This is one look of determination...  Tippi in Savoy during the 2004 winter.

Somehow on March 8th, 2003, Paul H and I figured we could hold a "shorter" Moby Dick on Greylock, on snowshoes.  Less than the 16/26/28 mile versions, this would be a nice loop of between 7 or 8 miles.

Pop and Tippi back in 2003 on Greylock

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

Metacomet Trail seemed appropriate today, and the T-Ville section from Penwood north (and back) was running in my mind.  4.6-miles total, excellent day.

Another cold day, mid-twenties and windy when we began (Wuzzam and I).  Took a tour from Route 190 at the end of Sodom Road in Shenipsit, and turned around at Parker Road, within the forest.  Good for a couple minutes over 2-hours, and 8.4-miles.

Pretty cold and windy day, but sunny enough to complete a 4.6-mile loop in McLean Reservation.

Pretty nice day, high 30's and sunny.  Drove out to McLean Reservation after work to work my way through 3.6-miles of beautiful trail running.

THE BIRTH OF THE FOOL

(from the archives, 2000)

Often I find myself standing outside a crowd silently present yet somewhere else.  I feel like I am no part of the equation.  It isn't anyone's fault for "making" me feel this way.  There are just moments when I don’t feel comfortable in a group.

I think it goes back to when I was a youngster growing up and not really having any others close by to play with.  During those times I was mostly alone, and grew comfortable with it.

I submersed myself in books, becoming the central character in whatever I was reading.  My meager experiences were built upon those I would read about, sharing the adventure.  These lapses of reality still sift through my life.

To escape I also learned to wander into the woods to listen to the silence, or to fish, or just to watch the water move slowly downstream.  Stonewalls appearing out of nowhere filled me with joy as I wondered what the land looked like a hundred years prior, a thousand years prior…

I learned to appreciate simplistic things.  I became fascinated with trails cut into the forest by who knows who, and when.  I started spending hour upon hour looking at maps, trying to piece together links from spot to spot along trails I felt only I knew about.  I learned patience.  I learned to be in a lack of hurry.  I lost most sense of urgency.

I can look back and see now that it wasn't any accident that I tended to wander towards trail running, after all, where else do you find yourself completely alone for hours on end?  Day after day of running loops and out and backs along the same different piece of rugged New England trails.  Where else could I have separated myself from others so often and have it be acceptable behavior?  Where else could I feel so at ease?

The questions that remain are questions that dog me every day.  Did I discover trail running or it me?  Did I have a choice at any of life's intersections to head in another direction?  Was it decided long ago that I would spend long hours on forest trails and be happy and content doing it?

I am content with the way things worked out.  The simplicity of my youth has carried on into my middle years.  I consider myself blessed to get so much enjoyment out of the forest, out of life.  The ability to entertain myself stems from way back, and for those years wandering alone through pastures on cow paths and along the edge of the tree-lined fields I am thankful.  For me, to run on trails is cyclic, like nature itself.  I am not running from anything but in one big loop that keeps repeating over and over until I am back at my beginnings.

Whether it was wandering alone as a child in the Berkshires or as an adult running the linked paths of past generations, I learned about nature and I learned a lot about me.  I learned how to clear my head if needed and I learned how to lighten my heart when it was heavy.  I learned to daydream.  I felt ideas flow through me uninterrupted, too many to ever bloom.  I found solitude and I found friends.  Best of all I found acceptance.  No matter what the situation, I always feel comfortable and a part of the whole big world when surrounded by forest.  I used to wish I felt as comfortable in a room filled with people, but that has faded away gradually through the years as I have begun to understand myself more.

It took a while but I can understand that each of us deals with the same basic issues, they are just presented differently.  I allowed myself the indulgence of taking the time I need in the woods exploring nature and myself.  I understand the duality of it being acceptable to be silent in a room filled with people yet thunderous alone on a mountain top.  The fork in the trail leading to the mountain is the path I have chosen at this point in life, but I am working on building the confidence for the other.

February 23, 2000

Another addition of music for 2017...

Here is effort #5, Final Solution.

On this day, February 28th, in 2002, I spent the day snowshoing in Dubuque State Forest, Hawley.  More Old Photograph time....

The Kiln from 15-years ago.

 Tippi loved the winter.

Running on the Metacomet yesterday was so enjoyable, I went back today after work.  3.5-miles of bliss.

Head-Cold or not, I got to the Metacomet today for a 3-mile run.  It felt fantastic, even though it was about 30 or so degrees cooler than yesterday (but still pretty darn warm for February).

Another very warm February day, high 60's at least.  Still struggling with a head-cold, but I managed around 3.3-miles on the road.

We hit mid '60's temperature again today, we've had a run of them.  3-miles along Main Street.

February of 1997 was the 3rd Moby Dick event on Mount Greylock.  The Old Goat was a regular participant during this time frame.

The Old Goat climbing a very cold, frozen Greylock in 1997