Tiptoeing around the seasonal bend

Fall in New England is spectacular: running on trails of bright yellow leaves and vivid orange pine needles. Rounding a bend on a trail to find a tree on fire ahead — wait, that’s just Mother Nature messing with you, it’s another amazing tree turning color. Pretty soon, you’ve run an hour and barely noticed because the beauty of your surroundings is so distracting.

Sometimes I forget how beautiful fall can be here

Mother Nature is not subtle

view from my desk

Hitting the trails is fantastic this time of year of course, except that the leaves can disguise rocks and stuff, making it a little exciting. I went back to some of the trails I used to ride a lot in Rocky Woods a few weeks ago and had one of those sudden “oh crap!” moments on a fast downhill that was littered with loose rocks under the leaves. Rocks in Rocky Woods, who’d’a guessed?

But those obscured obstacles are of particular concern this fall. I hadn’t been to one of my favorite haunts in months (well, yeah, we’ve been traveling but) because I was injured last time I ran there. Fortunately it was summer, in the afternoon, and the sprain didn’t necessitate calling in a rescue ‘copter. Limping back to my car sucked, but not nearly as much as staying off that foot did — no running at all — for more than a month. I’d only been injured once, about a decade ago, and it’s a sobering experience. Made me feel like Time was tapping me on the shoulder.

Running is a great way to clear my mind, as long as that euphoria doesn’t backfire on me. I went for a little jog around Halfway Pond one weekend, enjoying the solitude of a football Sunday (which only elevates the superior feeling of not sitting in front of a TV stuffing my face) and –oops– I only had about 45 minutes of daylight left — right about the time I realized that euphoria-induced ADD got me  lost on trails on the back side of the pond. But I refuse to believe it’s possible to get too much of a good thing, so I just ran a little faster. God, it was beautiful. How soon can I go back?

Halfway Pond solitude

Lost meant I had to run this particular stretch about 3 times before I figured out what I was doing wrong

The end of a long relationship

It’s over. Sorry Saucony, but I just can’t do it anymore. My feet belong to Patagonia. At least for now.

It wasn’t an easy decision. I didn’t do this on a whim. I’ve owned and worn more running shoes than you’d believe. But I’ve finally had to break ties with an old favorite, and this is why:

Saucony just doesn’t hold up anymore. The integrity of their construction is poor, in my opinion, particularly when compared with the Patagonias I’ve had since spring. There are major differences between the two, but for now Patagonia has my heart laced up.

Years ago, I’d take the Green Line to Lechmere and walk a long way down Cambridge Street  to get to the Saucony outlet store. That was, like, 1985, proof that I’ve worn a few pair of Saucony. There were others, too: for a while, Nike was my brand but the shape of the footbox has not been consistent. And I flirted with Reebok, but whatever happened to that brand? And there was a period of Adidas as well, I trained for and ran the marathon in them. Despite those experiences I always seemed to gravitate toward Saucony because they consistently fit my foot. But there’s more to the equation than that.

Last year at this time I was having massive foot problems. I was up at night with pain and developed awful blisters on high-mileage days. I worried that I was headed toward horrible invasive surgery like my sister had, when the doctor broke all of her foot bones and ran wires through her feet to straighten the bones as they healed. In fact, I had been running quite a bit and the Saucony sneakers I was wearing were breaking down faster than anticipated, causing the pain (or perhaps they just didn’t offer enough stability to begin with). At the time I owned three pair of Saucony that I was loathe to part with.

breaking up is hard to do

You’ve heard of the “devil you know” situation.

The foot pain wasn’t enough to stop  me from buying more Sauconys! I found a pair of trail shoes that, like their predecessors, I was in love with at the beginning. They fit well, had the right amount of flex and great treads. I put a bunch of trail miles on them this summer.

At the same time, I got a pair of Patagonia Tsalis inexpensively and decided to try them out, alternating between the two. The Patagonias also fit my foot well. They don’t have the same flex and I don’t like the tread as much but wow, have they held up! There’s almost no comparison: the Patagonias are not breaking down like the Sauconys, they still offer plenty of support and stability. And my feet don’t hurt when I wear them.

Ultimately, I’d love running shoes that blend the attributes of the two pair I have now, and I will continue to watch for them. But I won’t spend my hard-earned money on those that don’t hold up and may be damaging my feet. In fact, I’ve just ordered another pair of Patagonias. I’m really doing it this time. Goodbye Saucony.

I got a gearache

Where the hell is the snow? It’s January, and as much as I love my bikes, I miss my skis. When I’m out running or riding the trails, I find myself daydreaming about moving through snowy woods in a different, more graceful way. Getting out for hours, pushing through untouched powder and enjoying the snow’s blanketing silence refreshes the soul. But those skis are sitting high and dry this year.

Still, biking on 40 degree days in winter is nothing a New Englander dare complain about. We know worse. In other years, we’ve prayed for 40 degree days in April so we can break the bike out of the garage for the first ride of the year. In other winters, we wouldn’t be out running in a single layer of Techwick in January. Right now, it’s different: I’d love to retire the bikes and running shoes for a while.

When I’m able to set my bike aside for a few months of skiing, it’s like new when I go back to it. Sadly, it’s difficult to get excited about either of them these days. Familiarity breeds contempt: I chuckled at the irony of using a battleship chain-like Kryptonite cable to lock my 20-plus-year-old Cannondale up at the trailhead while I ran today. I could probably leave the bike leaned against a tree and nobody in this town would look twice at it, I thought. As much fun as they are, my bikes are best described as “classics” — more than a little dated, and showing some wear.

can't be too careful with this gem

My Giant has been a war horse on the trails for months longer than it really should without a tune-up. When is there time? It’s on the rack and back out for heavy use again and again, now with mismatched tires (I am not a purist) and other semi-malfunctioning-but-not-quite-broken components. In past years it was fun to bust it out midwinter to try riding on the snow (mixed success and some spectacular spills). This year, after adding so many more weeks to the usual riding season — as much as I love it — it’s beginning to feel a little like work.

January in New England shouldn't look like this.

I don’t mind the shoveling. A few days of snow might be enough to quench this need. Without snow, I don’t know what I may do. God help me, I could become a climber.

A cynical take on a sweet sentiment

Orange just isn’t my color. It makes my skin look sallow. Ask any beautician. So why am I wearing an enormous blaze orange vest and equally ugly hat — with a Bass Pro logo no less — but didn’t get the free beer belly that I thought would come with it?

Same reason I now own a ski helmet, the first in my life. Because a guy is insisting on it.

It’s interesting, this dynamic: men who can’t or don’t want to be out on the trails with me but impose their presence in other ways, on when I go, what I wear, and especially, what I carry.

Sure, it’s hunting season, but the latest guy, a bonafide outdoorsman by anyone’s standards, insists I have a pack full of safety equipment with me anytime I’m out of sight of my house: the phone, car keys, blaze orange outfit, and even pepper spray. What am I gonna do, lie to him? Well, maybe. If I have to.

The last guy’s idea of getting close to nature was putting his elbows on a bar. Thank God his obsession with getting me an impact-activated rescue beacon for mountain biking was never realized. I’m sure I would have made front page news for a multi-town rescue for a simple handlebar stand that way. Come on, guys, when my mom’s known my outdoor antics forever and is only concerned that I wear a mouth guard to protect her 30-year-old investment in my front teeth, doesn’t that tell you something? You just can’t live life encased in bubblewrap.

is it the color or the control that isn't sitting well with me?

The safety sentiment is sweet on the surface, yet getting out on the trails to run or ride loosens my ties to daily life, recharging my batteries. The lighter the gear, the faster I go and the better I feel. To him it means that I’m in danger. He wants to pile on safety devices, to be able to call anytime and get an answer. I want to ignore my phone and tell him (again) that I’ve been doing this all my life and somehow never got seriously hurt, stuck or attacked by wild animals. I’ve done nothing to support this assumption that I’m a danger to myself: the last time I stayed too long in the woods I did have a headlamp. (But I also loved the trails in the dark, information that would probably elicit howls of objection if he knew.)

He has been charged by a moose and bolted when he disturbed a sleeping bear. But God forbid I go for a trail run in the middle of the afternoon. It didn’t help that I dumped my bike on a trail right in front of him last weekend. Think I should’ve ridden like somebody’s grandma so he wouldn’t spend time worrying? I think that would be the same as lying.

The situation prompted an interesting philosophical exchange with the OutdoorNinja. He wears a helmet when he skis and climbs, he says, and the scars on the helmets are proof they’re necessary gear. Yet he refuses to carry his phone when he bikes.

Subconsciously, doesn’t carrying or wearing all this safety crap prompt you to take risks that you otherwise would not? Doesn’t its very presence impede on your enjoyment of the freedom you seek, I wondered. The Ninja and I agreed on principle that risky behavior could result if one felt protected by gear or the ability to phone in a rescue ‘copter. Ergo, I could argue that self-preservation is justification for prevaricating to those who worry about me. I’m just not sure if that would be good for the ongoing relationship. Hmm.

Then this came in while I was writing: “I see hunter’s trucks along the road so just go road biking the next couple weeks …” That means the blaze orange fashion statement is no longer enough. Where will it end? Sigh.

There has to be a happy medium somewhere. I’ll wear the orange, OK, but don’t call me, I’ll call you. And, about the helmet: Dude#1, did you ever pay attention? I cross country ski. Duh.

Lost is a state of mind

When I told a friend of mine I’d seen two barred owls on my last trail run, he declared it was an omen, and a good one. But then I admitted that it had been the same owl twice because I was “lost” and had run in a big loop. He was puzzled, as I’m sure the owl was, too. Nobody understands my definition of lost. I’ve been honing it on bike rides and trail runs for years, and hope to continue getting lost a lot more in the future.

Lost is exactly where I love to be.

whoooo knows where the hell I was?

It was a chilly, damp afternoon when I started off. Quiet. Perfect mid-week trail running conditions. And best of all, I didn’t have a schedule to keep. Nobody was going to be waiting for me, I had a good two hours of daylight, and I didn’t see another soul in F. Gilbert Hills state forest.

Loose rocks on the main fire road prompted me to divert to a path I’d mountain biked recently: up a steep hill, around a tree, rock hopped a bit, then, oops, a trail sign?

I was carrying a map but had only a vague sense of where I was going. The radio tower was somewhere up that way and I could sort of hear Route 1 in the distance. The signs prompted me to take a bearing on the map just for the heck of it. That’s when I saw the owl, swooping away from me. If the path had been less narrow or rocky I might have had time to grab a photo on my phone. Missed it, damn. So I  sort of memorized the next couple turns in my vague, meandering route, and set off again.

Of course there were more side-trails (unmarked) than expected, or I wasn’t paying attention, or something — but I ended up on what looks like the top of a cool granite quarry. Hmm, I thought I’d been all over these woods in the last few years and hadn’t run across it before. That’s one of the things I like most about being lost: you never know what you’ll find.

tripping over something like a quarry is a benefit of being lost

Back to the trail and around and about and — wow, another owl! Again, I grabbed my phone and turned on the camera. But again I was thwarted when it swooped further away. How lucky could I be, I thought, seeing two owls in an afternoon? Cool.

Then I turned around and saw the same trail signs again. Oh, okay. It dawned on me that I’d done a nice unintentional loop, so that wasn’t the first owl’s twin. I didn’t care, I just wanted to keep running. I love the trails for the variety of terrain that challenge my ADD and my muscles: mincing steps for loose rocks, then carefully planning and planting my feet on granite heads, dancing around the edge a mudhole or turning on the power for steep stuff. Road running just doesn’t do it for me anymore.

Everyone has to get unlost eventually, and this is where I always get in a little bit of a bind. It was well after 5, darkness approaching, and I was … well, I really have no idea where I was. I hadn’t tried to follow the map, especially after the owl fiasco, so that wasn’t much help.  There were no trail signs nearby. You’d think I’d recognize a few features (like, say, the numbered water holes?) after all of the times I’ve been in those woods, but I’m usually there for good reason, lost in thought and just not paying attention to anything but not tripping.

a landmark I should recognize but .. don't.

There’s a process to getting unlost too: I start to watch for trail signs more, and make an effort to head in the general direction of the ranger station. That doesn’t mean I move in a straight line, or hurry. In fact, it’s a part of my trail running that I enjoy most because I start to consciously appreciate the scenery, knowing I only have a little while more to enjoy it before my exit.

That afternoon I followed an arrow that pointed toward the ranger station, but soon saw another sign that said I was on Loop A. Perfect, I thought, maybe that means I’m  stuck out here a little longer.