Brock's Gap 6 Miler

I have been house sitting for the last couple weeks. Though the Plantation, as this apartment dweller has come to call it, is only about two acres; it still requires lawn mowing, garden maintenance, and animal husbandry. If I go there in the evening and sleep, I can do chores the following morning and make just one trip there and back. Sometimes, however, my own daily duties don't allow that. This morning I had a long distance run on my agenda, so I ran out to the Plantation, a three mile run most of which was along Brock's Gap Road, did the chores and ran back home.
I'd considered doing this earlier in the week, but the thought of my 115 pound body competing with the daily WV to VA commuter traffic and semis loaded with white turkeys was too terrifying. This was a Saturday though, and I thought the traffic might be lighter. The shoulder is narrow, but there really is room for two cars to meet and a runner alongside the road. The trick was watching the passenger-side headlight to see that if the oncoming car really was on the road, and not the shoulder side, of the white line; and also checking to see what the motorists were looking at. When they weren't where they belonged or weren't paying attention, I'd run in the grass alongside the shoulder.
Nearly all were talking on cell phones without the benefit of hands-free devices. One had a map spread out along the steering wheel and was studying it. Most cut the curves short requiring them to cross the center line or the white line depending on the angle of the curve. Only a few appeared to be watching the road; or slowed down or acknowledged my existence in any way. Once I stepped off the shoulder to make room for a selfish motorist only to trip on the uneven blacktop and nearly fall. Nonetheless the approximate two miles on Brocks' Gap didn't seem too terrifying, but I definitely would not try it during the work week.



Freshly mowed lawn, and weeded flower beds. The shade trees keep the house (a 100-year-old cabin expanded into a four-bedroom, two story home) quite cool most of the time. And that front porch is a shady respite.
The lassies awaiting their twice daily meal. Athena (in the rear) bit me earlier this week. She had left her half-eaten bowl of food to steal Azul's, and I was dumb enough to try to grab the stolen food and return it to Azul. Normally, however, Athena just bounces and jumps on me demanding attention. She'll gulp her food in about two minutes.
Azul on the other hand pretends I don't exist unless I call her name. Then she lumbers from her cool shaded hiding place, lies down in front of her bowl, and looks at it like the contents are beneath her royal dignity. If I point at the bowel and bark, "Eat, Azul. Eat," then she'll nibble at the contents and eventually clean her bowl.
This is Peanut Butter on one of her sit-down strikes. This sheep must weigh about 300 pounds and if he doesn't want to move, he doesn't. Pushing him when he's standing is about as successful as trying to push a 100-year-old oak. Last week he got his tie-out chain wrapped around his leg and a tree. When I tried to budge him, he just stared at me as if saying, "Who are you to interrupt my morning meditation and remuniations?" I begged. I pleaded. I pushed. He just lay there! Finally I unhooked him from his tether and opted just to get him loose from the tree. Just as I did, he decided it was time for a good back scratching. That I stood between him and the tree didn't concern him in the least! I jumped out of the way just in time. And with lots of pulling and tugging I managed to untangle the chain from around his leg without getting stepped on. I finally got chain and sheep separated, re-attached and the sheep moved to a new pasture spot with only a few minor scratches and with strands of my hair remaining in the branches of the tree.

Dogged for Almost Two Miles

Second 5K at a track meet. I felt intimidated at the last one, my first track event. The runners who participate are fast -- and I am not. Though I have been the first female in my age group at many races, the truth is there is also just not much competition. Fifty-year old Virginian women just don't seem to run the distances that I do.
Nonetheless I determined to be pleased with the last 5K track race pace, even though I came in near the very end. And knowing I'd come in near the end again, refusing to let myself be discouraged by those much faster than me, I set a goal to just finish this run in 90-degree heat while still being able to breathe. At the start the pack took off and soared ahead. I instead quickly set into a moderately comfortable personal pace and let them go.
Now the advantage of running with a pack is that a pack pushes a person to run hard. And I do like that. But I don't mind running solo; I can concentrate better on form that way and end the race less depleted. I am used to competing with myself. Running my own race at my own pace while the crowd runs another is a skill I've honed during 19 races this year. And that's what I thought I'd be doing last night.
But then shortly after the half way point, I had to slow a bit for a couple cars going through an intersection. As I looked over my shoulder for a safe crossing point, I saw Jeff "JC" Campbell just behind me. Now normally I run way ahead of him, so I picked up my pace a bit. For the first time in my racing career, I was neither running to catch up to someone nor running to stay with someone. Instead I was running to stay ahead of someone. Up the hills Jeff gained a bit. Downhill I gained. But he stayed right there, just off my right shoulder dogging me.
At the last down hill I picked it up just a bit more. Still he dogged me, the monkey just off my right shoulder. I could see his red shirt out of the corner of my eye.
I slowed to make the last turn, up a ramp, between two cones, up a knob, and onto the track -- slowing so I didn't lose footing on the uneven terrain. He came closer.
A volunteer yelled, "Stretch it out. Finish strong."
JC just off my shoulder, about ready to pass.
I tried to stay steady, knowing if kicked too soon I'd lose it at the end, and then right at the end he'd soar ahead. That happened to me once when I wasn't paying attention. And I was not going to let it happen again.
"Hang in there," I told myself. "Just a few seconds to the kick point. Save something for the end."
I rounded the second curve on the track and entered the last 100 meter straight away. Focusing on that line, I gave it all I had and crossed the finish line -- just four seconds ahead of Campbell.
I turned to him and gasped, "Thanks for dogging me. I was just cruising till I saw you off my shoulder. You pushed me!"
And he thanked me for pushing him by picking up the pace, and making him work. His time was a full minute faster than his last track 5K. Mine was 10 seconds slower, but a good solid 8:31 pace nonetheless. He's been running more since the last track meet; he said he'd tried to catch me then, but couldn't come close.
That increased effort made him a great competitor last night. But then good competition amongst those with similar athletic ability works that way -- it makes us push just a bit harder to do what we thought we couldn't do. And all the competitors end up stronger because of the effort.
Thanks, JC, for a great 5K!

Track Event - Predicted Mile

I ran my second predicted mile. Even some of my running friends don't know that term, so I'll explain it. You write down the time in which you expect you'll run the mile. When the gun goes off, you take off with no clock and see how close you come to your prediction. This type of race gives the slower runners who knows themselves a chance to win, as the winner is not the fastest runner necessarily, but the one who finishes closest to their predicted time.
Two weeks ago I was 18 seconds off; I had predicted an 8:15 and ran a 7:57. I was the female to come closest to my predicted time. Last night, given the heat (90s), that grass allergens are high and I'm allergic to grass, I predicted an 8 minute mile. I ran a 7:59. People cheered when it was announced that I had been just one second off. I think I was the overall winner.
Earlier this winter I ran a predicted 4 mile, and came very close to predicting that time as well. When I mentioned this to my daughter she said something to the effect, "I'm not surprised, Mom. You log and time everything, every last detail. So you WOULD know."
And I thank Coach Ayers of Houghton, New York, for teaching me that discipline. He taught me to log details: weather, food eaten, time of day, splits, distance, times and pace per mile. And studying those details DOES, after nearly five years of running, give me a pretty good idea of what's going on. Once in a while, he said, you'll do poorly and not be able to figure out why. You just have a bad day. But most of the time, logging the details will reveal patterns and help you understand the factors that most influence your own pace.
And who knows? Keep the logs long enough and study them carefully. Then enter a "predict -your-time" race, and you may be a winner, too.

Another Day of Rest -- Blue Hole & Lost River

After an easy 27:33 minute 3 mile run, adventure and nature called. This is Blue Hole just short of Bergton, VA, a popular diving spot. (Take Route 259/Brocks Gap and follow the sign to Bergton; and then take a left just past the bridge onto Blue Hole Road). Most of the water here is very shallow, but there's a rope, barely visible near the spot where the slate layers angle down. And in that spot there's a very narrow hole deep enough for diving. The water is also frigid, so I didn't try. My feet got damp when traipsing along the stepping stones, and that was enough cold water for me.
Lost River State Park is a great place to get lost. The map is so detailed it's confusing, and the staff didn't have any idea where the trails were, nor had they hiked them. After several false starts and short (15 minutes) trails that wound up back on roads, we found a serpentine trail switchbacking up the side of the mountain. East Ridge Trail leads to a stunning ridge, but thunder in the distance prompted a detour on to Razor Ridge and back down to the parking lot. Nonetheless I did find this stunning view of dogwoods near the top. And so I ended this hike with another item on my action list: go back to Lost River and hike all the way to the top of the ridge.

Pyramids

I had told my virtual running buddy a week or two ago that I was "plumb tuckered out." After that my exhaustion level got worse with the heat and with the extra cycling and pool workouts. I remember going to bed last Wednesday bone tired, meaning every bone in my body hurt. And it hurt so much it was hard to get to sleep.
I thought about taking an ibuprofin, but decided to hold off and see if the aches would subside on their own. Anna Maria and I stretched together (I was sleeping at her house as she had an early Thursday morning meeting and needed a babysitter since her husband was away.) That helped some, enough that I finally fell asleep. But Saturday's slow 5K convinced me that I desperately needed some recovery time.
And that's what this week has been for the most part. I've taken naps, gone to bed early and awakened late. Today I actually looked forward to this morning's run, and was ready for an interval workout I haven't done for a long time. I call it a "pyramid" -- 200 meters, 400 meters, 600 meters and then 800 meters on the track. I can't figure out how to time intervals on my watch, so I timed the repeats and then, instead of timing the intervals, I walked 100 meters. between the intervals.
My goal was an 8 minute pace, since I'd run the 7:57 mile last week. The rest must have helped, as I averaged a 7:33 mile pace. At that rate, I might be able to pull a 7:55 mile at next week's track workout.
Incidentally, the burns are healing well. I popped the two biggest blisters. That took the pressure off and now they feel fine.

Recovery Run . . .

Made myself run 3 miles on the track Sunday afternoon, and demanded that the sandbags that have replaced my legs get a move on and do at least a 10-minute-mile pace. After the 8th lap, I gulped some water and tossed some more down my back. Even so I still managed 29:34, or a 9:55 pace. At 8:30 I hit the sack and actually slept!
At 3:45 a.m. Monday morning I was up and, by 4:15 a.m., out the door for a trip to Reagan National Airport. I had agreed to help caravan 10 Mennonite students and their co-leaders so they could catch a flight to Newfoundland. I took a one-hour nap in the afternoon and woke up still exhausted.
Supper didn't look good last night, but I knew I should make myself eat. As I pulled the lid off a chicken dish, the lid slipped and steam burned all four fingers on my right hand. It looks like I'll have two or three blisters, at least those places are more gray. Three fingers are burned down to the second knuckle. As I watched a movie about Steve Prefontaine and his ability to handle pain, I felt like a big sissy. Tears streamed down my face in spite of my hand being wrapped in an ice-encased cloth. Finally after two hours I went to the drugstore; the pharmacist suggested Bactine, but I couldn't keep my hand uncovered long enough to give the Bactine a chance to work. So I stuck my hand in a bowl of ice water. When that reached warm temperature, I tried the Bactine again. I could stand the pain by then, and then around 10:30 p.m., when the movie ended, I decided I might even be able to sleep. When I bumped it on the blankets, I'd awaken but otherwise it was okay.
Though running primarily involves the legs, runners still pump their arms. So I wondered how much that movement would hurt. I settled on a goal: see how I felt at the 3-mile-turn-around and go from there. My running buddy is still limited to cycling because of his calf pull, so he carried my water bottle on his bike and we took off. As I slogged along I realized that I am mostly just plain tired -- I ran 90 miles in May (a personal record), and 18 races so far this year. And I've added cycling and pool running to my exercise mix.
So I altered my goal a bit, opting just to run for fun, to see if I could remember how to do that. And at the 3-mile-turn-around point, with a breeze in my face, cooler temperatures and some shade from the trees, I opted to just keep going. . .
I was aware of my hand; it hurt when I pumped my arms, but it was bearable. I walked one hill, stopped three times to chug water and still managed a +5 mile run at 51:36. And that's my fastest time for this course.

Meltin' in Montevideo

A dozen of us raced a 5K in Montevideo Saturday morning in memory of Don Glick, who coached at that high school for more than 30 years. Under his coaching, the team won five state championships in track and field. We began this race by running around "his" track, up onto a road that turned to dirt, up some hills, back to the track and back around it again.
It was hot! The oppressive air shoved down on my head till I could barely lift my feet, and every breath felt like sucking water. At the turn-around, I gulped one glass of water and dumped the other down my back, but it didn't seem to help much.
Here, at the start, I'm in front with my running buddy Susan Dendinger immediately behind and George Gillies (far right). Susan's been walking a lot of races because of a hamstring injury. This is the first race we've run together where she could actually run, and she ran an impressive 27:08. George ran a 26:12.
Whew! I made it. I came in at 28:32, 12th place. That's my slowest 5K since April 26, but it was also my 2d 5K last week. That, plus the heat, probably accounts for the slower pace. As my granddaughter often says, "Grammie, you can't win all the time. It isn't fair. Sometimes you need to let someone else win."

--Photos by Butch Proctor, who unfortunately couldn't run because of a calf muscle pull. But he could take pics!