Friday, August 08, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Hilly trails
Ran some new trails at the dam - more hilly than I expected. I did come by some mountain bikers...note the descriptor there - MOUNTAIN bikers. They were in the right place. The trail was around the high power lines, but was more hilly than I expected. It took over 50 minutes to run 4 miles, and they were hard miles. I took a little break at the 2 mile mark to look at the river bank, and try to get my bearings about where I was in relation to the highway, and then had to pause a few more times to adjust water bottles and my MP3 player.
Okay, draw a picture in your head with me. I'm trouncing through the woods like a madman - shirtless, with water bottles hanging from my waist, wearing shorts that are so bright yellow they'd make Ray Charles squint. I'm singing along happily with my MP3 player - a mixture of offensive rap, Gaelic punk/metal, and Airborne Ranger/USMC Jody calls. Running in the woods is a very surreal experience for me: it engages parts of my brain that don't always get used. I'm listening to the music, singing along, trying to keep up my speed on hills and descents, keeping my eyes darting looking for firm or tenuous footing, watching for roots and snakes at ground level, and spider webs and branches above, and tripping briers at all heights. I'm also trying to watch ahead of me on the trail for bikers that may or may not see me. I'm breathing heavy and sweating - heaving out air and letting my day get lost in the brambles. I'm not caring about distance too much, or getting lost - if I get 'lost' I'll get found. No phone, no pager, no other voices but mine. My mind always races - I can feel my eyes jerking around in the sockets as they survey the surroundings. It feels like I'm a part of this environment, yet still just visiting it. I'm feeling the ground scrub brush against my ankles right above my socks and I think of the tick I picked up a few days ago (will I get another one), but it doesn't slow me down, or diminish my desire to keep pushing onward. The trail is a series of switchbacks and I'm lacing back over the same acreage again and again, albeit at different angles. Out of the corner of my eye every few turns I catch some movement, but when I try to focus on the area, it's gone, or I just don't see it. Pounding along, up the steep hills and letting my legs roll down the other side of the hills. At the next turn I see the movement again - gone again. How do my legs feel - tired, how about my feet - taxed, how's my breathing - hard, but consistent - - drink - keep pushing.
There's the movement again, but this time I catch it; I'm close enough this time - only about 20 yards away - 2 deer! They're running, but I'm running in the same direction - they speed up, I speed up... Walt Whitman rushes into my brain with the ticks, and snakes, and bible verses, and a DI chanting to 'run me some more' - "I sound my barbaric YAWP!" - and I do. I scream, I howl, I bellow at and with the deer as my pace quickens. My mind is flooded with the sounds around me, and smell of the trail, and the images of Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. He's YAWPING at a student - YAWP!!!! like a barbarian, not a student! I yawp. I see the images of Conner McCloed and Ramirez on the beach in "Highlander"- I see them sprinting against each other in the spirit of the moment. I still see the deer - they are pulling away from me. I remember Rocky and Apollo running down the beach at full steam and I hear the music. My eyes are still darting to the trail for footing and safety - I'm watching the deer leave me as I bank into a turn, still churning hard on the inside and out. My mind starts to come down, my body catches up and I'm thinking of a report I read about the endurance/construction of animals and humans, how most of the runners in nature are sprinters - lighting fast, but short lived; how man is the only animal that runs for a reason other than survival, and we do it for insanely long distances. The deer were out of sight quickly - all of this happened in less than 40 seconds - but somewhere, they were panting. Watching for the next 'something' to make them run again - I was still going....a runner.
I continued my run, and said a prayer of thanks that I was able to be out there.
Okay, draw a picture in your head with me. I'm trouncing through the woods like a madman - shirtless, with water bottles hanging from my waist, wearing shorts that are so bright yellow they'd make Ray Charles squint. I'm singing along happily with my MP3 player - a mixture of offensive rap, Gaelic punk/metal, and Airborne Ranger/USMC Jody calls. Running in the woods is a very surreal experience for me: it engages parts of my brain that don't always get used. I'm listening to the music, singing along, trying to keep up my speed on hills and descents, keeping my eyes darting looking for firm or tenuous footing, watching for roots and snakes at ground level, and spider webs and branches above, and tripping briers at all heights. I'm also trying to watch ahead of me on the trail for bikers that may or may not see me. I'm breathing heavy and sweating - heaving out air and letting my day get lost in the brambles. I'm not caring about distance too much, or getting lost - if I get 'lost' I'll get found. No phone, no pager, no other voices but mine. My mind always races - I can feel my eyes jerking around in the sockets as they survey the surroundings. It feels like I'm a part of this environment, yet still just visiting it. I'm feeling the ground scrub brush against my ankles right above my socks and I think of the tick I picked up a few days ago (will I get another one), but it doesn't slow me down, or diminish my desire to keep pushing onward. The trail is a series of switchbacks and I'm lacing back over the same acreage again and again, albeit at different angles. Out of the corner of my eye every few turns I catch some movement, but when I try to focus on the area, it's gone, or I just don't see it. Pounding along, up the steep hills and letting my legs roll down the other side of the hills. At the next turn I see the movement again - gone again. How do my legs feel - tired, how about my feet - taxed, how's my breathing - hard, but consistent - - drink - keep pushing.
There's the movement again, but this time I catch it; I'm close enough this time - only about 20 yards away - 2 deer! They're running, but I'm running in the same direction - they speed up, I speed up... Walt Whitman rushes into my brain with the ticks, and snakes, and bible verses, and a DI chanting to 'run me some more' - "I sound my barbaric YAWP!" - and I do. I scream, I howl, I bellow at and with the deer as my pace quickens. My mind is flooded with the sounds around me, and smell of the trail, and the images of Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. He's YAWPING at a student - YAWP!!!! like a barbarian, not a student! I yawp. I see the images of Conner McCloed and Ramirez on the beach in "Highlander"- I see them sprinting against each other in the spirit of the moment. I still see the deer - they are pulling away from me. I remember Rocky and Apollo running down the beach at full steam and I hear the music
I continued my run, and said a prayer of thanks that I was able to be out there.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
hills
Ran hill repeats with Steph at the dam. We did 12 hill sprints and it was horrible hot. Good thing about hills and speed workouts is that they go pretty fast.
Rest day tomorrow.
Rest day tomorrow.
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