Dear Patti, How About Antarctica In 3 Months?

I signed up for the Antarctica Marathon in January 2012 and the earliest spot they had available was for the March 2016 race; they wait-listed me for 2015 and assured me that people drop out and I could reasonably count on running it then. I've had 2015 in my mind ever since: 15 months from now, and hopefully two of my best marathons yet will be completed before then.

And then today, New Year's Eve, I got this email from the race organizers:

Dear Patti,

 

You currently have a deposit with us for a future Antarctica Marathon. We are sending this email since we just had a cancellation in a private cabin on the Vavilov for the 2014 adventure.

 

We know that this is short notice, but let us know if you are interested. 

 

Best regards for a healthy and joyous New Year.

I'm fairly confident that if I attempt this race in three months that my New year will not be healthy or joyous. That, and I'm looking at temps for tomorrow's 5K with trepidation....

San Diego: Unseasonably Awesome

Tell people you're from San Diego and their response is, "Wow, isn't the weather perfect there all the time?" When compared to most places, the answer is pretty much: yes. The winter, such as it is, usually has temps in the 60s, so I have a hard time hearing San Diegans (ahem, mom) insist that "it does get cold at night" (egads, 40 degrees!!) when in Vermont right now the temperature is 10 degrees and falling.

That said, Christmas week in San Diego this year was exceptional: 75 degrees every day, cerulean skies, Chamber of Commerce weather. On my last night there, the forecaster said, literally, "we don't see a change in this weather pattern till at least January 12th or 13th."  So there's that. I ran almost every day, taking advantage of beach views and a chance to wear t-shirts. A few highlights:

North Harbor Drive to Pt. Loma:
The quirky geography of San Diego is such that the airport is adjacent to downtown and both are right on the harbor. Even when you know this, you can still get caught by surprise seeing a a very large, very close plane enter your peripheral vision while jogging across Laurel Street heading to the harbor. Tuesday morning I returned a rental car at the airport and ran to my mom's house on Pt. Loma. Most of that run is along the northern part of San Diego Bay -- yachts, glassy water, palm trees, gorgeous skies... exactly the cliche you resent San Diego for. (Stay, classy.)

Torrey Pines:
Go north from La Jolla and there is a state preserve on the coast. While $15 is an extreme day use fee (I forgot California was broke...) I still love this state park: sandy trails run from the top of the cliffs, down through sandstone canyons to the beach and back up through the trees. From every direction there are commanding views of the coast and the wide open ocean. With zero humidity, the scent of sagebrush is pungent and just smells like California. (In the best way.)

Pt. Loma to Sunset Cliffs:
There are a million reasons to love Pt. Loma, but here's one drawback: it's extremely hilly. Pretty much a mountain peninsula with a bay on the south side and the ocean on the north. My mom lives near the crest of Pt. Loma, so every run from her house has a lot of steep inclines. This run went up to the top of Pt. Loma, then sharply downhill to the ocean, then straight back uphill to the top, with a descent back home. But coming down into Sunset Cliffs from the trails near Nazarene College is pretty spectacular.

Later that day, I walked another 4 miles at the San Diego Zoo with my mom and sister. Tip for zoo-goers: the koalas are crazy active after sunset!!




 
Morley Field Trails:
I have always associated Balboa Park with museums and the zoo, but huge areas of it are grassy open space and steep canyons. Meb Keflezghi writes about the Morley Field running trails (upper right on this map) from his days as a high school cross-country star.  Sadly, I didn't bump into Meb, but I did get to see parts of the park that I didn't realize existed. (Florida Canyon, who knew?)






Shelter Island to Liberty Station:

This awesome photo is from the USS Constellation reunion web site and shows how Shelter Island sits in San Diego Bay, hugging Pt. Loma. (I added the star where mom's house is.) Home to picnic-ers, joggers, fisherman, boaters and hotels, Shelter Island is a sweet run. On the far right in this photo, there is a neighborhood of pinkish-colored buildings near the water; that's Liberty Station. Formerly Navy housing and offices, now home to Trader Joe's, condos and restaurants. And also pretty parks and great walking trails on water.

Things I've Seen (and Smelled) On Recent Runs

Last weekend I ran 15 miles from Winooski through the Intervale to the New North End and back through Burlington. This weekend I ran 17 miles from Winooski to Colchester, down the bike path and around Winooski again. A few photos:

She looks lonely, but the rest of the cows were nearby on the riverbank.

What ARE these?!

The Intervale is an agricultural area in Burlington that takes advantage of the rich river-deposited soil. That said, I have never actually seen cows drinking from the river in all the times I've run through there. So cool!

Further along near the Ethan Allen Homestead, I stopped to loop at the trail map on the park bulletin board, when I noticed the sign posts were crawling with these red and black bugs. I didn't study the grass, but they were definitely coming up from the ground. Filed under "cool/gross."


And then I ran waaay out to Peninsula Point, an oxbow on the river that forms pretty field edged by trees. On the far side of the field -- the farthest point from the trail head -- I found this:

A monkey mascot carefully draped over a tree limb. At first I thought it was a eagle costume (not that that would make it more explainable...) but it was definitely a monkey. Someone would have had to walk a few miles in the monkey suit (or carry it) to get to this point. If not the sunny blue sky and the good mood radiating from all the people I passed on the trails, I would have found this scene... worrisome. Instead, I just want to know: who left the monkey suit in the woods?


I don't usually take photos while I'm running, but for various reasons I've been carrying my iPhone on long runs lately. What my phone can't capture is the smells I encounter. Farmland, at least at this time of year, does not smell like manure. In fact, it just smells like outdoors. Like Vermont. But the city offers a few distinct smells. Particularly on Riverside Driver, which is less river and more industrial park. Within about 100 yards, I pass the two most polar opposite smell locations in Burlington: the waste water treatment plant, and the Koffee Cup donut factory. One is awfully, olfactorily offensive; the other is deliciously sweet and hunger-inducing. Best to hit them in that order.




This weekend's long run has one picture to capture the weather: soft, gray everything. The sky, the horizon, the river, the lake. For long stretches on the bike path, I didn't see another person, but it didn't feel lonely or sad. The temperature was warm, and the air felt soft. Most of the leaves are on the ground now, but enough are still on the trees to give the bike path a foggy, quiet leaf-shroud.

From the Colchester-Winooski bridge, the lake was silent, and soft-gray.

Camel's Hump: Wisdom on the Mountain

The route I chose to hike Camel's Hump started in Duxbury, looped across three trails to the summit and back down. Steep climb through woods and exposed rock; the hiking guide said it was a difficult 7.5 mile hike.

The morning was gorgeous, heading out at 8 a.m. from the winter parking lot. The path to the top went from the Monroe Trail, Dean Trail, LT and Monroe Trail. The hike was just me and forest most of the way; I crossed paths with just one hiker on the way up, and otherwise had the trail, the birds, the trees and the views to myself. At the top, I chatted with the summit care-taker, settled into a nook in the rocks away from the wind to read and eat my lunch. When I headed down, I really should have heck the trail map one more time, but I thought I had the route committed to memory.

I had reach the summit from the south on the Long Trail, and left the summit still heading north. I intended to turn right on the Monroe Trail and back to where I started, but I managed to blow straight through the really obvious trail head, not reading the sign posts or realizing this was my trail to take. By the time I figured out my mistake, I had the choice of going back uphill to get to the Monroe Trail, or add more miles and keep heading downhill to pick up the Alpine Trail.

I chose to keep going "downhill" which turned out to be and lot of up and down stretches across a trail that seems little used and was poorly marked. Every cobweb I walked through reminded me no one else has crossed through here recently, every stream and washout made me question which direction the trail actually went. Yellow blazes were faded and too few, but every one was a relief when I spotted it.

At one point, I groused out loud to myself, "I hate getting lost!" And as soon as the thought was fully formed, I had a nice reality check. I wasn't lost. I was on a trail that is on a map and I was heading in the right direction. I wasn't where I wanted to be, but I wasn't lost. A good distinction to remember, in hiking and in life.

From that point forward, I high-fived every yellow blaze I crossed and told it, "Thank you, friend!" When the Alpine Trail finally merged with the Monroe Trail, I was so happy and relieved. Shortly after, I started crossing paths with a steady stream of hikers heading uphill, each of them looking tired and asking, how far is it to the top?  Really, it's as far or as close you make it.

100 on 100!

1 van, 100 miles, 6 awesome runners, 15 hours of roadside dance parties: this was an epic weekend!

Saturday's race started foggy and cool at 6:30 a.m. at the Trapp Lodge in Stowe, followed a hundred beautiful, hot, sunny miles down Route 100, and ended in the cool night at Okemo Mountain in Ludow. Along the way, many awesome moments:

"Do you guys want cow bells?"  When anyone asks this question, regardless of context, the answer is obviously, yes. In this case, it was before 7:30 a.m. and we were somewhere near Waterbury Center and another van of runners was handing out noise makers like party favors. More cowbell!

My first leg was my hardest, and I dare say one of the Top 3 hardest legs on the entire course. I chose it because it starts at Waitsfield Elementary and ends on East Warren Road, the heart of Mad Rover Valley where I first lived and fell in love with Vermont. Sadly, this leg is 6 miles uphill. Up long, steep hills. I was psyched to see my team cheering me on at the Round Barn, and even more psyched to finish that beast in better time and form than last year.


Off-course dance party: enthusiasm got the best of us in Warren. We left the course briefly to drive around the outside of the village and hadn't realized we weren't quite back on course when we spotted the perfect spot for a roadside cheering section. Doors opened, music cranked loud, dancing ensued. 10 minutes later, we hadn't seen our runner. Or any other runners. Or any other vans. "We're not on the course right now, are we?" "Nope. Back in the van...."

Heidi was so focused and steely in setting off on her second leg, and she killed it! It was awesome watching her tear through central Vermont in great form and huge speed. She gave me huge motivation to run hard when I took the bracelet from her in Stockbridge.


"It's Tom Chadwick!" Last year I nearly mowed him down with the van in Duxbury, prompting Jess to yell, "Oh my god it's Tom Chadwick! You almost killed Tom Chadwick!" This year we honored him on the van windows. Later, around mile 65, he blew passed me at an awesome clip but took a moment to toss over his shoulder, "It's Tom Chadwick" -- LOVED IT!

Killington: two course legs go from the bottom of Killington to the top, and they are both grueling! Flossie probably wouldn't have chosen one of these legs if she had options, but as our recently recruited fabulous sub, she took on the challenge amiably. Watching her grind away the miles while we cheered like crazy was inspiring. Her leg ended at the the crest of hill, and from where we stood waiting for her we could spot her coming up the rise into a sunny stretch completely exultant and relieved. We were so proud!


And then Flossie handed the slap bracelet off to Jess, who finished the climb to the top -- in costume!! The baddest, cutest wolf chewed up that hill in amazing form. Also spotted on the costume leg, a man dressed as Olivia Newton John, several tutus, a runner wearing a Troy Polamalu jersey and wig. That wig had to have been hot....


Karen was the biggest hero of the summer, not just the day: at the end of May she snapped a tendon in her foot while running the Vermont City Marathon (and STILL finished with a PR!). She wasn't supposed to be able to run at all till late summer, but she hammered out more than 13 miles, including the steep downhill leg on Killington before calling it a day. Total rock star!


I ran the last leg of the race in the cool, dark night and loved every bit of it. There is very little man-made light, and I could see the few feet ahead of me lit up by my headlamp. Partway through the leg, I heard Beth ahead on the roadside calling, "Patti, is that you?!" "Hey, Beth!" "We're at a maple creemee stand. I have something for you!"  Beth doesn't have the capacity for an ounce of cruelty, and putting those two facts together was accidental on her part. But I was pretty bummed when I got closer and realized she WAS at a (closed) maple creemee stand, and she DID have something for me -- a crappy bottle of water. Dang!



The last yards to the finish line were up a short hill to an ice rink at Okemo, and it was such a great feeling to see my five teammates standing there in their smart-looking hoodies cheering for me. We hit the finish line as a group just minutes before 10 p.m. Tired but filled with happiness from a satisfying day with a great community of runners.

Nature! Glorious Nature!

I ran out to the Colchester causeway on Sunday (decided to try the lake instead of the river....).  This is the bike path that nearly stretches to the southern tip of South Hero, but there's a cut to allow boats to pass through. Rain threatened all morning, but held off during most of my run. Cool observations:

• stormwater: on one side of the Causeway is Mallet's Bay, on the other side the broad lake. The bay side looked pretty normal - dark water, not much sediment. The lake side was the color of a latte. It was odd running out on the narrow rock-raised pathway, just a few yards wide, with two totally different bodies of water on each side. (Photo above is from normal times.)
• wildlife: I saw a lonesome loon (solo in the middle of the day -- that doesn't seem normal) but the coolest sight was a little brown-furred river otter hanging out on a rock along the path. At first sight I thought, is there a pet ferret on the loose? But I stopped my run to watch the critter, and he hung out long enough that I could identify him in a Google search later. So cool!
• bike ferry: tons of cyclists heading north and south on the bike path use the pontoon ferry to get across the cut in the bike path. They load the bikes into a specially designed rack and take a quick ride a few dozen yards to the other side of the cut.

This is not the otter I saw, but it looks a lot like him! Photo by http://www.flickr.com/photos/ndomer73/

A River Runs Through It (And I Fell In It)

Vermont broke records for precipitation in May and June -- constant, pounding storms, with periods of normal rain as our only relief. That kind of rainfall turns streams into rivers and rivers into highways of water.

The river in front of the building where I live is normally broad and strong -- the Winooski River drains a major watershed and it the last conduit into the lake for a huge area of mountains and streams. The amount of rain we had turned a normally large river into a massive force that demands your attention and respect. I clearly didn't give it enough of either on the morning of July 4.

There's a trail along the river that starts near my building and heads into the woods and along the water. Heading out for a run that morning, I caught up with another runner at one spot on the trail where the river had lapped up into the land, creating a 10-long puddle of muddy water over the narrow trail. The river was coffee-colored with sediment from the rains, and moving swiftly, but that section of river is also deep enough that there weren't rapids or white water. Fellow runner decided to turn back, I decided to inch through the puddle carefully and check out its depth. Slogging through ankle-deep water, I made it to the other side of the puddle and continued my run on wet but clear trails. Around the highway bridge I ran into a neighbor who warned me the rocks were a little slick, and I took her advice to stay on the high side of the trail. All in all, a nice run while the skies were merely gray and not actively raining, and pretty stunning views of the massive, swollen river.

Heading back, I slowed to walk when I got to the long puddle over the trail. The path here is close to the river normally, but the high water level blurred the edge of the trail and run of the water. But I'd walked through here earlier and it was deep so I wasn't cautious...

And just as I was thinking that that other runner shouldn't has wussed out, I found myself completely in the river. The water had taken out a chunk of the riverbank where the trail ought of have been, but the hole in the path wasn't discernible under the muddy stretch of water on the trail.

I basically stepped into a muddy water slide was instantly up to my neck in the river, trying to get footing where was no ground to step on. I had two thoughts, simultaneously: 1) this is a really swift river, and 2) this is foul stormwater.  Both are reasons to act quickly and get out of the water. I reached just above my head to a clump of plants on the bank and pulled myself out, hoping the plants were secure enough to not give way too.

The entire incident lasted maybe 5 seconds, during which I was startled, scared, annoyed and then relieved. And completely drenched. I stood on the trail laughing, and feeling somewhat ridiculous for doing exactly what emergency officials tell you not to do: don't be cavalier around storm-swollen rivers, don't drive (or walk...) through watered-covered surfaces because you don't know the conditions below the water.

Lesson learned, the hard way.

Mom, Meet Meb

You have got to hear this story:

My mom is lovely and chatty but knows very little about running, except that I run and that marathons are hard. A few days ago she was in large park in San Diego, where she lives, and noticed a man "doing some kind of running spurts."

"Sprints, mom?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever - he was obviously training for something, you know. He was athletic. So I asked him, what you are working on here? And he says he's training for the New York marathon. And I say, Oh, you know, my daughter runs marathons..." And knowing her, she probably went on about this for entirely too long.  And at some point she says (understatement of the year), "you seem a lot faster than my daughter!"

At which points he says he's won the NYC marathon in the past. And my mom says, "Wow, what's your name?" and he tells her his name is Meb, and says maybe your daughter would enjoy reading my new book? (Of course, in my mom's telling, his name is Memb and she couldn't find him when she searched Google for his book.)

"Mom! That's Meb Keflezighi! I saw him once too, when he won the US Olympic Marathon trials, and was surrounded by people trying to get his autograph and take his picture."

"Oh! Well, I should have gotten his autograph. You know, he did look very fast. He obviously knew what he was doing."


You CANNOT make this stuff up!

Sidewalks Optional

Vermont has been in stretch of weather marked by gray, sunless days with middling temperatures just around freezing. The lack of light and lack snow have potent numbing affect, such that you don't realize how dismal the world seems until an errant patch of sunlight shows through a thin spot in the cloud cover to point out what you're missing.

The little snow we've had in town leaves a melting slushy mess in conditions like these, and it turns a normal run into an obstacle course. Every square of sidewalk pavement seems tilted at slightly different angle and in a slightly different direction that the adjoining slabs of concrete, making each block appear like a patchwork quilt of water, slush and clear pavement. The snow-covered grass alongside the sidewalks is turning to mud as people use that space to avoid long watery stretches of sidewalk. And it's hard to guess how deep the water is: 1/2 inch? 3 inches? 

Early in the run I gingerly hopped around the puddles, ballerina-leaped over the puddles and dodged traffic in the less puddly streets in an effort to keep my running shoes dry. But a few missed steps and underestimated puddle-depths and I gave up on that charade. The water was cold splashing through the mesh of my shoes, but was nearly as bone-chilling as I expected giving the gray skies and chunks of  slush floating in it. The run started to feel like a long, fun obstacle course of jumping, swerving, splashing strides around the city. Next week, I might take the run out a country road and give real mud season a try.

Meet The Treadmill

Last night before I went to bed, I ensured no excuse to delay my morning run by carefully laying out all the layers of clothing and random accoutrement a winter run requires. A few moments outside at 8:30 a.m. (even in the sun) was enough to scrap that plan and hit the treadmill.

Total brainstorm: I was already wondering how I would fit in my Sunday morning news gorge, the run and a few hours of work before an afternoon of fun (cocktails with neighbors, then Superbowl!) I headed down to the gym in my building stoked by the idea to watch the Sunday morning news shows while pounding out the mileage of my long run.

Mind you, this is not a large gym, but it is almost always completely empty. I rarely share it with one soul, let alone a few people.

Two treadmills face a TV and I was momentarily bummed to see one of the treadmills occupied with the TV on, and then thrilled to see Leon Panetta blaring from said TV. My treadmill neighbor apologized for having the volume up (she had to talk another gym-goer into watching it). I said bring it on, and we were both psyched to crank up the news. When another neighbor joined us on the stairclimber, he had no choice but to Meet the Press.

Note: Bob Costas and Chuck Todd BOTH need hair advice. Seriously.

Mercury Rising! 13 degrees

Have you noticed the Weather Channel app has a feature called "augmented reality"?

The utterances from the mouths of weather forecasters this week have been the kind that make me laugh inappropriately at grim news. "Lows reaching -25, that's before wind chill. High of -8 tomorrow."

Needless to say, there was no running outside this week, for me at least. And I dare say for anyone else. I spotted no defiant runners on the road this week, despite the hardiness and questionable mental balance I have long appreciated in Vermont athletes.

But this weekend promised a reprieve, and indeed we have been above zero for hours now. Today dawned clear, sunny and bright -- exactly the kind of day that screws with what you know that means in winter: really cold air. I'm sitting at the Block Gallery in Winooski with a warm latte and oodles of the Sunday Times still to read, deciding whether to brave the cold or head back to the treadmill for one more indoor run this week.

Forecast for Wednesday: Rainy and 48 degrees.

Six years ago....

101 alumni in their natural habitat.

My baptism in running was in January 2007.

Twenty of us sat around a large table, everyone thrumming with nerves but not speaking much.  My own emotions ran the gamut from adrenaline-soaked giddiness (“I can’t believe I’m doing this!”) to doubt-laden dread (“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”)

This was the first night of Marathon 101, six years ago this month.  Each of us had a unique idea, a motivation, a reason that brought us there. Some of us were fast runners – truly gifted with speed and biomechanics. Some of us were totally new to running, with rookie ambitions untempered by reality. But all of us were first-timers at this rodeo, and that sealed a bond across whatever differences existed among us.

Each week, we rejoiced together, commiserated together, and attentively listened to stories of longer mileage, sore shins, blistered feet, and huge post-run appetites. We laughed knowingly about bathroom-break travails on long runs, and cursed the icy weather that had us seeking out treadmills. As training wore on, the eyes of our nearest and dearest glazed over when we talked about goal pace, hydration, the difference between soreness and injury. But Marathon 101 became a support group of willing co-conspirators. Once a week, we talked in detail – sometimes gut-wrenching, torturous detail – about endless miles and the emotions they evoked. We were doing this thing, and it was rare, and it was awesome.

Yes, we learned about how to build a proper training schedule. Yes, we learned about optimal nutrition. Yes, we learned how to avoid the services of a PT, and where to find one should we need to. And in the six years since, I have applied and gladly shared that information. But the most valuable take-away from Marathon 101 (in addition to the satisfying weight of that finisher’s medal) is a handful of life-long friendships that sprang from the shared experience of trying something so hard. 

We’ve commiserated over missed goals, and celebrated healed injuries. We’ve run through relationships, births, deaths, new jobs, and plain old small talk.  Since finishing that first marathon, we’ve traveled to many more races – in Chicago, New York, Houston, Boston – sometimes to run, sometimes to cheer each other on.  We even stuffed ourselves in a van and ran the 100 on 100 relay. (Team name? That’s right: 101 on 100.)

Your first marathon is memorable, no matter the outcome. I’m grateful my memories are all the sweeter for having shared it with some of the kindest, most genuinely supportive friends -- all who just happened to be in the same room at the same time, wanting to attempt the same fantastic goal.