August 27, 2010

August Rain

My first memory is sensory.  Up until the age of three, my family lived in the Pacific Northwest on Whidbey Island, in the middle of the Puget Sound.  I didn’t know that, back then.

I remember standing outside in the front yard of my house.  Everything was green; the leaves, grass, pine trees, and bushes.  And everything was wet.  Mist was all around, and my face and arms were wet.  The cool air had a scent that was different from my bathwater.  There was an outside smell that was bigger than my yard, bigger than the grass and bushes around me.  I loved the smell of a wetness so big it could surround all the houses and everything I saw.  I was completely happy, thrilled with the smell of rain going into my nose and expanding into my body.  I wanted it to never end, to always smell like that.

Tuesday’s run started and ended in the mist.  It had been raining all night but miraculously stopped at 6:30 AM, just as I was lacing up my shoes.  All that was left was mist, gentle water hanging in the air.

I left all technology at home and ran unencumbered.  The training schedule said I was to do 8 miles with 10x 100’s pick-ups.  I decided to do my favorite loop in Louisville, as a favorite loop combined with favorite smells is a total winner.

Heading up the street, I splashed in a few puddles on the sidewalk and was psyched there were no worms hanging out in the water.  I hate murdering worms.

The streets were deserted.  I crossed over onto the bike path and followed it to the top of the Mesa, approximately 250 feet of elevation gain.  I did a few pick-ups on the hills, just to shake things out and push my heart rate, feeling like a punky teenager prancing around with new-found freedom.

My rain jacket had to go.  I quickly tied it around my waist and set off on the deserted Mesa.  Davidson Mesa is a great 3-mile loop on the hill bordering Louisville and Boulder.  To the east lies Louisville, nestled in a snug little valley.  To the west is Boulder, sprawling in the long, narrow corridor that butts up against the Flatirons.  The clouds were low, the fine mist was dazzling, and I kept running.  The wide dirt track was wet enough to muffle the sound of my footsteps, but not soggy enough to pull at my shoes.  Perfect.

I easily navigated the single-track trail that veered to the right of the main section, and jumped rocks while the late-summer vegetation brushed against my ankles.  No pick-ups in this section; this was pure technical challenge and didn’t require additional speed.

After half a mile the single-track dumped me back onto the main trail.  I picked up speed and slowly counted 1…2… 3… until I got to 15, then slowed to a regular pace.  I have no idea how long it should really take me to run 100 meters, so I ballparked.  I’m like that.

And so it went.  Images of me cutting through mist like I was a cartoon character bursting through a paper wall filled my over-excited brain.  I had a big stupid grin on my face that didn’t wash off for the entire run, and I kept interjecting fast bursts of speed into the run.  As usual, I got faster the longer I ran, so by the time I came off the Mesa and started on the two mile descent to my house, I was running with 90% speed, faster than 5K race pace.  I did two pick-ups in mile 7, then slowed a little.

I ran for another 30 seconds and realized that my little heart desired only one thing in the entire world, and that was to run as fast as my mortal body would carry me down that hill.  There was already a good head of steam going, so I opened up the legs and let it all go until I was spent.  I ran like this for a good five blocks, feeling the groin muscles stretch and retract while my feet slapped the pavement.  The smell of fresh, fine mist was still giving me an olfactory high.  I wished that my long run could have been that morning, as there is nothing like running in a perfect Colorado mist in late August.  It’s a gift of the Gods, and believe me when I say that the gift was recognized, received, and thoroughly appreciated.  I LOVE the rain!!!

Filed Under: Summer 2010, Training Tagged: , , , , ,
June 14, 2010

Back from Camping

It’s been eight days since my last run.  The kids and I were on a camping trip in Wyoming and Montana, and it was just so incredibly relaxing to be there that I never had the urge to bust out and elevate the ol’ heart rate.  Now that I’m back though, I wanted to see what changes have occurred since I’ve been away.

A storm system settled over the entire Rocky Mountain region a few days ago, and now we’re in the tail end of it.  When I went out this morning the air smelled cool and damp but the sidewalks were mostly dry.  The long grasses in the greenbelt were heavy with moisture and bent with the weight of several days’ worth of incessant pounding rain.  The creek was down though, and no longer overflowed its banks.

I over-dressed this morning and wore my winter running pants, red long-sleeve and a rain jacket in case the rain came again.  Even though I checked the thermometer before I left the house, I forgot that 50 degrees means it’s warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt.  A camping trip will make you forget all the tricks you’ve ever known.  Okay, maybe it’s just me; I learn and re-learn things all the time.

The low music from my iPod was pleasant as I started up the greenbelt.  I sidestepped some wet clumps of grass, muck and worm remnants on the sidewalk and jogged steadily up the hill.  No dogs were out yet, most likely staying warm and dry in their houses.  The air was still.

Cresting the hill to the pond, I was surprised to see the high water level. My untrained eye estimated it was probably a good 8-10 inches higher than normal, though the banks weren’t anywhere near to flooding.  The trees were in full bloom and seemed wild with the early overgrowth of spring’s abundant moisture.

Following the path across the street, I settled into a meditative rhythm.  After eight days of no running, my muscles were as fresh as a baby and itching for some action.  I didn’t want to push it too hard though, knowing that I needed to move the muscles and get some flexibility back in joints that were a little stiff from road-tripping.

After ten minutes I pulled over and stopped.  I was burning up in my long-sleeve wicking fleece and rain coat.  I pulled both off, tied them around my waist, settled my hat again and set off wearing only my sports bra on the top half.  What freedom!  The sensation of air moving across my naked belly was heavenly; now that I didn’t feel like I would over-heat any second, my pace increased and I floated over the slight downhill near a flooded ravine.

An instrumental song started just as I headed into the underpass.  My mind floated away from the music and noticed the echo of my footsteps against the concrete tunnel walls.  It’s darker in the tunnel, and every time I round the corner to this tunnel my senses go into high alert.  A runner or cyclist can’t see into the tunnel until they’re right on top of it, which means they have to listen hard and watch for the whisper of shadow movement in the split second before you head under the street.  This time, as in most times I’ve run through this tunnel, I was alone.

A sign greeted me as I emerged from the tunnel:  “Caution: Rattlesnakes in the Area”.  Budget cuts in the city have eliminated the seasonal mowing which has had the wild effect of creating prime real estate for snakes.  Luckily, wet, cool mornings mean that the rattlers won’t be hanging out on the trail that I’m running.  I made a mental note to stay off the Coal Creek Trail in the heat of the day, as I have no interest in crossing paths with snakes.  Ever.

The music shifted again and Billy Pilgrim began crooning “Dixie Drug Store”.  I thought about New Orleans and considered what I’d do if I ever came across a voo-doo drug store run by the Widow of Paris.  The possibilities of a magic unlike anything I’ve ever seen is intriguing, to say the least, though realistically I’d be the unsuspecting boob that walked in and got duped.

Billy Pilgrim stayed with me as I turned the last corner in my loop.  Heading up the .6 mile hill to my house, I concentrated on staying strong and relaxing my shoulders.  A fine mist began to appear out of thin air and I busted through it as though it were paper, imagining that I was leaving a cut-out of myself along the sidewalks of Louisville that only rain Gods could perceive.

I arrived home cool, sweaty and utterly happy with my exertions.  The loop was just under five miles and I noted the time when I walked in the front door; just about forty minutes, on the nose.  I didn’t wear my Garmin this morning because I didn’t want an awareness of time to impede my enjoyment of the run (plus, if it started to rain again I didn’t want the thing to get wet).

It’s good to be back on my old stomping grounds.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll run a little longer and see what the Mesa’s been up to.

Filed Under: Summer 2010 Tagged: , ,
May 15, 2010

Ashland Rain

Saturday’s run was not in the morning, and it wasn’t in Colorado.

I got to Ashland last night and spent today eating, reading, resting, talking, eating, talking, reading and sleeping before I finally got around to running.  With no one to entertain, fights to mediate, meals to make or bedtimes to adhere to, I’m suddenly in a wonderful, strange, very zen-like existence.  These next few days are about ME, and no one else.  This is new territory I’m visiting.  Don’t worry, I’m a quick learner.  I think I’ll be okay.

Gwen drove me around Downtown Ashland this morning and showed me the Oregon Shakespeare Festival where she and husband Michael work (Gwen is a Stage Manager and Michael is the Master Electrician).  We visited the Ashland Food Co-op and then lollipopped home while she pointed out landmarks.  Michael added to this body of knowledge by telling me how to get up to the hills and down onto the bike path. With a hazy mental picture of the area and enough light to see by, I was good to go.

Gwen left for the evening just as I was waking up from my 2 ½ hr nap (see, I told you I’m a quick learner, I know what to do with free time).  She said she was taking the car because it looked like thunderstorms tonight and she wanted to be able to come home out of the rain at 1 AM when she gets off work.  Fair enough.

I headed out of the subdivision, trying to find the through-road that connects to downtown.  Failing that, I found the elementary school that has a bike path close-by.  Much to my surprise there was a trail map of the area at the mouth of the bike-path.  After studying it for a minute I changed direction and decided to follow the path through town into the hills.  The elevation would go from about 1500 to 2200 feet above sea level, and I’m a sucker for trail running.

When I turned around I noticed that my Garmin wasn’t tracking properly.  I had been running for about 5 minutes but the mile said 2 miles.  Not so, I swear.  There were bars saying I had signal, but things weren’t syncing.  I reset to zero and headed into town.

Here and there I had signal, but it wasn’t consistent so I just watched the timer.  Because I was running in a brand-new location, I knew that my sense of time and distance would be off because I’d be so busy gawking at all the new sights.  Do you do that?  It takes me a few runs on the same trail before I get an accurate sense of what’s really there; the newness has to wear off before I can take off my rose-colored glasses.  Fine, I’ll admit it; I’m really a child in an adult’s body.

I got through Downtown Ashland and had this strange feeling of being in a movie.  Ashland is beautiful, touristy and happy; lots of places for tourists to spend their money while they wait to take in a show at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (OSF), the biggest Shakespeare Festival in the Western Hemisphere.  There are tons of restaurants, kids playing in the nearby parks, girls walking along the railroad tracks, kids sitting with their parents at outdoor tables eating ice cream. Imagine the camera panning to take in the setting and then switching to this random runner (me).  The runner creates movement in the scene, flitting between people, running next to the lamp-post and crossing the street.  Old people look up from the racks of clothes lining the sidewalks as they browse for deals on t-shirts, knick-knacks and other doo-dads that no one really needs.

I kept following the signs and made it onto the path.  Lithia Park is right outside the brick area and was full of more happy people.  There were couples walking, kids playing catch with their parents in the green, a family looking at the duck pond.  Further up more people were walking the trail with loved one,  and groups of people were picnicking around fire pits and built-in grills.  The trail was wide and so very soft.  Wood chips were spread on the trail and must have been several inches deep to achieve the springiness that made this trail feel better than a rubber track.

About 24 minutes after I reset the Garmin it started to rain.  Small, soft drops fell from the sky and gently spattered my bare arms, face and legs.  The air was warm and the drops of moisture felt like an extension of the air itself rather than a thresh-hold that had just been crossed.  My sunglasses that had been necessary equipment when I began the run were suddenly superfluous; I removed them from my face, folded them into my hand and carried them gently the rest of the run.  I continued to run uphill.

This hill was nothing like the Rocky Mountains, my regular running playground.  This hill was low, gentle, lush and teeming with flora.  A small river runs beside the trail and its music sounded different to my mountain ears.  My senses were startlingly acute and every fiber of my body sang with pleasure.

Finally I reached a place where I could either cross a street and continue on the trail, or turn around.  A group of mountain bikers was riding above me on a trail parallel to my trail and stopped just ahead of me, where the trails merged.  My watch read 28 minutes.  It was time to turn around.

 And so I headed home.  Down the trail I ran, sometimes running on the wide soft trail near the river, other times testing my quick reflexes on the narrow upper trail that ran parallel to the lower.  The picnickers were packing up to go home, their movements hurried as they huddled into their jackets.  A Mom with her baby in a sling stood under an overhang, waiting out the rain.  The three teenagers that had meandered with no destination just minutes before ran for shelter.  The duck pond was empty.  And the three kids that had played catch with their Momma were running in the grass with their shoes off, faces uplifted and mouths open, trying to drink the rain.

“Look, she’s running through the rain!” one of them called to the others as I flew past.  A smile erupted from my face and stayed plastered in place for the duration of the run.  Yes, I was running in the rain.  Only children and myself were out enjoying the feel of water gracing our bodies.

I emerged from Lithia Park into Downtown Ashland again and easily found my way through the streets back to Gwen and Michael’s house.  The texture of the rain never changed, nor did the cadence of the soft patter on trees and concrete.  The front of my shirt and shorts were soaked, along with my socks and shoes.

Now, everything is hanging up to dry.  The rain has continued sporadically this evening, and a great roil of thunder even passed through.   This is a bummer for the show Gwen’s teching tonight in the outdoor theatre at OSF.  She’ll stay dry, but the actors might get damp.

Filed Under: Spring 2010 Tagged: , , , ,