and to finish within the cut-off times. What I do not realize is how hard that task will actually become. 

Within the first 3.9 miles, I manage to turn my right ankle. This will be the first of many turns. 

There are groups of us bunched together. We talk and run, taking in an easy pace. I stay with a small group until the first aid station and then I find myself running in and out of other small groups. Passing and being passed. I am running easily; breathing without laboring. I am doing everything that I had planned on doing. I am running my run (it’s not really fair to call it a race, since I am not racing), and not worrying about someone else’s pace. 

Then came the first of what would be many; a hill. The hills are brutal. 

My calves are burning walking up some of the hills. Literally! I feel like they are on fire, and for those that know me, know that I do not have dainty calves. I want to run them, so that I can get up them quicker, but that will waste too much energy, and since I have never done this before, I cannot risk what I do not know I have left, so I walk them. 

I am running from aid station to aid station. That is how I am mentally breaking down the distance. Small goals, as opposed to one big goal. Running a few 7 mile sips are easier to swallow than one big 50 mile gulp, however, the 7 mile sips are becoming longer and longer and are starting to feel more like 10 mile chugs. 

The Aid Station breakdown is as follows: 

Station 1 3.9 miles Crew allowed 

Station 2 8.6 miles Crew allowed 

Station 3 13.9 miles No crew access 

Station 4 20.7 miles Crew allowed and 1^st hard cutoff   

Station 5 27.7 miles Crew allowed 

Station 6 34.2 miles No crew access 2^nd hard cutoff   

Station 7 40.3 miles Crew allowed 

Station 8 44.7 miles No crew access 

Station 9 47.2 miles No crew access 

I purposely ignore my watch, only checking it at aid stations. When I do look at it, I am slightly concerned…my watch cannot possibly be taking that long to get through 8.6 miles; can it? Stupid watch! As the day progresses, my goal of finishing in under 12 hrs. gets further and further away from me. 

So I do not bore you with ALL of the details, I will muster up some type of summary. To the best of my recollection, here it goes: 

Bear Mountain has a reputation as being one of, if not the, hardest northeast endurance runs. The course is rocky and unforgiving. There are stretches when you can run, picking up a comfortable pace, but those are few and far between. At some points you are climbing, and I’m not just talking about elevation. You literally are climbing. One of the areas, Rock Planet, as I (not so) lovingly refer to it, was rocks upon rocks that sat high above the trees. I got so disoriented running atop these rocks, losing the orange markers, that I felt like I was running in circles. It was there that I saw who would become my most familiar running mate during the rest of this day. A French Canadian who spoke little English, but was able to communicate with me quite well. He too was lost, and as our eyes searched through the raindrops for orange markers, each on opposite sides of the rock, he yelled out, “there” and pointed. We were lost and found. 

Some of the stretches were easier than others; some felt longer than they were. Sometimes I was completely alone, trotting through the woods. Other times I found myself within a small group that would slowly disperse, leaving me again to my solitude. I mostly saw men, sometimes I saw another woman, regardless, all of us shared words of encouragement; “stay strong” and “good job,” but also “there’s not too many of us left out here, so keep it up.” There was no competing against one another, just against ourselves, so when you’d see a runner struggling or metaphorically falling, you did your best to lift them back up. I hope that I lifted some, but I am certain that others lifted me; more than once. 

At some point after the 20.7 mile aid station I started to feel woozy. I was drinking and eating, but something was no longer working for me. As I continued forward, I started to lag further behind. I knew that it was probably my blood pressure starting to drop and I would need to address something at some point, but I was going to see if it passed on its own first. I acknowledge the stupidity of that statement, but I am running 50 miles, so I do have some screws loose already. 

During the 27.7 mile aid station to the 34.2 aid station, I thought I might die. Okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but I didn’t think that I would finish. I just did not feel right. I had come to hate turkey sandwiches and even started to despise my sports drink. I was not hungry, and I was so done with chewing. I secretly started to hope that I’d miss the 2^nd hard cutoff, so I would have to stop. Obviously, this was a valley that I was crawling through, and by God, did I have to scratch my nails to get out of it. When I reached the aid station, they referred to me as “sunshine” (common moniker that seems to follow me), and asked me how I was feeling. I expressed my blood pressure concerns and that I wasn’t feeling awesome. They were great at the aid station; filling my water bottles and giving me salt tablets. Words of encouragement were thrown at me as I passed through my last hard cutoff and realized now…there was no turning back. I was finishing this thing one way or another. 

At the aid station they had given me two salt tablets, so when I saw my French Canadian friend, and he expressed concerns about muscle cramps, I offered him one of the tablets. He graciously accepted and then…poof! I never saw him again. I gave him salt and as a thank you, he left me in the dust. Huh! 

The remaining 15.8 miles were wonderful and horrible. There were moments when I felt like I was cruising along, making decent time. Running and not thinking; thinking and not caring. The wind was picking up, and the warmth that had blanketed me all day was disappearing into the sunset. The hours on my watch were adding up. I had never considered that I would be running into twilight. The trees creaked and swayed, and I stopped to watch as one slowly fell into another. The world was winding down, settling around me. It was then that I was brought out of my trance like state when I almost planted my foot on a rattlesnake. Yes, a rattlesnake. You can tell me all you want that there are no rattlesnakes in these parts, but I would tell you to go visit a certain stretch of land in Bear Mountain State Park. After the rattlesnake fiasco, I barely missed being hit by a large falling branch. These last few miles were proving to be my most challenging and the most dangerous. 

After the 44.7 mile aid station, I had started to feel like I was being hunted. Perhaps my psyche was shot and I was imagining noises, but regardless, I felt hunted. I tried to run as much as I could, but some of the terrain was too rocky to gain a proper footing, and besides that, my quads were shot. All the uphill and downhill left my quads in such a poor state, that the downhill’s hurt more than the uphill, so trying to run away (quickly) from my real or imagined predator was not an real option. 

When I reached the last aid station, 47.2 miles, I was all too happy. Well, that was until they said that I had about 4.5 miles to go, but not to worry, because it was mostly downhill. Four and a half miles? At this pace that will be over an hour! I was done. I wanted to not only stop running, but to stop moving – in general. I couldn’t handle another hour. That would put me over 14hrs., and not making the last hard cut-off. In my despair, I tripped and fell. As I sat on the dirt trail, now gently weeping, footsteps came up along behind me. Two guys that I had passed before caught up to me. I told them that the last aid station said we had 4.5 miles left to finish and one of them said, “ 4.5 miles? We have about 2 miles left. You got this.” 2 miles? Then it was as if I was injected with some magical adrenaline. I hopped up, said thank you, and ran to the finish. When I was approaching one of the last stretches before leaving the woods, a course regulator was giving us our estimated time left to the finish. I guess when you are this far back, they need to start doing body counts. I heard a magical “10 minutes,” and ran faster (or as fast as I could) to the finish. When I turned out of the woods and under the tunnel, I could see the end. As I passed a parked car, a little girl, not more than 5 yrs old, yelled out, “ you’re almost there. Good job.” From there I could see the red inflatable North Face archway. Hallelujah! I saw my husband, cheering me on and HE standing there across from him, waving me into the finish. I had done it. I made it to the finish, and I did it barely under the 14 hr cut-off, but just the same, I was “home.”

Thank-You 

I am honestly one of the most luckiest women in the world. I have the unconditional love and support from a man, my husband, who is constantly and consistently there for me. During this 50 mile trek, he crewed for me and supported me. He never gave up on me, or stopped believing in me. I may have been out there running for 13hrs and 49 min., but he was crewing, waiting and worrying for all that time, and I think that his was a harder task. His love is truly a pillar of strength and I am very thankful to have him to share my life with. There are many things that are possible for an individual to do, but even more so, when you have someone to support you the way my husband supports me. 

What can I say about HE. Without him I would never, probably, have attempted this feat. I am a better runner and a better person because of HE. I am very thankful for the countless hours that we have spent running through the woods, preparing ourselves for Bear Mountain, but more so, I am thankful for laying down the foundation of a lifelong friendship. I cannot imagine not having HE to share not only my running with, but also life…even if HE is a crazy-mutant-runner. 

After all of this… 

There were a lot of things that I thought about while out there. A lot of people, present and past, living and gone. I visited with some demons and was visited by some angels. I died a 1,000 deaths and was re-birthed from each of them. I had peaks and valleys, soaring and clawing. It was the hardest thing that I have ever done, physically, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I just have to figure out how to walk again first. 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

 

The Best 10K+ Trail Race That You May Not Know About-As SHE Sees It

A run through the woods is a perfect way to start a day; now if you add mud, streams, 1,000 people, a wolf, a bagpiper, a “white horse” and a clown … um, what? … That my friends, is The Leatherman’s Loop.

HE and I have run countless miles and hours at The Ward Pound Ridge Reservation. We run there for a number of reasons, but mostly because of the beauty that it possesses, the spirit it encapsulates, and the endless trails that one could get lost on for a few hours. As we approach May 8^th and start our taper, there is no better way to celebrate living than toeing the line on April 26^th for the 24^th annual Leatherman’s Loop run.

This is perhaps the-greatest-10k-(or so)-trail-race-that-you-may-have-never-heard-of but-should-be-running. The Leatherman’s Loop was started by a couple of bushwhackers back in 1987 and continues to remain true to its spirit and integrity, and that is mostly due to the founders and keepers of the race. Their passion for the trails and the sport come across so strongly that it could, and it has, brought tears to people’s eyes. Sound like a bit much for a trail race?…if you were there, you’d understand.

This is my first (technically) Leatherman’s Loop 10k race. I have run the course a bunch of times with HE, so there would be no surprises; or so I thought.

The Setting:

Rain and chilly temperatures found their way into Sunday morning, which would ensure some serious mud and slippery conditions, but this did not prevent the park from filling up with people. The usual silence that fills the air was replaced with the chatter of runners and spectators, and the hustle of cars in a single file line waiting to be directed as to where they should park. As HE and I warm up, running past the tepee, the “sacred tree” and under the prayer flags we can not help but comment on what a beautiful thing that is happening here.

At the start of the race, we all line up behind the prayer flags and listen to a few announcements. Mike Paletta and Tony Godino say a few words about the race and also point out a few people and accomplishments. Atka, a wolf from the Wolf Conservation, is brought out for us to join in a howl. Danny Martin says the traditional race starting Navajo/Irish blessing that eases our souls, and the guest race starter, Caballo Blanco from the New York Times best selling book Born To Run, wastes no time in starting the race.

Andale!…and the run is off!

The Race:

When there are 1,000 people running a trail race, I feel that it is best to fall back to where one is comfortable, and then make some moves a little later in the game; granted “moves” for me on a trail can be so subtle that the human eye misses it, but nevertheless.

I inevitably get caught in the middle of the pack on trail races, which is always an interesting and good place to be, especially during a race such as Leatherman’s. There is laughter and constant talking. People are friendly and help one another if someone slips or falls. Hands are given and taken. There is no aggression; rather just the opposite. Did I mention that there were 1,000 people running this sometimes-single-lane-trail-race? That’s pretty awesome.

The race is filled with mud, which you are introduced to at the very start, so there can be no confusion about what type of race you are running. Let’s be clear – this is not a run for the “ I don’t want to get dirty” runner. Some of the mud is so slippery that people inevitably go down, myself included, but there are no worries, because that’s what we came here to do…right?

I hear people welcoming the first stream crossing because, as they were saying, it offers an opportunity to wash off some of the mud, but I wonder to myself…do they know what’s coming?

Any efforts I do make to pass some people before the first stream is all for naught, since once I hit the water, I just barely make it out. The stream ends with a rock that is so slippery, I eventually start laughing and throw up my hands at how impossible it seems for me to climb out. When I figure out to move to the right a bit, I finally make it out, but I now have some catching up to do.

I know the course, which gives me some advantages over those that do not. I know when I can let go and when there is something big that I need to conserve my energy for. This is after all a trail race, so there will be some climbing, but as HE has pointed out numerous times, what you go up, you will eventually go down.

I run easily, passing a few and getting passed by others, but I do not mind; I am running through the woods with a bunch of strangers and I am comfortable with all of them. At times we are all running together in unison, and then just like that, the single line of running turns to walking as trees need to be ducked, logs hopped and mud pits to run through. It’s all good though…a walk break never hurt.

Running down toward the Mud Flats, there was a change that had me (and the woman next to me) say out loud, “This is new.” Here, between us and the Mud Flats, was a very large and deep stream crossing. This one came way above my stomach and left me a wee bit wet, which was just in time to soak up some serious mud.

The Mud Flats are just that – mud and serious mud at that. Men, women and children, we all together battle our way through the flats, some of us faring better than others but all of us coming out the same way…filthy. You cannot tip-toe through it, so it is just best to charge ahead and let the mud cover you where it may. Trust me, once you give into the mud, it’s an awesome ride.

Out of the Mud Flats you enter a wide open field where you can hear the wonderful sound of bagpipes from above. Above, of course, refers to the infamous “Sand Hill.” The Sand Hill is a steep climb up a, well, a sand hill. Some can run this, but I am not some, so I gladly walk the hill, realizing that I would waste way too much energy to do it any other way. At the top of the hill, beside the bagpiper, is Tony Godino, cheering on runners as he always does. Once atop the hill, I resume running and in a horrible reality for some, pass a few that ran the hill and were now slumped down, probably re-thinking that decision.

It is after the Sand Hill that I allow myself to push harder and let my legs open up a bit. There’s room to pass and I am feeling rather good, so I pick up my pace and breathe a little harder. As I navigate through roots, rocks, more mud and one more big hill, I fall into a rhythm that comes to full fruition once I hit the “Pine Forest.”

The “Pine Forest” is magical. The “Pine Forest’ is where I am the trail runner that I see in my mind’s eye. I let everything go, running over roots and rocks; jumping logs and passing a few people in the process. I do not think, but rather let instinct guide my feet. It is wonderful and I am enjoying every second, only being thrown off briefly, when I see the actual Leatherman (well a cardboard stand anyway) standing there in the woods with a bib number. What the…?

As the race nears the end, I see HE standing where he always stands after he finishes, cheering on runners and giving those of us still running a final lift, before we head out of the woods and toward the final stream crossing.

There are crowds of people surrounding the stream, cheering runners on as they make that final plunge into the water, while the bagpiper plays his tune. It is so inspiring that the adrenaline pumps and I enter the water fearless and excited, however, I crawl out of the water for the last ¼ mile to the “sacred tree,” merely steps into the final stretch, and it all seems too far away. My adrenaline has died. I tell myself that I have covered significantly harder terrain than this today, and it will all be over shortly and it’s just then I realize that I might not be so much exhausted, but rather sad that it is ending, and that is why I feel the way I do.

The Leatherman’s Loop is honestly one of the best races put on by some of the greatest people I have ever met. They keep it pure and true, not letting anything taint the beauty of the woods or the run. Believe it or not, that is hard to do these days. It is through them and their beauty, that this race and The Leatherman remain strong and lively.

So, if you’re going to be near Cross River, NY around the end of April, look into signing up for The Leatherman’s Loop, a 10K (or so) trot through the woods with some of the finest people you’ll ever fall into the mud with.

Oh yeah, and a clown.

The Leatherman’s Loop-A Celebration of Life- as seen by HE

On the last Sunday of April, in Cross River, NY in the Ward Pound Ridge Reservation, one of the purest celebrations of life and love takes place.  The Leatherman’s Loop Trail race brings together almost  1,000 hearty and happy souls to enjoy a run through the woods,  but it is much more than a race,  it is a gathering, a party, a test and gift to all that have the opportunity to experience it.  

The race gets it moniker from The Leatherman, a destitute gentleman that wandered through Westchester and Connecticut in the 1800′s.  His 34 day, 365 mile journey, was carried out diligently, to the point that people would know when to expect his arrival.  He spoke only in grunts and was clad in a patched suit of leather.  His self imposed trial of miles was the result of a failed business venture that resulted in the loss of his true love.  One of his abodes was a cave on the reservation.  Oddly enough, we can thank this tragic figure for giving us the reason for great celebration.

THE COURSE

The distance is listed as 10k.  That is a complete guesstimation.  There is one water station, that is kind of near the middle, but I’m not totally sure.  There is plenty of other water, because you have to cross two…no wait make that three major stream crossings.  (The extra one was the result of the bastard directors that thought it would be funny to throw this upon us the night before.  No one really likes these guys.) (That is actually a lie.)  There is mud out the wazoo, trees to jump, rocks to hurdle, a random deer skeleton to run by and the ever ominous sand wall, a 45 degree climb up a wall of sand, hence the name.  It goes up , it goes down, it goes over, it goes under-all on dirt, rocks, sand and mud. 

The start takes place on an open meadow, under a Buddhist Prayer flag, the perfect entry gates for the start of the adventure.  The din of noise is filled with laughter and salutations and utter jubilation.  Once the horn blows-the shit hits the fan.  A scream and acceleration reminiscent of Braveheart propels us forward.  After a few hundred meters, we enter the forest.  Twists and turns carry us treacherously through the woods until we reach the first river crossing.  Caution has been abandoned over a mile ago so we just jump off the bank and forge forward.  Right until we reach the other side, where apparently someone has painted the only path out of the water with oil because everyone bites it trying to get out of the stream. 

Once on dry land, we fly through the mud and dirt working through various deer trails and paths.  I imagine the deer are watching this and  wondering if they should hunt and kill us because of the seeming population boom of humans invading their land.  (Doesn’t seem so nice when its the other way around, does it?  I will now step down off my soapbox.) 

As we follow the little pink flags that dot the landscape, it takes us up and around the forest.  We head toward the supposed halfway point.  This is where the sudden change in the course appears.  Year after year, we head up onto the lone road through the park.  This year the pink flags turn sharply and lead us into another river.  But like life, we can either panic or just jump in, hopefully feet first. 

Through the Doug Gorman Memorial Mud Flats, which is quite an accurate description of this stretch, our feet disappear into ankle deep mud, which makes it really difficult to run fast.   Though it does make it easy to fall on ones ass as we slip and slide along the path. 

Out from the cover of the trees and bushes (passing a random deer skeleton, possible one that couldn’t handle the course) we launch into a former quarry.  The only remnants being the aforementioned sand wall, of which we have to climb, albeit slowly, before we can resume actual running.   As we exit the cover of the forest and enter the open air, the haunting strains of a bagpipe begin to echo through the land.  The same effect could not be gained with a kazoo.  At the top of the sand hill, in his normal spectator spot stands one of the founders, Tony Godino, cheering us on.  The smile on his face is part joy at what he has brought to us all and part laughter at the crap that he puts us through by making us run on some of these paths.  But it is that zest for life that we all love him. 

The trail takes us up through the trees until we reach one of the most serene parts of the course.  Pine needles blanket the floor, cushioning the blow of the our feet on the ground.  Surrounded by quiet, our minds can take a respite from the chaos of the race surrounding us.  Until we hit the final descent and drop down to the river.

Along the river, the race takes us until we hit the open meadow.  Almost a quarter mile away, the roar of the crowd can be heard, beckoning us to to the final stream crossing.  However, don’t be fooled by noise.  While their hearts are pure in support-these people thirst for blood and mud.  The loudest cheers are reserved for the hardest falls.  But it is all in good fun.

Out of the water and up to the majestic meadow oak.  This tree stood for 500 years before Mother Nature decided she wanted it home.  It was toppled by a tornado, but it still holds a resting place at the finish line, calling each of us home. 

THE SPIRIT

While the course holds great power and life, it is something else that gives the Leatherman its true spirit.  That is the people.  The people both racing and supporting bring with them a joy that for one day takes us all from our problems and difficulties in life and puts us together to give back to the earth. 

The Leathermans people, Mike, Tony, Kate, Rob, Bill, and the Loop Volunteers all work together to make sure that the racers all have the greatest time possible.  It is their heart and passion that shines through.  No sponsors, just the celebration of life with a run through the beautiful woods of Pound Ridge. 

I have to single out one name here.  Tony Godino, is one of the original directors of the race, and I have grown to look at him as a true friend.  His passion for the land shines through in his respect for the people that once lived there.  He understands that we don’t own the land, we are part of it all.  He also accepts that it is the craziness of the race that draws people to it.  For one day of the year, we can get dirty and muddy and break every rule that we were ever taught about how to act as an adult.  The world is a better place because of Tony.

Another powerful aspect is the racers.  Rain or shine, cold or hot-we show up to test ourselves and to push through any boundaries we may have.  For the past 5 races I have done, I return to the same log about a mile from the finish to cheer on the runners.  Despite what everyone has put themselves through, I am constantly greeted with utter joy and exultation.   This does not happen at road races, where competition clouds the true reason we run, to be free. 

Personally, I can attest to the camraderie of this race because of people I have come to know from seeing them year after year.  Every race, at the start line 5  sometimes 6 of us gather and catch up with each other.  We probably won’t see each other for 364 more days, but on this one day we are a family.

This year was a special one for a few reasons.   The first was the welcoming of a new member to the Leatherman Family.  Micah True, aka Caballo Blanco, journeyed from the trails of the Copper Canyon, where he lives with the Raramuri (“the running people”) of Mexico.  He came to welcome us to his world to remember how to run free.  (www.Norawas.org or go to www.caballoblanco.com)

Second, was the appearance of Atka, an Arctic Gray wolf from the Wolf Conversation Center in South Salem, NY.  To see this amazing creature  close up reminded me of how beautiful the world is when we look past our computer screens and Ipods.  Though the sound of 1000 people howling probably pissed Atka off because while we thought we were just howling, Atka was probably wondering why everyone kept yelling “Monkey Armpits” in wolf language.

Finally, this year was special because of SHE.  We have journeyed together through many miles and I was honored to have her join me in one of the most treasured parts of my running life.  SHE has shown herself to be a wonderful friend and I hope she realizes how happy I was to have her on the trail with me.

I will end this now because it is freaking long and I’m not sure I would even read this much.  But whatever you do read… I hope you can see how amazing this race is.

And as we run remember the words of Danny Martin, Spiritual Advisor to the Loop:

Leatherman’s Loop Navajo/Irish Poem
    Beauty before me when I run.
    Beauty behind me when I run.
    Beauty below me when I run.
    Beauty above me when I run.
    Beauty beside me when I run.
    Beauty within me when I run.

    I see Beauty all around.
    In beauty may I walk.
    In beauty may I see.
    In beauty may we all be.

I only have to go 10 more miles-HE’s Final Test

Three weeks to go before my first 50 miler,  so why not test myself?  So bright and early on a Thursday morning, SHE and I lined up to run the Colonial Greenway, a 13 plus miles trail loop through Westchester.  SHE was going 2 times plus and I was going 3 times through.  It was an opportunity to test our plans for the big day. 

At 6am, we toed our imaginary line and started off.  My plan was to stay in control and run easy.   Loop one was fairly uneventful.  I tried to occupy my mind with inane thoughts, so as not to lose control.  I felt relaxed and my legs felt strong.  As I meandered through the woods, the miles seemed to float by.  My worries were that I was going to slow.  As I reached about the halfway point of the loop, I heard my watch beep, indicating I’ve run for an hour.  Crap-that’s too freaking slow. 

I picked up the pace slightly and headed back towards the car, which was serving as my aid station.  One loop down and 2 to go.  It was starting to heat up and the world was waking.  More traffic and noise started to disrupt my solitude as the rest of the world was starting its day.  I was feeling good and kept my pace up as I journeyed through the trail.  I still felt in control, but I had my legs rolling easy.  I felt confident when I reached the halfway point of the loop, which meant I had reached the halfway point of my run.  Still surviving and not wanting to kill myself yet. I point myself in the direction of the car and let it rip.

I start loop 3.  Feeling good.  Not great-but good.  That feeling disappeared within seconds.  Ok, maybe not seconds.  It was more like 7 miles from home, the heat started to affect me.  I was out of water and had no choice but to keep moving forward.  Every time I stopped, I felt dizzy and stumbled along.  I was cramping up and really not enjoying the day.  Every time I started running again, I tried to just put my head down and push.  This is a limit I need to break through.

With each step, I realized I was getting closer to the finish.  The harder I push, the faster the finish will come.  I knew I had it done when I finally saw SHE doing her extra miles, running the opposite way.  I made the final turn and crossed between the trees, marking our finish line.  And promptly doubled over with dry heaves.  Hows that for attractive?  Every time I tried to walk toward the car I had to stop.  I was dizzy, dehydrated and tired.  And pissed off because I slowed up too much. 

I had run for 5 hours and 30 min.  Thats enough time to work a full shift on Sunday, to drive to Pennsylvania and back, or for the first 2 1/3 innings of a Boston/Red Sox game.  I had run 40 plus miles.  Thats like going 20 miles twice, or doing 10 miles 4 times.  (Those are the best analogies I could come up with) 

I sat down and started to drink water and re-hydrate myself.  And I started to think.  This is how I felt at 40 miles.  Whats gonna happen in a few weeks?  And I realized, I am gonna be fine.  I pushed myself hard and to my limit.  And I realized, I made it 40 miles.  I had never gone that far before.  I knew that morning I was undertaking something big,  and I was excited at the challenge.  It will be no different on May 8th.  I may blow up like a firecracker in the sky.  But I’m going to lay everything I have on the line.   I only have 10 miles to go.

SHE and the last big test before the big race

Ninety Percent of this game is half mental.”- Yogi Berra

Here we are, finally, the bitter cold behind us; snow melted away. Here we are, no longer months and months away, but now only a few weeks away, which will turn to days in a blink of the eye. Here we are, now, ready to test ourselves one last time before the big day.

HE came up with this brilliant plan a month or so before. HE looked at the calendar, and as if almost randomly, pointed to a date (April 15^th to be exact) and said in so many words, “This is the day that we will see what we’re made of.” 

Now see me…close eyes, sigh, hold breath, exhale.

The said course is a 13.1 loop that HE would run 3 times and I would run twice, and then go back in for a bit more. HE’s goal was 40 miles, and mine was 31 miles. We chose this course because it would be easier to gauge the distance, but more so, because other than the physical elements, repeating terrain multiple times can also take a toll on the mind.

In preparation for the run I pack a cooler with water bottles, orange slices, watermelon and a turkey sandwich. These are items that have either worked for me in the past, or things that I have craved when deep in a woodsy run. As the weather has gotten warmer, food has become less and less appealing, and salt has been flowing out of my pores more and more, which has left me dehydrated on more than one occasion. That is something I look to remedy today.

My car will be my aid station. This will be a good test to see how quick I can replace water bottles, grab food and go.

As the calendar predicts….April 15^th comes right on time.

We meet a little before 6 am on that chilly morning. We have run this course endless times throughout our training, but today it would be different. Today we would start together and then not see each other for hours after. We would travel the same path, only at different speeds of light. The voices in my head would be my only company. The thoughts that fuel me and/or drain me, would be only mine to absorb or conquer. This test was going to be so much more mental than physical, but it would be better to find out now what might be lurking deep within rather than later.

We wish each other well, and at 6 am we are off. It is always tempting to start out quicker than you should, but I promised myself that today I would be extraordinarily conservative.  So as I see HE run off into the sunrise, I stick with my plan. I could never catch HE, so I will not chase, and besides, in his swiftness, I imagine that he will actually wind up chasing me.

The Physical.

I walk any decent hills and seem comfortable at whatever pace I have settled into. I am not out of breath and almost wonder if I am running too easy, however, I stick with the plan, because there are many more miles to go and I do not want to risk hitting any walls in the woods. I feel pretty good, and after about an hour I am even more settled into a rhythm.  I am still concerned about the lingering injury in my hamstring and left knee, but both seem to be leaving me alone, so I don’t concentrate on them. I am conscience of my water intake, and the Enjoy Life bagel that I ate a bit before I started seems to be carrying me for the first loop. All in all I am feeling rather confident the deeper I get.

The Mental.

I didn’t know what to expect running all that time alone; how my body would deal and where my mind would wander. I always hope that on a run where I will be left vulnerable, that I can somehow be more connected with my emotions; somehow emerge a little more enlightened.

The couple of weeks leading up to this run found me somber; found me reflective. It is impossible to separate our lives into pieces, keeping each apart from the other; at some point they must merge, so they can find a way to co-exist. I started this run hoping to go so deep into my soul that I would find the one‘s that I can no longer see. I hoped that in the woods I would find acceptance for that which I cannot change; forgiveness from those that I can no longer ask, and a resolve for the weeks leading up to this day. I needed to find some peace, and I hoped that somehow today, in my most vulnerable places, I would allow myself for some.

The run takes 6+ hours and the miles are above 31.  The orange slices and watermelon are keepers, and although I dreaded eating the ½ a turkey sandwich, it worked well for me. The last 2/3 of the run were hotter, so by the end I was somewhat dehydrated, but nothing too severe. I finish the run feeling as if I could run more, which is what I would have to do on May 8^th, so that made me happy. In all honestly, after a certain point, I feared stopping more than continuing. When this was over, getting up after sitting would be my new challenge.

This run gives me the confidence I need to go to Bear Mountain, and face another day that will have me searching through my soul and making peace with my past, my demons and myself. This run, as anxious as I was, turned out to be some of the best 6+ hours I’ve ever spent with myself.

Oh yeah…HE never did catch me, although I swore I heard him creeping up on me a few times.

DNF = DOA: An extreme view

     Let me preface this post by saying the opinions herein only apply to the writer.  They in no way reflect how I see anyone else and their choices in life and running.  In fact, I can appreciate and admire the fact that someone has the courage to know and respect their limits and to not be afraid to do the smart thing.  With that said-I will go on with the rambling.

     From what I can remember, I have one DNF in my career.  It was in college and I had suffered an injury.  A sour relationship with my coach did not help the situation.  I was in a race that I should have won.  .  It was a 5000 meter race on the track, which is 25 laps on an indoor track.  The rule was that if you get lapped (the leader gets a full lap ahead)  before the mile (8 laps), you get pulled off the track, thus ending your race.  One of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  I sulked like a baby on the bus ride home.  The very long bus ride home.

     That feeling has never left me.  I vowed to never go through that again, regardless of what it did to me.  I honestly cannot imagine stopping before the finish line.  There have been a number of races that I probably should have ended before the line.  All three of my marathons were struggles.  The first I spent the last 8 miles throwing up the whole way.  I actually had a cop come up to me and ask if I needed help.  The second, I had to walk all the aid stations from 21-24 miles, before I finally got my ass moving to the finish.  The last one, I pulled my calf the week before the race.  I ran the race and at 12 miles it popped again.  After about 5 minutes of stomping around and cursing and ripping my number off my shirt, I decided that I wasn’t wasting my time and I hobbled on the rest of the way.  (As a sidenote, I fully admit that I’m not very mature when things aren’t going right.  In fact I’m like a big baby.  I throw things and I curse at myself.  It’s all quite entertaining.)   Twice in the Leatherman’s Loop, (the greatest race ever), I pulled a calf (I apparently have crappy calves) while leading the race.  Both times I finished out of respect of Tony Godino, the race director.  I may not have won the race, but I didn’t want him thinking I quit on the race.  After each of these races, I was out of running for at least a month, trying to recover.

     I never said I was a smart man.  When it comes to running, I follow my heart and ignore reason.  As I prepare for my first ultra, people ask me what’s my goal.  I have no desire to “finish”.  I intend to compete.  It may be a stupid way to think.  But the only way I will not cross the line of my own volition will be in the ambulance. 

     I understand that many people will look at this like I’m a little off.  I may be missing a few screws when it comes to running.  But it is all I know.  This is a major difference between HE and SHE.  SHE wants to challenge limits she has put on herself, but knows that it will take steps to get there.  I really can’t say enough of how proud I am of what she has accomplished.  When once she was nervous to run the trails, she is becoming fearless and strong.  That is great.  But SHE also has the courage to possibly have to DNF.  In that process, SHE will have run farther than she ever has.  And she will be taking another step toward whatever her ultimate goal is.  I have seen great champions I have admired, all accept a limit and step out of a race, so that they may fight again.  So I don’t think there is any shame in DNF, if there is a good reason.  Quitting because it is hard I do have a problem with, but that is for another time.  However, I think I am missing that gene in me that says perhaps it is best to stop, so that you may run again. 

     I have accepted this challenge of running 50 miles through the woods as fast as I can, fully understanding it will hurt:physically, emotionally and spiritually.  But that is why I’ve chosen to do it. Without suffering, we cannot grow and appreciate the joys in life.  But without finishing, I cannot accept that I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

SHE and her decision

When there is a fork in the road, take it. – Yogi Berra

There comes a point in everyone’s life when they have to make a decision; a decision that needs to be made with either their head or their heart, but not both. Sometimes one, the head or the heart, can cloud the judgment of the other and sometimes one can scare the other into submission. Either way, I am at this point.

Running should be simple: one foot in front of the other with less mind chatter. We are animals after all, meant to run, and to run, as Caballo Blanco would say, “easy, light, smooth and free.”  So why is it so hard sometimes?

I have crossed over a barrier that I cannot return from. Although I have yet to complete an incredible distance, I am an ultra runner. That is to say, I think like one and I love the sport like one. I have felt the vacancy of a long run not had. The extra time on a Sunday morning nursing an injury rather than running, time that I would otherwise crave, now a disturbance. Let me tell you that cabin fever does not only apply to the confinement of one’s home, but also the confinement of a concrete world without a run on a trail; more importantly a painless run on the trail.

In my typical over zealous nature I have found myself gritting my teeth more than usual while running, due to some overtraining issues. I am a fan of the concept less is more; I just need to apply that to my running. These injuries, which have not completely sidelined me, have still caused some concerns. With Bear Mountain less than 2 months to go, my mind and my heart are at odds.

The recommendation to drop down to the 50k (31 miles) has been suggested by more than one. At first the idea seemed ideal, causing me brief remittal. I have never intended on running anything other than the 50 miler, but perhaps, through my own admittance, I am not ready. My mind busy, rationalizing this decision, until my heart stepped into the picture.

Much to the chagrin of HE, I decided to not drop down to the 50k and instead stay signed up for the 50 miler with the intention, or better yet, possibility of a DNF.

Here is how I am looking at the situation.

On any given day anything can happen. One can not possibly prepare for every detail of every day, especially since no two are alike. Shockingly this is something that HE has pointed out to me on many occasions, so us being at odds on this topic is a little surprising.

I have started runs that I looked forward to for days only to be miserable for the first hour and then find a rhythm for the remaining three. I have had fast runs, slow runs, painful runs, runs that seem effortless, and a run or two that seemed painstakingly hard. I have cried on runs. I have laughed on a run. I have fallen down (and up) rocky terrain. I have fallen into snow melted ponds. I have had second winds…multiple times on a run. I have seen people and animals in the woods that were not there (at least in the flesh) on a run. I have heard the footsteps of someone running behind me, only to turn and see I am all alone on a run. I have run with blisters the size of a small state. I have run with body aches and sore muscles. I have run well rested and sleep deprived, some of the latter being my best runs. I have made the mistake of running in new shoes for a 3hr run. I have run in less than ideal weather. I have run and wondered, “Is my toe bleeding or is that mud caked around it?”

I could go on and on….

The point is that anything can happen on a run, and more specifically May 8^th. I cannot plan ahead for how I will or will not feel. My body may heal and I may re-group, or I may remain slightly injured; never getting fully better before the race, but hopefully not getting worse. I am completely comfortable with entering this race with the thought that I will not finish; having a DNF near my name. However, finishing is a relative term in this case. Everyday is different. There are peaks and valleys in every run. Sometimes we settle in a valley, thinking it is all over and then voila, a peak carries us across a threshold. I realize that this run will break me many times. As someone that loves this sport, I recognize that that is one of its appeals. We go out on these runs to be broken in a sense. To visit the depths of our souls and find what it is we are searching for. Sometimes we find what we seek and sometimes we continue the search on another run. Our souls are endless, so the searching never ceases, we just change what new dimension of our spirit we wish to embark on.

On May 8^th I may struggle to the 34 mile mark (that’s where the aid station is) and call it a day, or I may find my peak and have my 9^th second wind carry me 16 more miles; or I may even feel awful and never get past 20 miles. The point is I don’t know how I will or will not feel. What I do know is that my heart has beaten my mind. I cannot, or do not want to pigeonhole myself into a shorter run, when I may get to the end and say I want more.

I will accept the DNF if I do not finish the actual course, but in my heart it will not have mattered because I finished my run on that particular day the best I could, and honestly that is all I can ask of myself.

Since HE and I are at different ends of the spectrum on this, please send in your opinions on: Should SHE DNF or drop down to the 50k.

It will be interesting to get a different perspective

Things HE Learned While Training for an Ultra

Teaching comes from school, but learning comes from experience.  (Thanks Gary)  Like any new challenge, we have to find our way to the end.  That path is full of things that we never knew and can take with us as we journey through life.

1) There’s a 5 o’clock in the morning

Having to prepare fro a 50 mile race apparently requires a lot of running.  Now I have yet to win the lotto or find someone who wants to give me money, so I have to work.  And I am never giving up time with my son.  So I have to get up early some days to run.  Did you know it’s dark and cold at 5am?  But I guess if farmers can do it, so can I.  I can always say I quit and sleep late.  But then SHE will make me feel like a schmuck.

2)Lot’s of bizarre thoughts go through one’s mind on a 4 hour run

Why am I doing this? This is fun.  This sucks a lot. Look a tree.  Random song plays in head.  I need to push harder.  I miss Eamonn.  Where the hell is SHE? I need to go to the bathroom.  Random song again.  This place is beautiful.  I hate that stupid song.  I can’t waste time looking at the scenery.  Is this the best thing I can be doing with my life?  I wish I was fat and lazy and normal, then I could be sitting on a couch or sleeping.  We’ve only been running for 37 freaking minutes?  My foot hurts.  My other foot hurts. I feel great.  There’s no place I’d rather be. Did I leave the lights on?

As you can see, this could go on for a long time.  I will spare you by ending this sampling of thoughts in my head.

3) People can smash through the limits they think they have.

When SHE and I started training, we were on a run through Pound Ridge.  Our run was supposed to be 2:15.  Thanks to my tracking skills, we were at 2:13 with a very long way to go to get to the car.  My solution was to just avoid SHE so that couldn’t hit me. 

“How much longer?” she asked.

“What?  You like Eva Longoria?”

“No, how much longer?”

“Not too much.”

“What is not too much?”

This conversation carried on.  Afraid to look her in the eye, we finally made it back to the car.  Now, a mere few months later, SHE is a completely different beast.  After a freakish nighttime, sleeping injury (yes, I hurt myself sleeping) I was unable to run one of our long runs together.  SHE was up and out, going through multiple hours on the trail, by herself.  A few days later, we were on the trails. SHE had a blister the size of a small island nation on her heel, and suffered through 2 hours of pain.  2 hours and it hardly felt like we ran.  SHE wanted to run more.  I had to stop her.  When once she struggled with the hills and trails, SHE runs strong and smooth.  No more do I have to hear her bitch constantly. (Ok she never really did that, but it sounded funny to say.)  Now she seems to not fear what is ahead of her, she welcomes the challenge.  She will be able to conquer anything in front of her, because of how hard she works.

4) Unless I’m playing with my son, snow sucks.

It’s slippery and it’s bumpy.  The footing is never even.  I feel like a mexican jumping bean bouncing around trying to stay upright because of how slippery and messy it is;  but it’s got to be making me stronger because I’m using all the little muscles that don’t get used on the roads.  But those little muscles don’t like to be used apparently and they get sore really fast.  Stupid piriformis muscle.

5)The world looks different through the seasons.

During the summer, the trails are green and full of life.  The smells and the sounds are many and vibrant.  Animals abound, people frolic.  The fall brings cooler, wonderful running weather.  Beautiful colors explode in the trees.  The crunchy leaves add a soundtrack to the run.  Then the crappy winter arrives.  It looks like death.  Nothing on the leaves.  Dank and cold.  I have ceased to be a fan of the winter.  But at least, the spring will be here soon.  I love the spring.

I’m sure the lessons will continue.  That is what life is all about.  We learn, we grow, we try something new.  If we didn’t, we would be dead.  That’s not really an option right now.