THE WISDOM OF RACING

(from the archives, 2000)

It has been a really rewarding winter so far in that I have had opportunity to participate at two 5km snowshoe events, Greylock Glen and Saratoga Winterfest.  The evening before each I was asked to go out for a little snowshoe action by two good friends, Paul H and the Bandit.  Neither time did I ever think that not going was an option.  At this point in life, losing a half-minute or so over the span of 3 miles in a race in exchange for an evening adventure with two friends is a more than fair swap.  It seems like I have reached a point where I will trade potential quality for quantity. 

I embraced snowshoeing many years ago.  Like others who snowshoe I try to extend its short season longer than allowable by shuffling through the drifts every possible chance.  If this means suiting up late in the night to frolic under the stars with short notice then that’s just fine with me.  If it means that I have questionable "smart running tactics", that’s fine too.  I realized long ago that I leave a lot to be desired regarding serious running practices. 

I really don’t have a clue whether going out the night before a race to run a few miles on snowshoes is a wise choice.  Common sense tells me that it might be better to just kick back and rest, leave the energy for the race the next day. Wisdom of racing isn't why I passionately throw myself at opportunities to travel the forest at night during the coldness of winter; the stark beauty of snowcoveredsmoothrollingcurves and a sky decorated with enough lore to fill civilization's journal is the vise that grips me.

I understand that snowshoeing is a much slower activity than running.  Add in the darkness of night and it compounds the difference even more so.  Your movement is about as slow as running can be; sort of an efficient glide across space that allows everything to function in slow motion except your pounding heart. 

I also understand that it is the woods that I love and not so much the running.  This is why it was an easy transition for me to start snowshoeing.  I never minded slowing down due to the extra effort snowshoeing took.  The brilliance of the many forest I visit during the winters is well worth slowing down for.  I have often read an account of a race where the writer mentions the beauty of a course or forest, and that a return trip was in order to make "time for the views… "  I know from my own past experiences that it usually never happens that you return to give proper time to these places.  After all, the following week usually has another race scheduled, or there is another trail to explore during training.  It's often a hurried life we lead.  I decided that I didn't want to be handicapped that way any longer. 

Loving the woods and not the running also allowed me to make a seamless jump from once training at an all out hearty pace to doing a lot of hiking with my soon to be 14 year old dog.  The years of each of us running 8 to 10 minute miles through the woods for hours on end together have been replaced over the last few by slow jogging with walk breaks on the uphills.  Having this animals company while enjoying the forest is a bonus that a chance at being able to run harder or faster doesn't match.  It is this same principal that makes it easy to chose between staying in to rest for a race or hitting the trails with friends. 

Even in this age of growth and many people's limited understanding of the value of open space, of trails being lost to development daily, I feel that most forest will outlast those of us playing in them.  Snowshoeing opened up my eyes and allowed me to hit a point in life where I feel it completely necessary to take a little time to enjoy the ordinary things that for so long I had taken for granted.

I have learned to emphasize the value of friendships.  Along with that, I have made an effort to not always think that "tomorrow" will be there for taking time to "catch" that special view from that peak you trained on last month. 

In the end, I doubt that it will be the 10^th place finish or the 40^th place finish I remember.  What I will remember will be running along the Metacomet Ridge underneath Orion and the Milky Way with the Bandit sprawling headfirst into a snowbank.  I will remember Paul H and I blasting along under a full moon and a frozen Greylock.  I will remember the smile on Dusty's face as we skip across fields snow covered and lit by the stars on our way home.  In the end I will remember.  Until then I will take the time to do all those things that I always said I would come back to do.

February 9, 2000