Things that make you go hhmmm...

Monk: What happens when the leaves are falling, and the trees bare?

Ummon: The golden wind, revealed!

- Hegikan Roku (The Blue Cliff Records, via Peter Matthiessen, "The Snow Leopard")

Life has a funny way of showing you things. Things that maybe at first you'd rather not see, hear, think about or experience. But that end up with you being exactly where you need to be, when you need to be there.

As Peter Matthiessen and his crew turn their trek through the Himalayas from westward to northward, he cites the quote above. It's kind of a sky is falling moment. Shit, what do we do? What happens when the last of the leaves have fallen? Chill. That's when we find out what's really there, underneath.

Oh. Okay. Cool.

If I ever write a proper book, it will be non-fiction, extended memoir, something, not a novel. And I hope I can bring even a fraction of what Matthiessen does to the table, in his ability to tell a razor wire tight/taut story, and then go for pages talking about cosmology, and how modern science and ancient Eastern philosophy are saying the same things about the nature of the Universe, and keep your attention rapt in doing so, not make you mad that the travel narrative has taken a tangent:

Today most scientists would agree with the ancient Hindus that nothing exists or is destroyed, things merely change shape or form; that matter is insubstantial in origin, a temporary aggregate of the pervasive energy that animates the electron.

When I was at N.C. State, a friend of ours married a girl who went to a nearby all girls college in Raleigh. She was Samoan; her cousin played nose tackle for State and went on to play for a time for the Detroit Lions. He was a beast. She was a self-proclaimed witch (let's call her a good witch). A number of us went to their engagement party and I don't know that I have ever unexpectedly laughed so hard, at these giant Samoan dudes, who could rip your limbs off, engaged in side-splittingly hilarious "your mama" joke one-ups-manship. Random and fantastic. My roommate and I quoted them for weeks.

We hung with our friend and the Samoan witch for a while, until they dropped out of school and seemed to drop off the face of the earth. One night on Hillsborough Street in Raleigh, she was reading palms. Why not?

She told me some of the basic stuff you'd hope to hear: long life; two and a half children (have two girls and a miscarriage, so maybe that's what that was?); and an active love line. She said that the love of my life would be someone who I knew first as a friend, then wouldn't talk to for some time, fall out of touch, and then would reconnect with later.

I can't say I have given that a lot of thought, other than to play it back in my head a few times here and there any wonder about it and file it back under the C & C Music Factory mental category of "Things that make you go hhmmmm..." At the least, great cocktail party fodder to be able to say that you've had your palm read by a Samoan witch (self-proclaimed).

This fall hasn't been my most active time for running. But it's been better than it has been in a few years. I guess 2008 to 2010-ish were the heyday for the Rise Up Runners in terms of how often we ran and raced and got together. But as I've said on here before, so much of that group is about the camaraderie, the goofy challenges, the eccentric friendships and connections.

 In September, a friend turned 40. It happens to the best of us. Instead of a party, he challenged us: swim 0.4 miles, bike 40 km, run 4 miles, and to officially finish, you must have finished a 40oz of beer or malt liquor. The 40Tri (copyrighted ;). That event was a blast.

We then threw out a schedule that asked those who were game to complete a race on the Eastern Shore, each month, from Sept. to Dec.: 4 MONTHS, 4 RACES, 4 SHORE. The 40TRI. The Horn Point Spat Dash in Cambridge. The Chester River Challenge Half-Marathon and 5K in Chestertown or the Across the Bay 10K, and this month, the Pain in the Neck 50K in Cambridge.

The goal was not to finish the races per se, but to get the band back together. To run, to hang, to train, to push each other with ridiculous challenges.

Today is the Pain in the Neck, the last leg. A friend from N.C. State who lives in Delaware is coming over for it. It's a 5K loop, that runners can run up to 10 times. It is going to be in the 40s to 50 degrees and rainy. A bunch of fools running circles in the woods in December.

Yep, file that under the same C&C Music Factory mental category: Things that make you go hhmmm...

I Run to Meet Myself

In times of crisis, I run. Not away, but through. About a mile into a run, my soul, body and mind get in step, superfluous thoughts, those beyond breathing, those beyond don't trip, those beyond watch where you're going and take everything in, superfluous thoughts bead and roll away with my sweat.

It's not a surprise or a coincidence that during some of the biggest transitional times in my life, that running has been a means of knowing myself, of knowing my heart, and of being right in my body. It takes me to places that planes, trains, automobiles or bikes can't reach. In some ways, each run can be a pilgrimage.

Since ancient times pilgrimages have been conducted from place to place, in belief that a question can travel into an answer as water into thirst... the only rule of travel is, Don't come back the way you went. Come a new way. - Anne Carson, "The Anthropology of Water."

Pilgrimage is a word used to describe a journey, both physical and spiritual, to a sacred place. Maybe a temple, shrine, church, speakeasy, tavern (hey, don't question what sacred means to different folks ;), a journey that changes the pilgrim, transforms them in a meaningful way. I remember the first time I ran the 10-ish miles from Oxford to Easton, a trip made daily in a car, and that I had made a number of times by bike, but doing it on foot, never stopping to walk, felt like as significant a 10-miles as I could have run. My first trail race, my first marathon, the significance was finishing the distance, the course, not where I ended up. But the pilgrimage-typed runs for me are often not to anywhere in particular.

Pilgrims were people who figured things out as they walked. - Anne Carson, same as above.

Thank you, Anne. That's it exactly. Figuring things out as I run. Sometimes consciously, sometimes not. Sometimes it's the sweat that cleanses. Sometimes I've exhaled something I couldn't abide. Sometimes I've breathed in something I desperately needed, though I couldn't tell you at which point or mile I found it, just that I did. Maybe.

Where do I "go" on these personal pilgrimages? Maybe I go "away."

Being "away" is the true freedom. I escape to where I want to be, thinking what I want to think, creating what I want to create. - George Sheehan, "Running and Being"

Sheehan has as much to teach as maybe any other runner/writer has said about running, thinking and the soul. But I am not sure he has just what I mean here. There are times I run to escape, escape the day, escape bills, escape a mood, escape life, but there are just as many times that I run to live. To think. To solve.

I suck at sitting meditation. If my body is still, my mind wants to move faster. Yoga, Tai Chi, better. Running seems to put everything in place.

Motion and meditation are apparently a unity. "Sit as little as possible," wrote Nietzsche. "Give no credence to any thought that was not born outdoors, while one moved about freely--in which the muscles are not celebrating a feast, too." - George Sheehan (and Nietzsche), "Running and Being"

Thank you, George. That's more to it. Motion and meditation are a unity. That's how it feels. Thoughts born or grown on a run seem to have more substance, because they have come after, or because of, other thoughts falling away.

So what is it I am trying to learn when I run? I wonder...

Pilgrims were people wondering, wondering. Whom shall I meet now? - Anne Carson, take a guess ;)

I've met some awesome people through running. A fair amount of my close friends now I have spent some time on the roads or trails with. I spend a lot more time wondering than knowing. Safe to say I don't know much. But where running becomes a pilgrimage, where it becomes a journey on foot to the soul, I know who I run to meet.

I run to meet myself.

If I were to write a poem

If I were going to write a poem, it would have to have coffee in it. Coffee is the prime morning mover. It's the Alpha. It's another word for mojo. A poem would start with coffee, for sure.

And speaking about mojo, a poem I wrote would have to have Muddy Waters. His mojo working has been tickling my eardrums and soul, rocking them like they were in a hammock.

If I were going to write a poem, it should have a hammock in it, absolutely. It's the spring breeze and warm sunshine on the skin season of hammocks. It would also have to include some cut grass. Maybe cutting grass, with some reference to pull-starting the lawnmower for the first time in the spring--that rite of passage, requiring faith, luck and extra elbow grease to wake the mower from its seasonal slumber.

Hammocks, though a present-day obsession, are also a remembering back yards past--getting dumped from our hammock as a kid and getting the wind knocked out of me for the first time. Another way to get brained was playing on the monkey bars.

If I were to write a poem it would have to have monkey bars. Both the kind you played on and the book by Matthew Lippman, which is the kind you play in. Because I saw that today was Lippman's birthday and picked up "Monkey Bars," and it made me think, this is the kind of shit I need to spend my time reading, and re-reading, and writing.

That poem would have to include the Nationals because it is spring training and we're a buzz with the Nats, with tickets for Davey Johnson's boys' home opener against the Reds. When I'm rocking my Nats hat and see the Curly W in the rear view mirror taking the girls to school, it curls a soul smile.

If I were to write a poem today, it would have to include running, since we've had a return to spring running and racing and the Rise Up Runners. It would have to include longboard skateboarding, with the girls and the dogs around the neighborhood and the sound the wheels make cruising on the road.

A poem would have to include pale ale and cherry blossoms, the Bay Bridge and the D.C. waterfront. It would have to include dock bars and mulch and Langston Hughes writing down the blues in verse.

Man, that's a lot of stuff. If I were to write a poem this morning I'd have to unpack my consciousness, empty out my mind into words I haven't thought about yet and hope it comes across. Yeah. Sure glad I'm not writing a poem this morning.

Confession

Forgive me Father (Creator), it's been 16 weeks since my last confession (run). And with cooler temperatures, it hurts not to be out there.

For the past seven plus years, running 10 miles has felt like running around the block. And that has been a point of pride for me. I've run long trail runs, a handful of marathons, a few ultras, and more half-marathons and 10-milers than I can recall. It's been a kind of confession from my feet, legs, lungs and soul to the earth.

Now tis the season of jeans, sweatshirts, football and the Ravens, bonfires and Octoberfest beer. It's the season where morning coffee warms as well as wakens. It's the season of trips to the pumpkin patch and the girls thinking about Halloween costumes.

It's the return to Tuckahoe State Park trail runs and the cool morning runs that remind me why I run, when I am able. It's the heyday of the Rise Up Runner group runs, where sunrises are met with conversations about kids and the cosmos, elevated heart rates and the sprint at the end of the run.

Forgive me Father, it's been 16 weeks since my last confession. Likely I've taken those confessions for granted. And I miss them.

I run because

I run because it changes me. Those times when I want to stop and sit down, but my mind and body go on auto-pilot and push on and find what's on the other side of quit.

I run because life throws so much shit at you that you have no control over, whereas I choose to run, I choose that test, that challenge and what it asks of me and how I respond.

I run because when I am hopping tree roots and slipping down singletrack, single-file between people I've never met, all at the same cadence, breathing in the trail and each others' collective energy, I know there is something more and larger than me.

I run because I see places and meet people and learn and experience things that I could not any other way.

I run because sometimes I wonder if I can and there is only one way to find out.

I run because it connects my feet to the earth and the air and water. It is elemental and so am I, and together we remember.

I run because of the experience of traveling to a race with a group of friends and the finish line re-living, re-telling; a post-race meal or beer together; and traveling home together, changed a little.

I run because there are times, sometimes, where there is only motion and breath and the world and I are...

(The Lighter Side of) Running in the Dark

Mike V. and Derek Hills await the down stream float/swim of the rest of the Rise Up Runners crew during a 10-mile trail run at Tuckahoe State Park after serious flooding. Photo by Joel Shilliday.

I run in the dark. Sometimes that is a metaphor. There are plenty of life examples when I feel like I am cruising along with only a narrowly illuminated view of what's going on around me. And I push ahead, running into the sunrise, hoping for a brief glimpse into the bigger scheme of things.

Mostly that doesn't happen. And running in the dark is just running in the dark. But it is enough. Though it's cool when it happens, running does not open up in "a-ha" moments too frequently. Some runs feel good, some hurt. Some runs are with a group and some are solo. The only thing I have any control over is getting up, drinking coffee, and getting out the door for a run. In the dark.

There is something to running out from under the streetlights in town and getting onto Oxford Road, where the light pollution fades and the stars pop. There is something to being out and active before most people are awake. I dig it. But I don't run in the dark for just those reasons.

My wife is a teacher and our two girls are in 2nd grade and Pre-K. They play soccer and take dance some afternoons. When I leave in the morning, they are asleep and they are generally still sleeping when I get home. Our schedules don't allow for the convenience of after work runs. Plus, I don't want to miss time with the girls. So I run in the dark by necessity. It won't happen otherwise.

It's a lot easier when I know I am meeting other folks. I don't want to be the one that leaves folks hanging, especially when some of our runners drive some distance to meet at 5 a.m. It motivates me to know there are other folks rolling out of bed to meet for a run. That's the reason our Rise Up Runners group got together.

Then there is the feeling of knowing the run is in the books. Banked for the day. Granted, coffee, tea, and/or a kick in the pants is sometimes necessary in the late afternoon, but my body (and mind) have adapted and now even look forward to running in the dark. It's become a part of running and a part of me. I wouldn't change it. Except maybe to have some trails closer by...:)

Catoctin Mountain / Brooks I.D. (Inspire Daily)

The view from Hog Rock, the highest overlook we could find on trail during a morning trail run on Catoctin Mountain in western Maryland.

A total loss. That's the way I would describe trail running on Maryland's Eastern Shore in the thick of summer. Wicked black flies, rampant poison ivy, and stealthy ticks, are just a few of the reasons you want to steer clear of some of the best fall, winter, spring running spots, including our mecca, Tuckahoe State Park.

When my feet aren't running on trails, they are waiting and plotting the next time they can shoot down single track or quick-step a downhill. That's the enthusiasm I took with me on a recent family trip to Catoctin Mountain Park and Cunningham Falls State Park in Thurmont, Maryland.

Trail running wasn't the reason for the trip, but Andrew Southworth and I had designs on waking up early one morning and exploring the falls, going as high up Catoctin as we could figure, and getting our bearings with a mountain scamper. I use the term mountain as a relative term--big by Eastern Shore standards, a hill by New England/western NC standards, and we won't compare west coast.

Andrew Southworth adeptly points out Cunningham Falls behind him.

Overindulgence coupled with sleepless kids in WPA-era cabins is not the best way to get ready for an early morning run on unfamiliar terrain. But Andrew and I were determined and happy, if dazed and confused and took off from the Misty Mount Cabins, map and NUUN-infused water in hand.

We circumnavigated a ranging loop that connected the park's Falls Nature Trail to Cunningham Falls, then turned us up the mountain to Hog Rock (1610 ft), shot us around to the Blue Ridge Summit Overlook (1520ft), and then rolled us down mostly downhill single track to connect us back to the park road to the cabins.

Unlike Tuckahoe, rocks far outnumbered roots, the climbing was serious, and the downhills could have landed you stranded with a misstep. In short, our 6-ish mile loop with a good bit of climb and descent, was a blast. One that should become part of a Rise Up Runner group run this fall. A seemingly unknown trail running playground, only about a two-hour drive from Easton.

Brooks - "Inspire Daily" Program

The best partnerships, and the only kind I am looking for in my running adventures, are those that benefit both parties. In my case, I run in Brooks running shoes. I've set my personal record times for 10 miles, half-marathon, and marathon wearing Brooks Adrenaline GTS's. And my Brooks Cascadia 2's carried my fresh then weary legs over the 50 miles of Appalachian Trail, C&O Canal Towpath, then winding country roads to finish the JFK 50-miler. I run in Brooks because they fit my feet best and I dig what they are about as a company.

I was interested when I heard about the Brooks I.D. (Inspire Daily) program, where Brooks invites non-elite runners who are active in their running communities, whose running and activities inspire others (or aim to), to apply to become part of a team of Brooks ambassadors, spreading the company's mojo (or in Brooks's case, MoGo, BioMogo, to be exact), and evangelizing to the running masses. In exchange, Brooks I.D. runners get sweet discounts on shoes, apparel, etc., help test new gear, and get networked in to the other I.D. runners.

I went from interested to psyched when I applied and was accepted as a new Brooks I.D. runner. Now I get to work with a company with whom I was aligning myself already and of whose brand I am a fan. My adventures in distance and trail running, with writing, and hanging with the Rise Up Runners, connect with the shoes that are already on my feet. Pretty cool.

Next up? Looking for some new trails for fall RUR road trips. Figuring out what races I can get on the fall schedule. And enjoying early morning runs as the weather gets (a little) cooler. Stay tuned...

30-Mile Weekend

The sunrise over wetlands along Oxford Road, as seen on a longboard Saturday morning.

I got lucky. I don't normally take to the roads both mornings of a weekend. So racking up a conservative 30 miles, likely 50K, over the course of two days was a treat.

Saturday morning was cold. The Weather Channel warned something like 20 degrees, colder with wind chill. But it doesn't take long to learn that cold is not nearly so debilitating as wind on a longboard. And since the wind slept in, Charlie, Landy and I opted to head out. The plan was to meet in Easton behind Coffee East at 5 a.m.

Running early, I've often thought there's not much cooler than running to an ipod infused soundtrack to a sleeping town. The pre-sunrise morning offers the sublime to those who will go find it. But pumping and cruising up Washington Street listening to Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix, the trek on a longboard surpassed the "coolness" of a morning run.

We donned headlamps and vests and had the town to ourselves, aiming up Oxford Road. Prior to sun up, you can pretty well own the road, not relegated to only the bike lane. It makes it easy to get into a groove and hone in long distance pumping technique.

We've been running in the mornings long enough now that motorists may have become accustomed to high beams hitting reflective vests on their way to town. I can tell you, they are not accustomed to grown men on skateboards coming at them. I can guess that we have become the subject of confused cell phone discussions or what seemed a lack of caffeine-induced hallucination.

I loaded my backpack with a couple bottles of Propel, which make for tasty slushies, a Balance bar, which was too frozen to eat, and thankfully a camera for the trip. Catching a sunrise during a long trek with friends is one of the key reasons to run or skate early.

After a good out-and-back route on Oxford Road, we returned to hit a bit of Easton, ending up on Rails to Trails, a stretch unencumbered by cars, except for street crossings. Both routes (Oxford Road and Rails to Trails) will likely be incorporated into our upcoming Ultra Skate on March 21.

Landy and Charlie nearing the North Easton Sports Complex at the northern end of Rails to Trails.

The end of our trek found me at 18.5 miles, based on Landy's GPS, which marks my longest longboard session to date.

Longboarding, a cold a couple weeks ago, swimming and cross training have cut into my running time, so I was determined to get a 10 to 12-mile run in on Sunday. Rain was likely and did in fact join us for our run. I slept in, slugged back some coffee, waited for the ladies of the house to get up and get straight and ran up to the YMCA to meet RUR peeps Joel Shilliday, Dominic Szwaja, and Dan Bieber. The goal was to explore the trails of the Cooke's Hope development and see where the trails led once across the foot bridge over Peachblossom Creek.

The rain took a backseat to conversation, exploration, and taking in the newer development along Llandaff Road. Dan and Dominic are notoriously speedy, so it kept the pace honest, especially given my lack of running. Dan peeled off at the Y, Joel at his crib, and Dominic joined me for a stretch of Rails to Trails. In the end, I logged about 12.5 miles or so at roughly an average of 8:3o pace.

30+ miles in two days, on longboard and on foot, enjoying the mornings and my Rise Up Runner friends. It sets the tone for the rest of the day. It helps me test myself. And the by-product is that it gets me closer to being ready for Ultra Skate and the Trail Dawgs in March and April.

(How the Hell Did I Wind Up as the) Anchor Man

After a tag from Michael "Wood Frog" Keene, Valliant begins the final 19.8 miles of the Vermont 50-mile relay from Dugdale's aid station.

I was supposed to run the middle section. Until some re-routing switched leg distances, and the final leg went from 16 miles to nearly 20. I had logged the most miles, I tend to run like a madman on the downhills, which were most plentiful on the last leg, and so I ended up running the anchor leg of this beast.

If you want to boost your runner's ego (at least at first), run the final leg of a relay, where most of the runners are running the full 50 miles themselves and already have 30 miles of brutal hills on their legs. It's a bit unfair. And as your passing runners on the trail, and they are out of breath, shaking their heads at your fresh legs and spring in your step, and congratulating you on doing such a great job, you can only reply, "Nah, I'm just running the relay...you've gone A LOT farther than I have."

One of the great things about trail running though, is everyone is out there for themselves, and to be out there, and they still cheer you on with a smile and words of encouragement.

My leg of the Vermont 50 was the most challenging, most scenic, and most fun terrain I have run on. From rolling hard-packed dirt roads, to tree-lined climbs, to roller-coaster downhills, and switchbacks, I was a kid running in the woods and playing in the mud. I never got bugs in my teeth, but did smile pretty much the whole way.

I ran most of the way by myself, encountering many frustrated mountain bikers, pushing their bikes up hills and moving to let unencumbered runners climb past. And the aforementioned full 50-milers, working their way forward toward the finish. In ultras and long trail runs, aid stations are always an oasis/smorgasbord, with good eats and encouragement. Along the VT 50 trail, there is also a porch/deck party going on, with rabid mountain folk cheering runners and bikers, offering water (and beer to some) and judging form. I rated a "9.4" giving a good pace up the switchback, and loud cheers and laughter for an MC Hamma-like spin on the trail right in front of the deck (even funnier since the spin almost aimed me off the trail and into the foliage!)

As we were waiting for Katherine Binder to get to Skunk Hollow to set Keene in motion, I took a picture of a guy whose whole demeanor and impressive beard caught my attention.

The easy-ambling, long striding bearded mountain runner. As it turned out, 25 or so miles later, we ran in sight of each other for a good stretch of the last several miles of the course.

Running on through the woods, through streams, and up hills, I took in the scene, trying to be an actual part of the surroundings--to breathe it all in, even while beginning to tire. I kept a good pace up, even slowly running uphill roads and climbs most were walking. I started to have a bit of cat-and-mouse going with a guy who Keene's wife Carita and I pointed out earlier in the race--the archetypal bearded mountain runner. Watching him run (generally away from me), made my running feel both easier and more clumsy. Everyone has seen those runners who seem to run effortlessly along the trails (sort of like Landy) without putting out energy.

After running up a long dirt road, I caught up to him on some winding singletrack and downhill sections. After trailing him for a bit, he said, "Just tell me if you want to pass." He was running a pace that felt good, so I hung back and traded a couple comments. He then pointed out a row of tapped maple trees, with a system of clear rubber tubing connecting each tap and dripping to a common barrel. "See that? That's American ingenuity for you." Funny thing, I wouldn't have noticed it at all, or thought about what it was if he hadn't pointed it out. Now it's one of the sharper memories from the run.

My feet felt light and downhill legs felt fresh, so I asked to pass and scooted by. I'd see him again later.

A problem I tend to have during longer distance trail runs, is that I have too much fun. I run and enjoy the course, and don't pay enough attention to nutrition or hydration. I was carrying a hand-held water bottle, which I started with with NUUN, and added a tablet here or there at an aid station with water. I ate three Honey Stinger gels during the run, and a half of a banana. But I had no S-Caps (hadn't been using them during the last parts of my training runs), didn't take in enough calories for a body that isn't acclimated to running hills, and went for too long without drinking enough, just having fun running.

I passed through three aid stations during my leg, and walked in to the last one, which meant 4.5 miles to the finish, starting to fade fast. As I walked up to the table, I saw Kate Porter, the product designer at Ibex, who told Keene about the race, and ultimately got us up there. Kate was also running the relay and had started her team's final leg 10 minutes before Keene arrived. I had closed a 10-minute gap in about 15 miles. We chatted a bit and I set out ahead, feeling a familiar, unwelcome twinge in the legs and queasy running stomach.

I kept moving across fields and down singletrack, and in about a mile or so, my calves started cramping. Occasionally I was able to talk them down and visualize oxygen and blood flowing freely through them (please!), but they would come back to me, and I'd come to a tough uphill, where having to walk actually helped me out.

Then came the mud. Two sections of shoe-losing, ankle-deep suction mud, which created 10 pound shoes coming out of every sink hole. When we hit the second, longer section of mud-hopping, I joked with another runner that I had just manged to run my shoes clean. We slipped and high stepped through the section.

With probably two miles to go, Kate caught back up to me and asked how I was doing. "Ehhh, alright, except for the wicked calf cramps!" She asked if I wanted her to stick around, but I told her I'd get through it fine and to run her race.

As we came across a field and into a last wooded stretch, race volunteers had decorated the woods with plastic skeletons and signs like "Have you ever asked why you are doing this?" Which was shortly answered by another, "Because you can!" The next sign to come across was a hand-written sign that said "1 Mile to go!"

I couldn't get my calves to let go, but could make them run brief sections, then hop-step to others. The course finishes by zig-zagging you up a mountain, slowly, through the woods, only to send you down a ski run at the Mt. Ascutney Ski Resort (that's what it's there for after all!). With a sign that said "1/2 mile to go!" we had started the sidelong descent.

It was then that the bearded mountain runner re-appeared. I hadn't seen him since the last aid station, but he came quickly by me and said, "Way to go, man. You're almost there...seriously!" (since you can hear spectators at road races telling you the same thing with 6 miles to go).

Words of encouragement, the proximity of the finish line, and downhill gravity threw me down the grassy slope, passing more cautious runners as we got to the chute and in the winding chute as well. I spotted Keene and Carita cheering, then saw Robin further down, slapped her a high five and said hey to Rob and Katherine, with a half smile, half grimace, as my calves were completely bolt knotted and each pounding step hurt like hell.


Pain is irrelevant, and even enjoyable, when (and only when, perhaps) crossing the finish line. They had hay bails at the bottom of the chute to stop any overzealous mountain bikers who came screaming down the mountain, and I was thankful I didn't need the bails myself. I hobbled out of the chute, and was congratulated and knighted with a medal by race volunteers. I grabbed two more for Mike and Katherine and waited with the volunteers for the rest of the RUR crew to cruise down.

Our finishing time was just over 9 hours, which was good enough for 3rd overall relay team out of 13 teams. Full results and splits can be found here. Of that, Katherine was roughly 2:22 for the first leg, Keene 3 hours for the second, with me at 3:38 or so for the last section, and I told Robin between 3 and 4 hours. I moved well enough before cramping to still pull that off.

The next couple hours were spent reminiscing the various legs and wonders of the course, the folks we encountered, ducking under tents to dodge spot downpours, enjoying Harpoon I.P.A., a cookout, live band, and more laid back and happy people, kids, and dogs than we could count.

So our RUR relay Vermont adventure is in the books, but still fresh on the brain and in the legs. Finishing a race of any distance, I don't generally want to think about running. But within a couple hours, I knew I'd love to come back and try some or all of it again. Awesome volunteers, organization, course, and a high energy, highly effective race director. I highly recommend making a trip to Vermont next September, whether for a relay (smart), 50K (teetering on the brink), or 50 miler (cashews). Who knows, next year, maybe we'll have two Rise Up teams!

Robin is thinking, "Uumm...yeah, he is sweaty, muddy, and kind of stinks...do I have to get that close to him?" ;)

Run For the Hills...

Hills and mountains are a challenge when you train on Maryland's notoriously flat Eastern Shore. At the end of the month, Sunday, September 28, to be exact, we take our Rise Up Runner team of Mike Keene, Katherine Binder, and myself to the Vermont 50 miler, to have a go at the 3-person 50 mile relay.

Katherine takes the 12-mile lead leg, then I run the 22-mile middle leg, before passing the figurative baton to Keene for the 16-mile anchor leg. You can check out the elevation gain and losses (aka climbs and descents) clicking above. Here's a course description from the VT 50 website:

"The Vermont 50 Mile course starts at Ascutney Mountain Resort in Brownsville, VT . For the first three miles racers will follow down a gentle downhill on gravel roads. After an easy road climb the course turns onto snowmobile - ATV trails, which it follows through gentle rolling terrain for the next 3 miles. Shortly after leaving the ATV trails, the real climbing and descending starts. The course will follow ATV and jeep trails, single track and roads through the top of the highest hill in Hartland, where racers will get an incredible view of Vermont and New Hampshire. From about mile 40 to mile 46.5, racers will have a nice snowmobile trail over rolling, mostly downhill terrain, before hooking onto the cross country ski trail system at Mt. Ascutney for the last 4 miles."

In terms of distance/mileage, training is on track. This past Sunday I logged a 21+ mile run to the Oxford-Bellevue Ferry and back to Easton in 3:12, followed by a 10-mile day with negative splits, ending up on about 8:00 minute mile pace for the last several miles of the run. We've even been throwing some speed work in for good measure.

Hill training though, still needs some work over the next couple weeks. We've had a decent streak of Tuckahoe State Park Sundays, even throwing in some hill repeats, and I think there is more in store there.

We certainly want to get up there and look respectable (for a bunch of flatlanders :), but the main thing is to go have fun running through the mountains. Vermont in the fall is beautiful. A new state to run trails in, and with good friends. That's what running trail races is all about.

And races keep me getting out there for long runs. Tomorrow, I'm hoping to go out and survey Tuckahoe, post-Hanna. Perhaps I should take along a life jacket! ;)

What Were You Doing Last Year?

Official Bridge-to-Bridge course tester Mike "Wood Frog" Keene high steps it over the Knapps Narrows Bridge, on the first official course run--in the snow, wind, and rain--April 7, 2007.

There is no snow in the forecast for today on the Shore. You couldn't say that a year ago. On April 7 last year, Mike Keene and I christened the official measured Bridge-to-Bridge Half-Marathon course in sideways snow and rain in what we dubbed the "Extreme" version of the B2B. That was one of those runs that you have to be at least part-buffoon to get out of bed to make, and/but that I will never forget and would rank among the most memorable. Sometimes a smattering of idiocy can add some adventure to life.

I guess it's that same kind of idiocy that continues to pull me out of bed to make our morning Rise Up Runners runs this year. This past week may have been my highest mileage week on record. My three runs were 10 miles at Tuckahoe, 11-ish miles around Easton, and then 17.5 miles around Easton. I've already written about the Tuckahoe run. The 11-ish run saw Landy Cook and I meet Don Marvel at Idlewild at 5:00 a.m. and trounce around a number of Easton "boroughs" in the dark. Roughly 9-minute pace, and my nagging hip-flexor felt good the whole run.

On Thursday, the complete lunacy came into effect. Landy and I began our run at 3:30 a.m. That hurts to type. A star lit morning gave way to clouds, and when we met Joel Shilliday on Washington Street at 5:15ish, we were already almost 11.5 miles into our run. We fed off Joel's fresh energy and deft movie review skills :) to power us through the next 5 or so miles, before catching the very start of the sunrise while coming up Rails to Trails. I had to pull-in to get the morning festivities started in my house (waking the ladies), while Landy continued on, determined to crack 20 miles for the morning, which he did.

The long run of the year so far, was mostly run at 9-minute pace, which is encouraging for where I'm hoping to be for a potential fall road marathon. The Delaware course on April 26 will throw conventional timing/pace out the window as it's a trail marathon. My legs stayed somewhat fresh during the run, however my stomach, egged on by not having dinner the night before, due to a finger-food-menu work party, was a wreck for the second half of the run. Diagnosing how he felt and where we were as we were on the home stretch of Rails-to-Trails, Landy had the quote of the day, "my legs are a little tired, my breath is a little shorter, and my will is shot." That is one of the best summations of a long run that I have heard uttered.

A couple other things worth noting: fellow Rise Up Runner and long-time compadre and training partner Mike Keene has thrown himself headlong into cyberspace. He began his new blog, "Runners on Trails," yesterday, so be sure to check it frequently for eloquent reports and ruminations on running, adventure, traveling, and his first half-Ironman triathlon this June.

One of my next posts will take some notes and an interview I did with fastpacking, ultra-running guru Flyin' Brian Robinson while working on my article due out in the next issue of Trail Runner magazine. The occasion of a post about Brian is that he just finished, and managed to set the course record, for the Barkley 100 mile race--probably the hardest 100 miles run anywhere as a "race." Brian becomes only the 7th person to complete the course.

And finally, be sure to check the Rise Up Runners blog, for what's going on with group runs, run reports, and a great why-I-run mornings piece by Landy Cook. Some future stories coming over there, include a travel piece by Mike Keene and some photos, video, and a recap of the mud stompin' run that Joel Shilliday and I had out at Tuckahoe yesterday.

Rise Up Runners, Officially

If we have a cool logo, we must be official, right? Very many thanks to Tim Cureton and the crew at Rise Up Coffee, for what looks to be a fun collaboration in spreading two often connected endeavors: endurance sports (primarily running) and good coffee.

"Rise up this mornin', smiled at the risin' sun..." --Bob Marley

If nothing else, Rise Up Runners may have the toughest, hippest logo of any running group. At least I tend to think so! We talked to Tim and Rise Up Coffee about what we were doing and what we want to do, and agreed that we can have some real fun, log some miles, drink good coffee, and help spread the word about Rise Up, all at the same time.

We've gone and started something, now we'll see where we take it, or it takes us, from here. If you want to understand or know more about Rise Up Runners, take a peak at the group's blog, bookmark it, and check back to see what's going on from a number of voices, perspectives, activities, and adventures.