Heading Out

Well the last of the details is, hopefully, finished:

• Breakfast with AM, Steven and five-year-old Maggie this a.m. : story reading to Maggie, listening to the kids' research summary and planning for their upcoming Newfoundland trip, reading to Maggie, hearing about the kids' canoe trip yesterday, and hearing Maggie's newest story. Maggie also had written (with Mommy's help) a story for me and made me a card. I'll miss Maggie as much as she'll miss me. And the kids will miss me, too; they just show it much differently than Maggie's insistent begging for attention demonstrated.
• Went to the bank, decided all other pondered errands could just wait.
• Packed my race bag and my trip bag. Having done an overnight in Charlottesville served as training for this experience, and this packing job went much better than the Charlottesville one. AM had to help me last time, as I was just too overwhelmed with the excitement of NY visitors and the details of an overnighter plus race gear to figure it out.
• Picked up six-year-old Eliza at school, and took her with Butch and me to pick up the rental car. Then Butch finished up mowing at church while Eliza and I went for ice cream. Afterward Eliza went through my bag and made sure nothing was forgotten, and that all clothing was sorted into outfits appropriate for each planned activity. She enjoys helping with details, and I sure did appreciate having her check that nothing was forgotten.
• Took Eliza home; and then packed up the rental car with gear, maps and snacks; and made supper.
• E-mail AM with instructions to drink the milk in the fridge and eat whatever else is in there and check on my plants.
• Turned in the rough draft of my syllabus for class, which starts the day I get back; and did some editing for another job.
• Set my alarm for 4:30 a.m., and laid out tomorrow's clothes. I may be on my feet at that time, but still be asleep when I dress and head out the door.

It's been a long time since I had a near-week-long real vacation. I've almost forgotten what preparations are needed. If I've forgotten to do something, well, it's just too late now.

Three Days - 43 miles

My running buddy and I have traversed 43 miles in three days using no gas but lots of fuel!
Saturday was a 10-mile race; and then we spent two days cross-training - a 23.5 mile bike ride on Sunday and a 10-mile run-hike combination yesterday. This cross-training actually has two purposes: recovery and preparation for a 20K Dam to Dam in Des Moines on Saturday and physically depleting myself enough that I'll be able to sit in a "tin can" during a 16-hours drive without going stir crazy (no small task for an adult with ADHD).
Figuring out the logistics for a 20K in another state has been a challenge. There's the usual travel preparations: stopping the mail, getting cash from the bank, packing a travel bag, renting a car . . .
But then there's the other running-centered details such as figuring out when to do the pre-race runs amidst a 16-hour car ride; packing a separate race bag for the race day with the appropriate race-day running attire (what will it be like Saturday?), race "fuel", shoes, bib pins, stop watch . . .
Then there's the runner's diet. Everything that enters the runner's body is measured against the energy being expended. So the travel food has to be healthy and calorie appropriate, yet also motoring friendly. And my traveling companion and I neither one plan to spend any time seated in a restaurant!
The long car ride out will end at my baby brother's home in Davenport. As we talked on the phone the other day, he started to ask about my needs. And then, since he knows me all too well, he said something like, "Never mind. . .you'll be running the minute you pull in." I laughed and said, "Yup, so I hope you're ready!"
Well that's one training run I won't have to worry about -- he'll run, too. So we'll have a family reunion, release from ADHD and cabin fever, and a pre-race easy run all at the same time. Another logistical detail cared for; a myriad of others left to go.

Old Rag -- The Summit

Another spot in the Rock Scramble at Old Rag. There's a blue spot on the boulder on the far right; that's to indicate that hikers are to crawl up and through the crevice immediately to the left where the shadow is.
View from The Summit. . .
The hike downhill from here was painful as it wasn't just a gradual, winding slope down. Instead there were rock stairs, or boulders to scoot, jump or step from. After the strenuous climb up, any jump or step down sent a current of pain through my overworked leg bones and into my hips. So at each "drop" I'd find myself thinking, "Which will hurt less here. . .a jump, step or scootch."
Both Butch and I were quite grateful when the trail smoothed into a gradual slope and we could run past several pods of hikers on the last three miles to the upper parking lot. Believe it or not, a run can be a welcome break from hours of hiking -- running uses different muscles. When we reached the upper parking lot, we opted to cool down by a quick walk and those we had passed earlier all made comments to the effect of, "How far did you two run?" "Did you run the whole thing?" For a split second I wondered why they noticed us, just a couple fellow hikers. And then it dawned on me. Butch had taken a tumble at the very start of the run, and had a stream of blood running from both knees to his calves.

Midway Up Old Rag Mountain.

Butch and I ran one mile from the parking lot to the base of the trail at Old Rag Mountain, and then began climbing. . .the above photo is near the midway point of the 7.2 mile trail.
One of the views of the "Rock Scramble," which I think is a bit of a misnomer. We had to climb a series of boulders the size of the one in the center of this photo and wriggle through crevaces to get through what I would have called the "Rock Climb". Fortunately this part of the 5-hour hike only took about an hour or so, I'm guessing. Some of the footholds and handholds were just far enough apart that I needed a boost or a pull; and so did Butch. So we leapfrogged through this section.
Another photo of the midway point . . .we climbed some of these boulders and climbed up the side of this mountain.

The "Toad" on Old Rag Mountain

Doesn't this rock look like a gigunda prehistoric toad?

Stone Pavillion - Endless Caverns

Cycled 23.5 miles on Sunday afternoon and stopped about midway for a break here at the entrance to Endless Caverns. If you click on the top photo and get a closer view, you can see a stone "balcony" above the entrance to this pavillion.

Gillies-McCracken Competition Takes a Hiatus

George Gillies, my racing competitor, is on the far right. The photo was taken last fall at the 116th Infantry Race in Staunton, Virginia, by his wife Melanie B. Gillies. The others in the photo are Rich Ruozzi, SVTC Club President; Jeff Campbell; and Butch Proctor, now club vice president.
Scenes from the Mountain Valley 10 Miler Race Course.--Photos by Joseph Rudmin

As I've said before in this blog, George Gillies, a researcher, and I have been "competing" at the finish line for the last several races, beginning a few weeks ago when he "cut me off" and won a race by mere seconds. At the Half Marathon, I beat him by several minutes (he had lung issues). And then he beat me soundly at the next competition. And yesterday, in Keezletown at the Mountain Valley 10 Miler (a SVTC club-sponsored race), there we were at the starting line once again. He lagged behind, chatting with an injured friend and my race and running partner, for the first mile. I settled into a comfortable pace. Then shortly after mile two, he ran up alongside me. Race pace racheted up a notch. George was tired, having just run a Half in Fargo the week before; and I wanted to reserve some energy for the Dam to Dam in Des Moines next week.
A gentleman from Grottoes joined us; someone who had finished about the same time as me at the Half in Charlottesville, though I didn't catch his name or his exact place. Grottoes, George and I ran miles two through five, maybe even six, together. They had not run this particular course, so I had the rare joy of sharing the challenges and helping them plan. We turned the corner at mile 3.

"And NOW the race begins," I said.

We had reached the Goliath of this course -- a hill snaking up about 290 feet over a half mile. No conversation now. . .just the three of us in a line, slogging along the worst of this 10 mile course. About mile 6 the hills ended, and we ran down to a stop sign. Grottoes moved ahead. George and I chattered back and forth, a phrase at a time between gasps for air. His story parallels mine -- an accident with a semi, a punctured lung and other injuries, a walking routine and then running to heal and build up lung capacity to compensate for scars, and a new appreciation for relationship and life, a story I don't yet have permission to tell. The story was the highlight of the race, however, reminding me of my purpose, renewing my enthusiasm, and revisiting the foundational principals of faith and hope. Grounding. Centering. Once again, running and racing had become a metaphor for life.
Near mile 8, a short, but steep, hill loomed.

"Is that the hill you mentioned earlier?" George asked.
I chuckled and said, "Yup. . .no biggie, it just feels like it because of its place in the course."

The holy encounter with the Holy had passed; it was time now to turn the corner and "head home." Our history dictated that one of us should pick up the pace a bit and then, at the very end, one of us should fight for the finish. And we did; but not at race pace. Instead we just ran side by side, breathing hard, saying little . . . I matched my pace to his; fighting for the strength to stay alongside.
"We should at least fake a photo finish, don't you think?" I asked.
"Yes, we should," he said.
The last corner. He ran ahead for a few yards. I struggled to catch him. But then, I am sure he glanced back and then slowed down a bit -- on purpose -- to let me catch up. And so we took the final corner together, and headed down into the shoot side by side.
"Give me your hand," he said.
I did, and he raised both just as we shot through the finish -- to the cheers of a handful of spectators. A photo finish indeed -- two competitors side-by-side, hands joined in the air.
"Put Anieta first," Karen, the time keeper said.
And so, according to SVTC history, I beat George Gillies by a second at the Mountain Valley Ten Miler. But here in blog history is the rest of the story.