Doing Effie Twice. At My Age.

Effie on an earlier winter run                       photo by Dan DeRosha

Yes, people my age are usually happy to be able to Effie once, for Pete's sake. But there I was, trudging up the old hag for the second time. And folks are passing me like I was standing still. But I didn't mind. You see, it had been a real long time since I'd done the hilly Hinckley nine-mile loop twice, and after a rough month, I was happy just to be able to make the distance. Effie, by the way, is the name of the big hill on Ledge Road, about half-way through the loop.

These Sunday morning runs at Hinckley are being reinstituted, mostly by me. And we had a great turnout of MCRR runners. I ran the first loop with Renee Harden and Rick Roman. Even for that first time up Effie, they had to wait for me at the top. But I didn't mind; overall, it was a relatively fast one considering the inch or so of snow on the roads. Not so for my second loop - that one was, I think, a PW.

But as I said, I didn't mind.


PostScript: I should add that in my younger days I was able to do Effie three times. Maybe I'll get back to that level one of these decades. On the other hand, I've heard warnings that if you're doing Effie for more than four hours, you should seek immediate medical attention.

Alone in the Deep, Dark Woods

I suppose I've now done about five outside runs from my new office area, into Cleveland Metroparks’ North Chagrin Reservation. They've all been in the disorienting darkness, and until today, they've all been under the expert tutelage of Dave Gajewski.

Yesterday’s run with Dave and his running buddy Kevin didn't go so well for me. Having just gotten over this sinus infection and the previous day’s excellent Medina Half Marathon group course run, I wasn't up to the task of running that hilly nine-mile course with those guys. I kept falling behind, which frustrated me. They would occasionally run back to me, which frustrated me more. And then I had an even further tough time keeping up, which frustrated me still more. But what frustrated me the most was when, near the end of the run, my left knee decided to give out again. As usual, I screamed out like a girl with the sudden pain.

On top of everything else, I haven’t been completely sure where exactly I've been during these early morning runs in the darkness. So today, running all by my lonesome self for the first time, I decided to explore. It was about time I learned my way around on my own.

And I did. Now, today’s run wasn't exactly stellar either. It wound up as about six sluggish miles. I started slow and ended slower, even feeling a little dizzy as I was finishing up. But I did it. I learned my way around the park. At least a good part of it.

Playing in the Snow

Most adults don't get to go out to play in the snow. Those with kids do sometimes. And runners do.

Yes, we runners get to go out and play in the snow. I did it today, which also happens to be New Year's Day, 2014. And it was fun.

2013 wasn't too bad. I ran my 100th, and final marathon. I barely achieved my goal of getting faster at shorter stuff - mostly by doing better than I did in 2012, but not necessarily earlier years. Picked up some AG awards along the way. And I capped off the year with an excellent (for me) 50K at Buckeye Woods.

The last couple weeks haven't been quite so stellar, however. For some reason I ran really slow for my runs in Connecticut. And then, in a not necessarily unrelated event, I caught a bad cold from the grand-kids. With these sniffles, I ran indoors the last two days, and was almost going to do so once again today.

But then I looked outside. There were only a few inches of new snow, and the temperature, at 19F, wasn't all that bad. So out I went.

It's not really possible to run fast in snow that's more than a couple inches deep. And I sure didn't today. It was 11:30 miles at best; it took over an hour forty to get nine miles in.

But those slow miles were fun slow miles. I'll pick it up again next time I'm on the mill.

Seemed Like Farther

This is yet another variation on my recurring it seemed like faster theme.

After a few easy miles I arrive at Joel Barlow High School and immediately begin doing loops around the school grounds. I've done these things before when visiting the kids here in Redding, CT. Somehow, according to my failing memory, I thought these loops were something like one and a quarter miles. It's too bad that I'm wearing my Soleus GPS this time. That's because that contraption tells me that the loop is only 0.85 miles.

It sure seemed like farther. With hopes of picking up the pace I do another loop. It's faster, but not by much. I do another, still slow. At some point I start to think this measurement stuff is for the birds. I'm averaging ten to eleven minute miles, and had I not been wearing the Soleus, I'd have said they were nine-minute ones. I guess it doesn't matter whether I say felt like farther or felt like faster. It's all the same space-time continuum.

I like the school area because there's not so much traffic in the area. Of course it helps that school's out. It's Boxing Day. Yesterday's Christmas Day run hadn't been much to speak of, but I didn't have much time since we were about to jump in the car for the long drive over here. I do a couple out-and back runs to add mileage, and then, now that it's getting light, start on the dirt trail through the woods.

The dirt trail is actually mostly crushed stone, and the woods are quite nice; I like this route. I remember it to be a mile long, and - for once -my GPS confirms this. I do three loops, each a bit faster.

And now it's time to head back home. No sense picking up the speed now. Saunter is as saunter does.

Twist and Shout

Two Weeks Ago...
"EEEEOOOOW!" I was on my sixth and last five-mile loop of the Buckeye Woods 50K, running with Patti Tomasello and Shari Geiger, when I experienced a sudden, excruciating pain in my left knee. I stopped running, and Shari and Patti did as well out of concern. I must have twisted it, and/or landed funny, but the pain was huge. My fleeting thoughts turned to wondering whether I'd have to walk the final two and a half miles of the race.

I didn't mention this incident in my race report, because just as suddenly as the pain appeared, it went away. In less than a minute, I was once again back to running the same pace with my friends. My knee didn't bother me a bit for the remainder of the run.

Today at about eight-thirty...
"EEEEOOOOW!" It had, until this point, been a good day and even a good week of running. For the week, I'd done all my runs at my new company's fitness center treadmills as well as outside in the adjacent park with long-time running partner Dave Gajewski. After an easy recovery week following BW50K, these runs had gone pretty well. Today's running had been going even better. I'd done the Hinckley nine-mile big loop at a faster than usual pace with Will Bertemes, Brian Becker and Renee Harden. I'd done a three-mile lake loop with a larger group who showed up at eight o'clock. I'd just started on my second lake loop, when I felt that sudden pain once again.

This time it wasn't on a dirt trail with snow and rocks and roots; I was on a smooth bike trail. I wish I knew what caused the twist of the knee this time, or that other time for that matter, but there it was. Rob Lisy and the others stopped with me out of concern. "I'll be fine, I said. The same thing happened two weeks ago." Sure enough, I did recover and continue my run once again.

Today at about eight-thirty-seven...
'EEEEOOOOW!' Okay, time to stop. I'd only gone another three-quarters of a mile, and it happened again. I slogged back to the car, done for the day.

Now I'm getting a little concerned.

Buckeye Woods 50K – One for the Ages (Well, Pretty Much, Anyway)

“How many people are ahead of you?” Connie Gardner had appeared at the BW50K start/finish/aid station to help a bit, and had decided to join me for my third five-mile loop. I had run the first two with Jeannine Nicholson and Beth Bugner, and I was glad to also have Connie’s company for this one. I hadn’t really thought about it till now. “Oh, a bunch,” I answered, “at least seven or eight.”

Jeannine Nicholson, Beth Bugner and Fancy Pants Horvath     photo by John McCarroll

But then I thought about it some more. “Wait a minute,” I said, “I think most of them are doing the 25K. There’s only one of them that I know of who’s doing the fifty: Pete Schwanke. But he’s good; he ran a fast time here last year.” Connie, never one to mince words, said, “Let’s get him!” Sure enough, I did pick up the pace for that lap. But then I was running with Connie; a faster pace probably would have happened anyway. I may have made a little progress in this new quest for first during that quick forty-one minutes, but I knew I would inevitably slow down in the second half. My only hope was that Pete would as well. Wouldn't that be neat, I briefly fantasized, to win my own race?

I did slow down;  Pete didn't. I could tell by where we’d pass by each other going opposite directions, that he was gaining, not losing ground on me. The best I’d be able to hope for this day would be second. And even that would be a challenge.

“Dan…” (pregnant pause)…  “Do NOT let her catch you!” Harold Dravenstott said this to me as we made the final turn towards home on my last lap. I had a mile and a half to go. “She” was Nicole Gareri, who was coming by at a high rate of speed in the opposite direction, only a quarter mile behind. Nicole was last year’s winner, and she was about to win and finish strong once again this year.

As if I needed another challenge. We’d been running on hard packed snow and some ice for the entire race. The air was cold, and the wind had picked up a bit. I had been happily running this last loop (my slowest at about ten minute per mile pace) with Patti Tomasello and Shari Geiger, thinking I’d be thrilled to simply finish in vertical fashion. Except now I had to try to respond to Harold’s call to action.

I did pick up the pace as best I could, and I barely stayed ahead of Nicole. She finished just behind me.

Just happy to finish    photo by John McCarroll

With over sixty runners, BW50K was bigger by far than ever before. Our new rule that you had to be a club member to run this free race paid off big-time: we had about 25 people join the club. And several, including Patti and Shari, completed their first ultra. I think everyone had fun. With the race growing as it is, however, I won’t be able to organize it next year. I hope I can find someone to take it on.

I’m pretty proud of my second place finish as well as my time of 4:45. I’ll go as far as to say that this is (just about) one for the ages. It’s a legitimate distance, trails, and although there are no hills, the conditions were tough. In spite of that, this was my second best trail 50K ever. Even the other three that I did here were slower by a minute or more. The only faster one was at Another Dam 50K in the heat a few years ago.

But that’s a different story.

Cleveland West Road Runners Club Fall Classic Half Marathon

Yes, that's a mouthful. And there's plenty to say about it as well. Luckily for you, dear reader, I am in a brief (vs boxer) sort of mood today.

I carpooled with John Pavlick and Amy Grentzer, The weather forecast had been for snow showers with 1-3 inches possible, along with a low of 19, a high of 26, and extremely cold winds. Sure enough, it was 19, and those extremely cold winds made it feel like it was in the low single digits. The snow didn't materialize, however. But standing around before the start was C. O. L. D! We saw some other friends and were able to commiserate a little. Once I started to warm up, things felt better. Except whenever I ran into the wind.

Before the start

And once the race actually started, I began to warm up some more. I went right out at my usual 7:30 pace, and actually felt okay. I'd averaged 7:30 at my last half - the Inland Trail Half - only a few weeks ago. I'd been thinking that I could do better this time, and maybe I could.

But then I turned around, and felt the wind in my face. This race, which I've done more times than I can count, is a double out and back on the Valley Parkway in Strongsville. It winds around a lot, but there are no hills. One of the neat things about it is seeing all your friends, regardless of your speed or their speed, so many times during the race. This year it was no different. Except that everyone was so bundled up, it was at times hard to recognize everyone.

Oh yes, the turn. As I headed back north and west the wind nearly stood me up. And it felt as cold as ever. I went by many of the 5K runners for my first circuit through the start/finish area. My time was something like 49 minutes and change. I'd slowed down a bit.

Somewhere in the middle

Now came the second half. Could I pick it up? I ran much of the way with Eileen Meisler. There was quite a bit of back and forth with her and a few others. As we turned back for the final 5K, that wind hit once again. But Eileen got ahead of me and picked it up some more. I tried to follow.

I did manage to pass her and a couple others in the final 1/2 mile, but one guy passed me. I think those last two miles were my fastest. My time was 1:39:19. That was tough!

Once again, it was fun, but C. O. L. D. to hang out at the finish, talking with everyone about that cold wind, and how cold we all felt. Naturally that only made us feel colder. I changed, but my hands were still freezing until John lent me his warm gloves.

I found out that I was second in my age group, but a matter of seven or so seconds. I hadn't seen the guy, but then remembered that the awards were based on chip time; he may have been behind me.

Maybe next year will be my year. Oh yes. I do have at least one more race for this year. Some little thing called BW50K.

Early was Late

In the PBS documentary, The Civil War, historian Shelby Foote describes an incident where Confederate General Robert E. Lee was awaiting the arrival of General Jubal Early and his troops in order to help at the battle of Gettysburg. Lee was upset because "Early was late," he said.

On Saturday I decided to run on the towpath with Dave Gajewski, Kevin Jones and Larry Orwin and wife Christine. They are a fast bunch, but I felt up tot the task. So much so, in fact, that I also decided to arrive early to do some extra miles. I'd had thoughts of stretching the 12-14 they'd planned on, up to 20 or so. But due to some early morning procrastination, I had the consternation of arriving only about ten minutes early, resulting in the frustration of only winding up with 13.5 for the day. The pace was a good one, however.

Had I run longer on Saturday, I wouldn't have felt the need to also run on Sunday, but now I did. In fact, I decided to arrive early for the Hinckley 9-mile loop organized by club members including Shari Geiger. If I could arrive an hour and a half early, in fact, I could get two loops in. But due to some early morning procrastination, I arrived a little bit later than that. This time I did get some decent miles in, however. I did two lake loops and almost enough other stuff to make nearly nine. So this time I wound up with a bit under 18 for the day.

31 for the weekend, and 71 for the week (the most since Cleveland) isn't bad. I guess that if you fail enough, all those failures added together can still be pretty good.

Every Hour, On the Hour

Instant Relief! That's what I felt as I started the fourth six-mile out and back loop on the Lester Rail Trail for the second time.

The first time hadn't gone so well; the PF pain had gradually gotten worse during the third loop, and it was excruciating at the first start of the fourth. As I returned to the car, I changed from my Montrail Mountain Massochist's to my Hoka OneOne Stinson Evo's. I'd also been thinking about quitting altogether; Nineteen miles wouldn't be all that bad after that half-marathon 48 hours ago. But dad-burn it, I'd never failed to complete a 24-miler here on the Lester, and I didn't want this to be the first time. Even so, it'd been a while. Quite a while.

The Hoka's, with the Powerstep insoles, provided the instant relief from the PF pain that I'd hoped for. This truly amazed me. It's too bad that the rest of me was in pain as well, and I had a long way to go.

The first three laps had gone quite well. I arrived at 4:00 AM, in order to get a loop in before Jack Reilly showed up at 5. Jack only did one loop with me, so I was back on my own for the third loop at 6. All this running had been at close to nine minutes per mile, and I was pleased as punch about it.

But then came those final six. Even without the PF pain, they weren't one bit pretty. Can you spell 'ten thirty miles?' Somehow I made it though.

This had been a test; a test to see if I could/would do the full 50K at Buckeye Woods in December. I guess I passed. This means that as of now, I may consider going for it. But I got a long way to go.

Inland Trail Half-Marathon

'It's so boring!' That's the number one complaint about the Inland Trail Marathon and Half-Marathon over the past few years. The marathon was out thirteen miles on the Inland Trail, a rails-to-trails bike path, and back. The half was point to point; they bused the runners out to the marathon turnaround point in Kipton, and they just ran back to Murray Ridge School in Elyria. I've run the marathon three times, and I've never experienced said boredom. But then I can't remember being bored on any run at any time. 'I've experienced many different problems during my various runs,' I like to respond, 'but boredom isn't one of them.' In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed each of my races there at/on Inland. It helps that I’ve also run them well.

After listening to all the other runners' complaints about the race, the organizers decided to change the course this year. We ran on country roads and through subdivisions for the first eight miles before finally getting onto the Inland Trail itself. Then we stayed on the trail for the final five miles of the half. The marathoners would continue on for a much longer out and back portion. Having been part of the silent majority who actually did like the old course, I didn't know what I'd make of the new one. But I figured it would still be small (it was), and fast (it was), so I thought I'd give it a shot. I drove in with Jack Reilly and Michelle Wolff.

The early November weather was, as usual, absolutely perfect: upper thirties to low forties, a few decorative clouds and a very light breeze. But speaking of breezes, I was pretty winded during the first half-mile, until I backed off just a bit. My time was 7:22. Boy, would it be great if I could maintain that pace.

'Hello? I'm running a race - what do you want?' I, along with a couple ladies in the vicinity had to laugh at overhearing (we couldn't help it) Shelby Buell's phone conversation early in the race. I tried to kid Shelby about it, but he didn't hear me. By mile five I was averaging about 7:30 per mile. Not bad, if I could only maintain that pace. Where have we heard that before?

A few miles and a couple gels later, I got onto the Inland Trail. The country roads and subdivision hadn't been bad - except some runners didn't like the half-mile of rough gravel road at mile seven - but now that we were finally on the trail for which the race was named, I realized how much I missed the old, 'boring' course. It was beautiful with the remaining fall leaves decorating the sides of the trail, and it was quiet to the point of being serene.

There was an aid station as I turned onto the trail, and I took a quick sip of water. Soon thereafter, my GPS notified me that I'd run eight miles in almost exactly sixty minutes; I was still doing 7:30's. A minute and a half later, at mile 8.16, I spotted the eight mile marker. Until that point, the course markings hadn't been very much different from my GPS. But surely this was a mistake; the next miles would be shorter, and everything would be in sync again.

A couple things happened at mile nine:

1) I spotted the first half-marathoner coming back at me on the trail. The turn-around was at mile ten, so he was about two ahead of me. I decided to begin counting everyone who was in front of me.

2) I spotted an aid station up ahead and took a gel, anticipating that I would be able to wash it down with a cup of water. But the table was not manned. Or even womaned. And although there were some water coolers, there weren't even any cups. The gel wasn't going down so well, but I guess I'd manage. Surely there would be more water ahead; they wouldn't make us run the final five miles of a half-marathon without water, would they?

3) Mile nine was off by the same amount as mile eight.

The turnaround was just after mile ten. *Their* mile ten. I'd counted eighteen runners ahead of me. One of them appeared to be about my age. But surely he'd be in some other age group. There was no more water. Surely they'd have someone manning the one at mile 9/11 by now.

It was still dry. I took another waterless gel. Picking it up a little, I passed Shelby and a few other runners. According to my watch, my final two miles were my fastest: 7:08 and 7:07. I figured there were only fourteen ahead of me as I made my final turn onto Murray Ridge Road. The volunteer said, 'only a half-mile to go!' I wanted to yell back, 'but I've got 12.9 *now*! How can there be a half-mile left?' But I didn't; he was only the messenger.

At mile 13.3, I finished in 1:38 and a half. Just about the seven-thirty pace that I wanted. And it was good to finish strong. Not strong enough, unfortunately, to win the age group; that other guy beat me by four minutes.

But I'm still pleased with my performance. I did what I was capable of. And I really shouldn't complain about all those minor trials and tribulations. Surely they really do go with the territory.

Success! Well, kinda

Obsessed with time as I am, I wait for the two-mile mark on my six-mile route and note that the GPS watch alerts me right where I think it should, and at that point I also start up my normal watch. Two watches? Well, I do have two wrists after all.

There actually is a reason, but I have a hard time explaining it. What happens next during today's run will help. I run this course fairly often, and I know where the mile splits are. Or at least where I have always thought they were. This is only the first or second time I've done this run whilst donning my GPS. Comparing the GPS miles with my own 'traditional' splits would be illustrative.

This was also yet another tempo attempt. Those haven't been going so swell lately - ever since that vacation. The funny thing is that the regular weekly speedwork does still seem to be going good. But tempos? Not so great. A case in point was Saturday's Pause for a Cause 5K in Medina. According to said trusty GPS, my mile splits were 7:18, 7:31 and 6:32, along with 1:40 for the final .1, which was more like .2. If I can't do 3 consecutive sub-seven minute miles in a race, how the heck can I do it in a training run?

My GPS tells me that mile three, the first of my three tempo miles, is also where I thought it
should be. The GPS therefore agrees with my watch for that first mile split time. And - yay - it's sub-seven.

I cross back over Pearl Road, turn right, then left for a nice downhill portion of the course. I cross over the traditional mile four and hit my watch again. Sub-seven again. Double-yay! But the GPS thinks I've got a way to go yet. It doesn't tell me that I've hit mile four for quite a while. When it does go off, the time is 7:18. Not so good.

A little chagrined, I continue south, cross over Center Road, and keep going. Now on the Dead Presidents streets, I come around and wind up heading north once again. I cross the traditional mile five point and hit my watch again to get the split. Great news - it is also sub-seven. I did it! Except the GPS is once again saying, literally and figuratively, not so fast. It once again waits until 7:17 or so to tell me that I've completed another mile.

I certainly do know what to do about all this: toss that dang contraption in the trash. Facts can be such pesky things.

9:30 Now and Eventually a Wannabe

Two days in a row I got myself caffeined up, and then shot out that door. I was gonna get a fast start, and continue on to a fast overall run - something of substance - if it killed me.

After some lackadaisical running after returning from vacation, I did manage a decent speedwork session at the track on Tuesday. The yassos went well, and they sure felt fast. But then looking back in my log to just a few weeks earlier, they were somewhat slower.

All this was okay, I told myself. As long as I can eventually bounce back, there's no shame in having a few slow weeks. But how long is eventually?

For both days, that lightning-fast first mile came in at 9:30. Of course this is another case of, it felt faster. Much faster. For both days, I did get a little faster for subsequent miles, but not where I was; especially not where I want to be.

Hmmm. Wannabe. Maybe I'll get there eventually.

Running in Alaska

This is a chronicle of my running adventures in Alaska during our September 2013 trip.

First Run in Anchorage

Bears! Bears? Here? Couldn't happen, could it? It hit me at 58 1/2 minutes into my planned two-hour run. Only a minute and a half before I would be turning back anyway. Why do these things always occur to me at precisely these times? 

Here's a grizzly Debbie and I spotted
from the car a couple days later

The run had begun innocently enough. I'd started off running north from our Anchorage hotel on A Street, towards downtown, until I hit the Chester Creek Trail. One of several all-purpose trails crisscrossing the city, this one's very nice. It's wooded, and alongside a nice creek. The path passes through tunnels and under bridges, so you hardly even know that you're in a city. There is even some lighting - which helps at 4:00 am.

The Chester Creek Trail took me west, past a large lake, and ended at the Coastal Trail. I turned left to go south. Now I was running along the shore, but things were just a little surreal.

There are wooded areas, but some homes and roads to my left, along with the water to my right. Except I never saw, heard or smelled any ocean. No ocean breeze. No crashing surf. I believe it's a very protected bay or inlet, and the tide was way out, such that the ocean was both close by and far away at the same time. It is quiet and mostly dark, although I could see fairly well with the lights of Anchorage behind me.

As I venture on, there are fewer and fewer houses and roads, and more and more woods to my left. At some point the trail veers away from the coast, and into the woods. Now, further away from the city lights, and in these deeper woods, the thought of bears popped into my head.

They wouldn't roam this close to Anchorage, would they? And they wouldn't be out in the dark, would they? Even if so, they surely wouldn't want to fool with some silly, solitary, skinny old runner traveling stupidly through these woods, would they?

This is how I manage to spook myself every time. Naturally I become more and more afraid, the more I think about it.

My fear isn't quite strong enough to override my plan to go 60 minutes before turning back. It occurs to me that these last ninety seconds of continuance in this outward direction, given that I'm already thinking about bears and other wind things in these woods, are the dumbest of all. But I'd planned to go an hour each way, and dad-gum it, I was gonna do it!

I come to a park - one of several along the way, and turn back. I pick up the pace; no doubt partially due to all this newfound adrenaline in my system. I find myself getting back so quickly that I even tack on a couple extra couple miles back on the Chester Creek Trail. It is still dark when I got back to the Springhill Suites, but the city has begun to wake up. For Debbie and me, it was time for breakfast.

I never did see any bears or even any wildlife of any kind during this run. Except in my mind.

I learn later on that Anchorage is one of the only cities in the world where human/grizzly encou ters have been documented.

Heavenly Healy Happenings

You might say I'm a little out of my element. I'm starting out for another run in the early morning darkness, this time from the Denali Lakeview Inn B&B in Healy. Yesterday's imaginary bear encounter had spooked me, but the Inn's posted notice about a grizzly sighting at the lake - which is all of about ten feet from or room's deck – has spooked me more.

Healy is ten miles north of the entrance to Denali National Park. Debbie and I had explored the park on our way up here yesterday, and we'd be doing more hiking there later today. It's a wonderful park, and it and the surrounding areas are burgeoning with bears. But we didn't see any. Perhaps they would reveal themselves to this goofy, lone runner.

Running in Healy with my
flashlight and bear spray

This time, I've got a flashlight, because it's so darn dark out here. I'm dressed fairly warm, since it's around 33 degrees. And did I mention that it’s snowing? Yes, snowing - on the 29th of September. But the real reason I'm out of my element is because of the bear spray. I cannot say that I've ever carried bear spray during a run before.

Since the can is about the size of an 8 ounce bottle of shampoo and sits in a holster-like pocket, I have to attach it to a belt in order to wear it, and the only belt I have is a leather one. It's all a bit awkward.

It's a mile and a quarter on deep, dark Otto Lake Road up to the highway. I run so slowly that it's almost like walking. It takes me fourteen minutes and change.

Now on the highway, I head south towards the park. I had thought that there would be lights, traffic, and other human activity here. There is nothing of the sort; it's nearly as dark and deserted as Otto Lake Road was. Eventually a few cars do go by at seventy miles an hour. The snow is still falling, but it's not sticking to the ground in these parts.

I know that I'm surrounded by the park's mountains. They're all around me - we saw them yesterday. But I can't see them at all due to the darkness and snow. It's actually pretty eerie.

I decide to go by the mile markers, so I do two of them and a bit more before turning back at three and a half miles and 37 1\2 minutes. Now I pick it up, finally doing sub-nine minute miles, based on the markers. I'm back to the B&B in only about 30 minutes, and it's already beginning to get a little light.

For the second straight run, there was no bear encounter.

Back in Anchorage

There are supposed to be northern lights in these parts, but I'm not seeing them. After a snowstorm changed our travel plans, I'm back in Anchorage earlier and for more time than expected. That's fine in several ways, including running, since this is such a runnable city. Back to the aurora borealis. The sky is completely clear for a change, and the stars are out. The bike trails I am running on - some of the same ones as before - go through the city, so there are city lights, but they also take me through some parks where I can see the stars better. Unfortunately - really, this time, considering the possible bears from previous runs - no aurora.

Now for my next run in Anchorage, I decide to do a faster run. 'Faster' being a relative term. It's fun to do these great trails, but most of my running here has been painfully slow; I'm simply not pushing myself. To exacerbate the problem, all this dining out is helping me to pack on the pounds. The best I can do is about eight-minute pace for the route back. Feels like seven. But I may as well call it a small victory and be happy with it.

The Coastal Trail in Anchorage

On yet another Anchorage run, light rain is falling, and it's 42 degrees. I usually don't like these kinds of conditions, but I am not bothered by them for this run. It's a run of exploration and discovery. Heading south on A/C streets for the first time, I'm trying to boldly go where no Brunstuckian has gone before - mostly I'm trying to find a different bike trail that's supposed to cross by here. Alas. I am not able to locate it. This turns out to be a slow, soggy slog of un-discovery. But I'm not totally devastated, for I've survived to run yet another day.

Now it's my last run in Anchorage; we're moving on to Homer later this morning. I'm heading north on the coastal trail, and the clouds, like everything else in Alaska, are awesome. They're hanging low around the buildings, and are glowing in hues of bright blue and orange. I figure that the lighting is due to reflections of the city lights. I continue north on the trail. I'm moving at a solid eight minute pace today, and get to the five-mile mark in under forty minutes. It took me forty-five minutes the other day. It helps to have someone chasing you. What is it with these Alaska runners? The other day I was moving really well at well under eight-minute pace, and a guy actually passed me up! Now I am squarely on the north side of downtown, with nothing much north of here. And there's still that  blue glow to the north. Could it be northern lights?

I never actually find out. I do some more miles up in that neck of the woods before turning back. I maintain the eight minute pace for fourteen miles - this is one of my best runs here in AK. I never find out about the northern lights.

Heavenly Homer - and the 'Race'

The Homer Spit is a narrow peninsula jutting out from Homer into Kachemak Bay. As Debbie and I drive out to the end of it, I figure that this would just have to be the course for my run tomorrow. That had become my plan... until Debbie picks up a just printed copy of the Homer News, which informs us that there's a half-marathon here in Homer this Saturday, the day after tomorrow, the day we'd planned on driving to our next stop, Seward. This changes everything.

The Homestead Trail where we hiked
one day, and where I ran the next

I'm running alone on the race course, but not as part of the race itself. The plan had been for Debbie to drop me off at the high school for the start of the half and pick me up at the finish, since the run was point to point. But now we'd learned that the race starts at 10; not 8:30 as stated in the paper. Check in began at 8:30. 10 would have been too late for me to start; we had wanted to get a reasonably early start on the drive to Seward. The race check-in lady had told me that I could run on the course anyway, since the trails were already marked.

The Homestead Trail

The trails lead up. Way up. It would have been a very tough half-marathon. I told Debbie that I'd meet her at the hotel in an hour or a bit more (I’d be doing less than thirteen), and we'd be on our way after that. Luckily, I'm in fairly familiar territory, since we had hiked these trails the day before. Even though the course is tough, it's a perfect day for running (about 40F, sunny, and no wind), the leaves and general scenery are smashing, and I'm having a great time.

I do eventually decide to turn back towards town, cutting back down closer to the Best Western where we're staying. I encounter a middle-school track, where I manage to get a tempo run in. It wasn't easy, but it felt good when I stopped. What an enjoyable and memorable run.

Stupendous Seward, and a Marathon of a Different Kind

I'm running scared once again. But to call this shuffling 'running' may be pushing it a bit. Like a complete idiot, I'm without my flashlight and my bear spray.

I am on the Mount Marathon race course. The road went uphill until it ended, and now I'm doing this shuffling on a dark, rocky, uphill trail. The Mount Marathon race is held July 4th, and it takes runners up, and back down this 3,000+ foot mountain, all in just 3.25 miles. Course record is 43 minutes.

I look up. Although there are tall, steep mountains all around, I can still view enough of the dark sky to see the brightest stars I've seen in years. And I'm really not all that far from town. What self-respecting aurora borealis wouldn't show itself in a sky like this? Alas, there are no northern lights this day. But I do indeed enjoy those stars.

Oh yeah. I'm supposed to be running. I'd actually come to a complete stop for a time, not even walking. I head back down into town in order to do some real running. I turn south to the end of the road on that end, but that gets dark and a bit scary too. Debbie and I would hike here on the coastal trail later in the day.

I finish my run in and around town. This was probably my slowest run during the trip. But no less memorable.

In fact, they were all memorable, every dang single last one of them. Where will this running stuff take me next?

To read more about this Alaska trip, including some exciting hikes, please click here.

To see all our Alaska photos, click here.

A Year and Thirty Hours

The NorthCoast 24-Hour Endurance Run (NC24) has been my baby from the beginning. Not that this particular baby isn't shared. Several people helped me get it off the ground, and many others have helped along the way. But I've always had my hand in it, and it's gotten deeply into my soul. How's that for mixed-up metaphors?

After three years as sole RD, last year I shared the Race Director duties with John Hnat. This was with the understanding that he would take over as solitary RD this year. John decided to step down, however, and Hugh Patton took over. And then, around the June or July time frame, Hugh left the picture too. Now we were left with, once again, me. I suppose that shows that what goes around really does come around sometimes.

If I was going to be RD, I suppose that it was a good thing to take over in July, rather than have it go all year. This way, it may have taken more of my time during the final couple months than it would have otherwise, but it may have been less work overall. At least it only went on for a couple of months, intense though they were.

Another good thing was that our same team of race organizers was in place. These people are simply the best at what they do, and NC24 could not take place without them. I need to tell you all about them now. Here is the gist of a Facebook post I made the other day:

NC24 would is *nothing* without all the fantastic volunteers and the best organization team on the planet. Let me tell you just a bit about the latter (in no particular order):
Roy Heger gets the power generator, rents the truck, handles tents and other big stuff. You will find Roy out there running the race, as usual.
Shannon Miller Fisher puts the shirt order together, procures the food and supplies, and coordinates all of the stuff throughout the event.
Barbara Gibson Clutter coordinates the volunteers, and also helps coordinate registration.
Larry Orwin is coordinating the Friday dinner. He also runs NC24.
Jan Roe helps Shannon with the coordination of food and supplies throughout the event, and also helps with registration.
Scott Stuetzer procured the awards and medals, and also loads and unloads the supplies from the trucks, day and night.
Charles Elkins times the event and also rents the porta-johns and dumpster and buys the water.
Frank Dwyer manages registration and the finances of the event, keeping us in the black. He also runs NC24 every year.
Debbie Horvath helps to direct the Boy Scout troop in the serving of breakfast.
Me? I don't do a darned thing.

So in the final couple months (which was actually a compressed year), our team put together, as always, one heck of a race. On race day itself, several of us arrived at 6:00 AM to prepare for the 9:00 AM start. There was a nice, steady rain, except that at the time we didn't think it was so nice. We got everything unloaded, the tents erected, and everyone checked in as efficiently as possible.

And then they were off. This is where I get the most satisfaction as RD. Seeing it all unfold. Seeing the volunteers working so hard to please the runners and attend to their needs. And mostly seeing miles of smiles on the runners' faces. It all makes everything we've been doing worthwhile.

The rain tapered off, but we were left with strong wind coming off the lake. This is nothing new, but it never makes it easy. For the first time ever, I managed to get out and do two things that I've never done at a previous NC24 event: I took some pictures, and I got a run in. The run didn't come until 10:00 PM Saturday, but it turned out to be just the right time to do it, as things were settling down somewhat.

On Saturday, several runners and crew members spotted some individuals taking runners' belongings. The park rangers apprehended two of the individuals. I don't believe anything that was extremely valuable was lost. This was an unfortunate situation however, and to have anything at all stolen is terrible. We will take some steps to try to prevent this from happening in the future.

Also on Saturday, we were treated to a wonderful sunset over Lake Erie. The day had turned out to be a pretty one, after all.

Sunday morning came soon enough. There were, as always, some tremendous performances, including those by the top men and women, and also by one Leo Lightner, who apparently (it has yet to be ratified) set US and World age group records. What an inspiration!

And then, just like that, it was over. Breakfast was served, we tabulated the results, and presented the awards. Even though we were all tired, this all went as smoothly as possible. The cleanup was also fairly efficient, thanks to the help of the team of organizers and volunteers. When all was said and done, I'd been working on NC24 for thirty hours.

Thirty hours of ups and downs, laughter, inspiration and being on my feet. It was all great, and as Brian Peacock would say, the best part is, it's over.

At the awards             photo by John McCarroll

Random Thoughts During Today's Run

I've done some eighteens, some nineteens, and plenty that were less, but still in the upper teens. I haven't done a twenty, however, since the Cleveland Marathon in May. This from a guy who used to do weekly twenty milers all year around, whether there was an upcoming marathon or ultra, or not. Those long runs went on for the vast majority of my running life.

But when I quit marathoning, there was no need to keep doing runs of twenty miles and longer. So I got a bit lazy. By cutting these down a bit, and by taking at least two days off per week, my weekly mileage is also now lower. Not that things aren't okay, they are. Witness my last post where I talk about a pretty good speedwork session.

When there are this many things going on, however, it gets a little tough to get even these 50 weekly miles in. Some of those 'things' include this weekend's NC24. To get up to fifty for the week, I set out to do twenty today.

It wasn't pretty. I thought a lot about bonking, which I did early on during the initial 16. I used to love that course. It's on country roads, and it's fairly serene. Just me and the road. I suppose I bonked because I ignored one critical success factor for long runs: get adequate nutrition and hydration from the start. Back in the old days, I didn't need no stinkin'  nutrition and hydration. But now I do.

My early 8:40's somehow morphed into 9:20's, and I finished the 16 with positive splits. Now I needed to do 4 more. In the old days, I'd try to make these the fastest of the bunch. And I did manage to do the final five of Saturday's fifteen at sevenish pace.

Not today. I got some water and a gel, and hit the trails at Heritage park. Would you believe 13 minute pace on that hilly, wet grass?

At least now I don't need to worry about another run until post-NC24 Monday.

As Good as it Gets

3:12 for that first Yasso. Not bad, but now I'll want to run the next nine 800's the same way. There's nothing worse than having your first interval (or mile, or whatever) be your best. The idea here is consistency and sustainability. Will I be able to? Last time - I've been doing them at 5:00 AM with friends every other Tuesday - I averaged about 3:15, and 3:13 the time before that. But this time, the weather's as good as it can be. It's in the forties, clear, and the winds are calm. The stars are bright. In fact, I call this as good as it gets.

Although there have been some hot days, including a couple record-breaking mid-nineties days last week, we've had some nice running weather lately as well. Saturday was very nice, and my semi-long 15-miler with Christine and Larry Orwin on the towpath went quite well. Christine and I ran the last 5 at 7:00 to 7:15 pace. Of course, I'm only trying, as always, to roll with the punches.

Today, Jack Reilly and Donna Hoffmeister are my companions on the mostly dark track. We had done the warmup together, but since we run at different speeds, our intervals are mostly by ourselves. My second one is... 3:12 again. This is still good, but I continue to wonder if I can keep it going.

Turns out that I can. I feel absolutely great, and I do keep running consistent times. I even throw in some 3:09's and some 3:07's. My average for the ten 800's winds up at 3:10.

Yup. That's as good as it gets.

Labor Day Weekend Races

There have been a couple times that I ran 3 races in three consecutive days. At least one of those was over a Labor Day Weekend. It almost happened again in 2013, but in the end I decided that two was enough.

Saturday's race was the Celebrate Westlake North Coast Challenge 5-mile. This is another big prize money race, and as with several of my recent races, all the best runners were out there. The heat and humidity were oppressive. I ran a fairly steady (only just) sub-seven minute pace to finish in 34:36. That's almost exactly to the second my time for the Canton Football HOF Festival 5-miler a few weeks ago. This time I won my age group, and I would have actually received some prize money if two 65-69 year-olds hadn't beaten me. I didn't feel so bad about that, however. Those two were Ron Legg and Terry McCluskey.

Just before the start - Larry, Christine, me and Debbie
photo by Larry Orwin

Sunday's race was the South River Winery Run 10K. One thing was similar to the previous day: the heat and humidity. Otherwise it was a different experience altogether, running through all the vineyards. And it was fun too! Too bad that after that previous day's race, and with the tough terrain (I actually 'threw' a shoe that flew out and away from me when I stepped in a hole), I was suffering from slow disease. My time was 49:44, and I won my age group there as well. Not that the competition among the geezers was especially keen this time. I was well behind Chris and Larry Orwin, and I was even beaten by Debbie H., who walked the 5K a few seconds faster than my time for the 10. It was nice to have the wine afterwards.

After the run and some wine - me, Debbie, Larry's friend, Christine, and Larry
photo by Larry Orwin

Although there were options for races on Labor Day itself, I thought it would be too much labor for this tired body. Instead I did 10 easy Medina miles with Debbie Scheel, Michelle Wolff and Shari Geiger.

What in Blue Blazes?

I've just learned that the old phrase "What/where in Blue Blazes..." actually translates to "What/where in hell...". Maybe a little appropriate for one of these runs.

Blue blazes also mark the Buckeye Trail, and they also mark other ones as well. Some of those others are in the Colis P. Huntington State Park in Redding, CT. After reviewing the trail map, it appeared that the Blue Trail was the "main" one, and that following that most of the way around would be an ambitious run. I'd planned to do a longish run of about 15 miles, give or take, and figured that such an endeavor would be good to do on trails such as these.

When I'm running well, it's reasonable to assume that I can run 15 miles in two hours, or possibly a bit longer. Well, I did run for two hours and three minutes, but I only ran nine (9) miles. That's almost unbelievably slow. The problem was those terrible tough trails. There were rocks of all sizes, ruts, roots, twists and turns, hills, you name it. I started slow and simply got slower and slower. Four miles an hour for the first four, then 5 MPH after that.

My second run in Redding was a bit faster. I ran 13 miles in a bit over two hours - just about the same amount of time it took me to do nine miles the day before. Even this run was still not fast by any means. For this run I took the short route over to Joel Barlow High School, ran around the trails through the woods a few times, and then hit the track.

The trails there were more gentle than the ones at the park, so I was doing these at a "speedy" eleven minutes per mile. There was a mile of them, and I did a couple loops as well as some back and forth around the school grounds. I had seven miles done by the time I hit the track. Once there, things got faster: I did five 1200's in (a respectable) just under five minutes each.

That proved to be a good way to top off my Connecticut weekend running.

Hill Yes!

Debbie Scheel wanted to do the Hinckley loop backwards. This threw us all for a loop, so to speak. We nearly always run this hilly, 9.2 mile route around Hinckley Reservation in a clockwise direction, and for good reason: the (substantial) downhill sections are less steep that way. Of course this makes the uphill sections more steep, but that's not so bad. Steep downhills: bad; steep uphills: not quite so bad. But backwards we went. The final mile down Bellus is the most painful downhill part, but somehow we did it.

We'd started at five, and now at six-thirty, it was only beginning to think about getting light out. Debbie and a couple others were done; Will Bertemes and I were set to do another. There were other MCRR runners around, many making snarky remarks about this "marathon training" I am doing. (It's not - really!) The others would be running their own pace, so it was only Will and I doing the loop in the correct direction this time.

And that one went well too. After not doing Hinckley for some time, and especially after not doing two loops at Hinckley for an even longer time, this was a pretty good day.

Do you think I'll ever get back to doing three loops?

Avoiding Meteors, Postscript

The day after I had so successfully avoided any Perseid meteors, I saw one.

On a cool, crisp autumn-like morning, I got to the track at 4:45 AM - before everyone else. Right off the bat, I saw a meteor streak across the sky. Moments later, I noticed that I could spot, for the first time this season, the rise of Orion. It's like the return of an old friend. I know we've still got some warm days coming, but fall is on the way!

This morning was as good for running as it gets. After an unsuccessful attempt at a tempo run, I did get one in when Frank showed up a wee bit later. This was not unlike some of my other attempts at achieving escape velocity.