Another addition of music for 2017...

Here is effort #6, Horn.

MISSING AN OPPORTUNITY
(from the archives, 2000)

I once kept a fairly detailed running log, but have drifted away from it during the last couple years.  It was never used as a dangling carrot, forcing me to catch up to my "goal" mileage.  Instead I would use it to track events in my life, easy enough to pull out to refresh my memory over some happening from the previous years.

As my running become less and less disciplined (and less and less often), I began to show less attention to the log.  I realize now that this was a mistake, and I hope to start being a little more orderly.  Recently I had an experience that could have been avoided if I had continued to keep an accurate journal or log.  I believe I would have seen this coming, an experience that I do not wish to duplicate.

It didn’t strike me until this week, as I have finally recovered from close to three weeks of flu and bronchitis, that I realized that I should have been able to see myself getting run down and my resistance being lowered.  As I put together the final touches of the WMAC Snowshoe Series results and stories, reading over the articles, I was suddenly aware that I pushed myself too much without resting adequately.  While reading my race report for the Hawley Kiln Klassic and filling in the gaps mentally there it was looking me right in the face…..

In a period of 11 days I had snowshoed around the 7 mile Kiln course three times, marking the course and cutting away blowdowns; snowshoed and readied the 9 mile Moody Spring Course once; and ran the Moby Dick 16 miler.  While this may seem like nothing out of the ordinary for many experienced trail runners, combined with all the travel from Connecticut and a full work and home commitment it was just too much for me.

The real trouble was I had lost track of what I was doing each day, and didn’t allow for proper rest.  It wasn’t the time in the woods so much as the early starts and all the driving.  I didn’t space things out very well, basically because I had no reference point.

If I had kept a running log or journal, I think I may have been able to look back over those weeks and realize that I was burning the candle at both ends.  I had used a logbook in the past for just that purpose while getting myself ready for events.  It makes sense that I could have seen trouble coming.

So my suggestion to everyone is to start a journal if you don’t currently have one.  It doesn’t have to make you a slave to mileage; there is no reason to use it that way if you don’t want to.  But when things go right or wrong, at least you will have a reference point to go back to, checking what happened during that time in question.  It is important to fill it up with not only the running parts of your life, but the real stuff as well.  You never know when it might come in handy.

March 15, 2000

In 2003, we never wanted the snowshoe season to end;  pre-course marking for a Covered Bridge route.

Paul, Pop and Tips, March 14th, 2003

The lodge at Hallockville Pond, a comfortable spot that hosted many snowshoe events for us.

While driving to Adams for a visit with my folks, just a bit onto Route 116 in South Deerfield, I noticed a Roadside Memorial.  I notice the effort involved, and sense the loss of a loved one whenever passing these memorials.

Stopped at Perkarski's Sausage and grabbed a few items.  Wonderful spot always worth a visit.

On the way back to Connecticut, I stopped at the Tomb Cemetery on Route 116 in Savoy.  Took the leader into Brown Road, and followed it north and south.  Visited the Staples Graveyard, and explored several of the lengthy stonewalls along the route.

After the run was over, I snapped a few shots of the Tomb Cemetery as well.  The "feeder" trail runs adjacent to the cemetery (just west) heading north along a trail that often doubles as a rocky brook.

Route for the day, with some tie in's from previous efforts.  My total for the day was roughly 4.6-miles.  There are three graveyards along the route that I know of.

Just a bit under 20-degrees with 15-20 mph winds....  we didn't bail out, we persevered.  Took a forest road out to the east of Hill 991', and followed the old path past the set-stone marker to the north.  Bit of a climb and then west toward Pinnacle, and then straight south to Bald.

Finished up around 6.6-miles, and feeling pretty darn good.

Marker Stone (landscape details for navigating).

 Wuzzam with the Pinnacle directly behind him.

Bit of a snowfall today, an inch or two covering the ground.  Made it to Phelps after work, took the Metacomet south for and out and back 3.7-miles.

Also, from March 10th, 2002, Moby Dick 16-mile footrace was held on Rockwell Road to Mt Greylock summit (and back).  Pop and Paul in a squall near the summit.

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