Dreaming of the Beech

With daylight savings now in full swing, my nightly frolics through the pitch black have thankfully come to an end.  For the past few weeks I have really enjoyed the extra light at the end of the day.  In addition to lifting my spirits, the additional sun has allowed me to really start observing the landscape around me.  Most recently, I've noticed that a good number of the Beech and Oak trees (particularly the juvenile ones) still magically have their leaves. Through ice, wind, and heavy snow, those little leaves somehow managed to hold on. Remarkably, no one really knows why. Some people think that Beech and other species of Oak don't form an abscission layer in the fall like other species do. Other's claim that the vascular tissue connecting the leaf to the woody stem is simply stronger in Beech and Oak. And even others wonder if Oaks and Beeches are still evolving from their evergreen ancestors (in fact some species of Oak are still evergreens).  Whatever the case may be, it's quite inspirational, especially in those moments when my legs are failing and every step is a laborious task.  When I get to that point, I look around at the Beech trees and get the little extra boost I need to hold on just a little longer.

Getting Back in the Swing of Things

This past Saturday, I was awakened at 5:30 in the morning by the annoying beep of my alarm clock.  I dragged myself out of bed, put on some running tights and a few warm layers, and made my way to the kitchen.  Already, my stomach was twisting in knots in anticipation of what was to come, an arduous 13.1 mile run on snowshoes.  I managed to down a banana but was not so successful with the oatmeal made the night before.  I took a few exploratory bites, felt my nerves take over, and put it back in the fridge.  I gathered the rest of my gear, stocked up on food for after the race, filled my waterbottles, and loaded the car.  During the hour long drive down to Pittsfield, I pondered a number of questions.  Would the course be hilly?  Would the trails be groomed?  Who would be there?  Would it actually rain?  How hard could snowshoeing 13.1 miles really be?  I almost made myself believe that knowing these answers would somehow make the task at hand easier, although deep down I knew that at this point none of it really mattered.  I would get there, toe the line, and deal with whatever came my way.  The training was done, the miles logged, and no amount of extra information was going to change the outcome.

When I arrived, I was of course 45 minutes early which left me plenty of time to continue my ruminations, much to my chagrin.  So I tried to distract myself.  I stood by the fire for awhile.  I look at the trail map.  I drank some water.  I envied all the nice racing snowshoes.  Nothing worked.  It wasn't until the starter yelled GO that the nerves finally went away and the thrill of running took it's place.

The start was a bit hairy.  We immediately ran into a short narrow downhill shoot of sorts which opened up into a wide snowmobile trail for about .25 miles before transitioning back into single track trail.  Wanting to position myself well, I went out with the lead pack and kept pace with them for about a half mile.  I watched two of them fade away as we made our way up the steep terrain.  My pace slowed to what seemed like a crawl and my breathing became labored.  I expected it to be hard, but not this hard.  I looked back to see if anyone else was feeling the same way and was a little encouraged to see only one other person shadowing behind me.  The rest had fallen back significantly.  I could only hope that I wouldn't do the same.

At the top of the mountain, my muscles were burning.  After 4.5 miles, I had maintained my position but knew that I would have a hard time keeping it with my shadow still on my heels.  So I opened it up on the downhill portions of the trail and tried to put some distance between us.  Unfortunately, it was to no avail.  Around mile 6, he caught up and we had a brief chat.  I learned that he and the other two ahead of us were running the marathon.  It was a little discouraging at first to learn that they were running twice the distance and doing it much faster than me.  But, the silver lining was that I was first in the half marathon. 

At 6.55 miles I was back at the start and heading into a second lap.  Knowing what was ahead of me helped out a little, but not much.  Knowing that there is a giant hill to climb might mentally prepare you, but it doesn't do much for you physically.  So I hunkered down and kept on trudging through the snow.  On most of the hills I actually walked if you can believe it.  When I did the Vermont 50 Miler, I learned that neat trick from Jack Pilla right before he continued on his way.  You expend a lot less energy with little loss in time.  In any case, I quickly found myself back on top of the hill and cruising down the other side.  The only thing keeping me going was the constant fear that someone would catch me in the last mile or two.  I looked back a few times (although I know not to) and saw no one behind me.  I dragged myself across the line in roughly 2 hours and 10 minutes with a first place finish.

After many years away from the racing scene, it felt good to win a race again (despite the fact that the marathoners were so much faster).  It was a nice reminder that despite putting on a few years and a few pounds, running is still at the core of my being.     

The Harshness of Feburary

February is officially over and despite my best efforts I was not able to make up the four mile deficit from January.  In fact, I added to the deficit with another four miles bringing me to just over eight miles behind my two month goal.  When I had just started recovering from my short bout of runner's knee I somehow strained my calf.  I tried to run through the discomfort but thought better of it after a few days of serious pain.  I struggled getting back out on the road for a week or so and was disheartened when I looked at my mileage log and found myself 28 miles behind target.  In the moment, it seemed insurmountable and I started to question whether 2011 miles was even possible. Then, the pain in the calf eased up and I was able to slowly climb back out of the hole I had put myself in.  It wasn't an easy task, and even now it continues to be a struggle.  Psychologically,  I am having a hard time taking days off or even reducing my mileage knowing that I'm behind.  Physiologically,  I've run for the past 18 days and my body is telling me that I should take a break.  This tension has put me in a tough spot.  I can only hope that somehow March will turn things around.   If not, at least I have 9 more months ahead of me.  Hard to tell if that's a good or bad thing.