Getting the itch back

Read a quote in a book I just got called Duel in the Sun, "No one made a cent from their strenuous efforts. The running life, like the spiritual life, was it's own reward." 

Ran 6.5 miles yesterday. Gray, overcast day. Cooler, in the 60s. Sometimes the dull beauty of such days is striking, especially as I ran thru the woods in the state park. The greyness stretches to all sides of the horizon; there is no hole to escape thru into the sunshine. So you embrace, and learn to appreciate. The moisture from the past few day's rains lingers in the air and on the leaves and branches. The aesthetics envelope me...I could seemingly run on forever.

Talking about upcoming races this fall with Brandon at work. He ran some fartleks Monday. I start to think about 400s and threshold runs... and lining up for autumn 5ks.

The legs are coming back around again after their epic 50 mile jaunt at Iron Mountain. I wear the t-shirt with pride. But I'm ready for what's next. Ready to get back at it full bore and with abandon. Ready for new challenges and new goals. Ready to learn more about myself and the world around me.

Iron Mountain part II

Saturday August 30th, 2014
Iron Mountain 50 miler
Damascus, VA

We drove most of the day Friday from the Wilmington, NC area and got into Abingdon in the late afternoon, checked into our hotel and then went to Cracker Barrel for a pre race meal. I had the lemon trout, which I hoped to be some sort of good luck food since trout are very abundant in the streams and rivers of my home state Pennsylvania. I salted my vegetables heavy, following the advice of an ultra running friend Stephanie from the day before. After our country style feast Aren and I drove to Damascus to pick up all of our packets (I got us a bit lost on back roads... he joked at one point it was like being in some kind of amity horror flick as it got dark and started to rain... while we wound around country roads passing old barns and abandoned buildings).

Next morning we rolled out a little before six a.m.and descended into the darkness back down to Damascus. None of us slept that much. But once we parked the car at the town park and got out in the fresh, cool and dewy air, any tiredness was supplanted by anticipation and adrenaline for the mammoth task at hand. After bathroom stops and a few quick pictures it was time to check in and attend the 50 mile pre race briefing. (they, Aren and Natasha were running the 30). I doubled and tripled checked the laces on my shoes, found a quieter spot and said a short prayer, and we were off and running at precisely 7am.

The first few miles heading out of Damascus and onto the Virginia Creeper Trail afford the opportunity to sort of wake up the legs, shake off any rust, and also stretch the out field of about 75 runners. It is a wider, fairly flat trail.  I wore a cheap wristwatch that was set to clock time, and didn't worry too much about pace. Mostly I tried to settle in and get comfortable while enjoying the scenery, especially on the several wooden bridges that cross over a small river. Quite picturesque, and a welcome distraction.

At the Straight Branch  aid station about 5 miles in, there was I'm guessing a high school cross country team that wished us runners well as we passed through and crossed a road to get onto the Beech Grove Trail. Which is a single track trail that climbs up a mountain side to intersect with the Iron Mountain Trail. This trail like most on the course can be quite rocky and root strewn, so footing is always at a premium and concentration can never waver much. I fell in with some other runners and we alternated walking the steeper sections with running the parts of the trail that weren't so vertical. At one point the sun had  crested up and over an adjacent ridge line as visible thru the trees...and I remarked that it looked as if we were running straight into the dawn. A beautiful site to behold.

I had decided before the race the best approach mentally to running my first 50 miler was to break it down into several shorter runs from aid station to aid station. In my back pocket was a piece of paper with all the aid stations written down with their distances, and the cut off times runners had to be thru in order to not be pulled from the course. Based on the pace needed to finish in 12 hours or less. (I also wrote down some directions and an inspirational William Blake quote Scott Jurek uses, as well a trail running mantra used by Caballo Blanco in Born to Run "Easy, Light, Smooth, Fast")

I rolled into the FSR 90 aid station well ahead of schedule and feeling pretty good. Recalling the advice of my friend Michael to "eat eat eat," I ate a few small pbj sandwiches, drank some gatoraide, and had my 12oz water bottle filled by one of the many supportive and attentive volunteers on course. I pulled out my paper to confirm the next aid station was at Skulls Gap in 7 miles (mile 16) and headed back out onto the trails. Run to the next aid station, that's all, I told myself.

The next 7 miles were a lot of rolling single track thru dense woods. The sun was out and it started to warm up even under cover of the trees, and it would continue to get fairly warm throughout the day (into the 80s). I felt pretty good and on sections of flat trail and downhill my pace felt fairly frisky (perhaps a little too much as evidenced by my struggles later on in the day). Nonetheless I was enjoying myself and had really settled into the whole adventure aspect of it, and ended up coming into the Hurricane Gap aid station at mile 22 in a little over 4 hours, or a few minutes past 11am. Here I again ate some mini sandwiches, turkey and cheese, and also grabbed some nuts and made a baggie of trail mix that the young girls there suggested for me (including gummy bears as one of them told me I should have). ((( as an aside their enthusiasm was infectious and made me feel like some kind of running rock star both times I approached and heard their screams cascading thru the woods ))).

After leaving out I walked maybe a mile or so up a steeper fire service road until it crested, and I then ran again fairly fast down the back side until the course took a left turn and back onto single track. I estimated at some point I was half way done which pleased me; I was still feeling pretty good and foolishly (hindsight being 20-20) started thinking about what kind of time I could finish in (was low 9s now possible??).

But in the back half of the race the hills and climbs became much, much more arduous, and I started to get a taste of why this race is considered such a tough 50 miler ultra to finish. Over the next several miles my thought process shifted to lets just try and finish this thing... and not worry so much about time. I chided myself for my earlier bouts of naivety and perhaps foolishness pace wise in lieu of the total scope of the ultra. And really now internalizing that I was just running to the next aid station, nothing more, nothing less. The next aid stop was Rowland Creek Falls at mile 29.

Whereupon in addition to the usual fare of drinks and snacks (I was also drinking Mountain Dew, Coke, and Gatorade in addition to having my water bottle filled with water at stops) I was given a freeze pop. Perhaps by triggering some subconscious childhood memories, this freeze pop really buoyed my spirits as I plummeted back into the woods, and onto more uphill trail. The next section of single track trail I alternated running and walking. We crossed several shallow streams  the next few miles and hit some thick muddy type bogs that nearly sucked my shoes right off my feet. In one of the streams I paused to clean off my shoes to remove the weight of the mud.

It was only 3 miles to the next aid station, Hurricane Gap again, which thankfully went by fairly quick. However once leaving, the course started on a fire service road that wound seemingly forever up, up, and up to the highest points in elevation of the race. I walked almost all of this, in retrospect perhaps I should have run some... I don't know. I do know again this is where my thoughts shifted to more along the lines of lets just finish this and not worry about time per se, and also into a darker realm of can I actually finish this thing?... especially again later as I got to around the 40 mile mark.

But I was able to get back to running and once I would be running again my spirits would pick back up.  I'd get a little mojo back and perhaps even a small smile flashed across by fatigued face. I felt ok as I crossed a road and pulled up into the Skulls Gap aid station at mile 37. By now too the warmth of the day was taking a bit more of  a toll. I dumped water on my head and upper back which brought some temporary relief.  It always felt good to chat with the "sober minded" volunteers as well who can provide a good sense of feedback as to how I was holding up. Someone asked me if I wanted to sit down but I told them I may not get back up if I did so.

The next stretch to the FSR 90 aid station at mile 43 by far was the hardest for me, especially mentally. I had to really fight at times thoughts of wanting to give in, or just sit down trailside for a bit. Instinctively though I seemed to know that stopping, or sitting down would ultimately prove to be a poor decision... hence I would try as best as I could to arrest any negative thoughts while telling myself over and over to just keep moving forward, no matter how slow it may be. A couple of runners caught up to me and we ran/ walked together for awhile, and at one point sort of half panicked that we had gotten off course since we hadn't seen any pink streamers in a bit (I'm sure our perceptions were skewed as well...overall the course was very well marked.) And it also seemed like it was taking forever to get to the next aid station.

What a relief then it was to finally make it to that last aid station. I felt like once I made it there (and still had over 3 hours left per the cutoff) that I was going to actually finish the freakin' thing. I recalled from running the 30 mile race last year that there was still some work to be done, but also that there was a longer downhill section (albeit very technical due to rocks and the steep down grade).  And the last mile or so was flat in town back to the finish line. There were sponges in ice water that I and some of my fellow competitors used on the back of our heads and necks at FSR 90 that were a godsend. I wasn't eating that much by now; mainly just consuming fluids which would taste like heaven going down my throat.

Again I alternated walking all the uphill sections of single track and running the downhill ones, concentrating even more intently on every step. Miraculously I did not fall once in 50 miles, just tripped a few times. I stopped and chugged blue and red Gatorade at the last unmanned/ unofficial aid station, and kind of rejoiced almost religious like that these bottles were stashed here again (I kept looking for them for about a mile or two before I actually got to where they were. Several times I thought there was a small clearing up ahead, which from memory I knew where this "stop" would be located. Only to be disappointed once again that I was wrong, and it was just another small opening in the woods).

The final downhill section went by almost dream-like as I hopped and danced as best as I could on beat up legs from rock to trail to rock to root to trail. The wide trail crossed a few more streams nearer to the bottom. And at last I could see a road up ahead thru an opening in the forest. Down a hill and across two roads and back onto the Creeper trail, across two bridges, and I was once again running across the grassy field in the park and back to the start/ finish line ten and a half hours later. The applause of those who had already finished and / or were cheering for and supporting all of us out there was truly music to my ears, and made me almost weep with joy. I had done it. And it was one of the best feelings of accomplishment I've ever had in thirty years of running.

Hope to be back next year. Blessings to all,
Greg Zinner

Photo from Mary Shannon Johnstone
 

Iron Mountain part I

Paul, Natasha, and me
 

I just wanted to sit down along side of the trail and weep. Well not really cry... I wasn't sad or anything. And I'm not sure my body could have even produced any tears. Maybe I wanted to feel sorry for myself. Or give in. "These hills will never end!" my mind would scream. I kept telling it to shut up. Literally out loud I'd repeat "shut up mind".  You will have your say later but right now you are an impediment to the task at hand. I need my body and spirit to be unfettered by this negativity.

But I could cry tears of joy now when I think of all the wonderful, wonderful people who spent hours and hours of their day at the numerous aid stations on the course. God Bless you all. Especially the group of young girls I passed by twice who yelled and screamed and cheered like mad whenever one of us fatigued, thirsty, nauseous, battle weary runners approached thru the dense forest. When I started cramping bad later in that little dreamy mountain top meadow I ate some of the trail mix you helped me to make and as if by divine magic the pain backed off and I could run again...

I kept looking for nymphs and flute boys up ahead on the trails... (which secretly amused me)

For the young man puking his guts out in the middle of the woods I hope you made it back in one piece...

It can be a cruel sport. Minutes later I ate some more food stashed in a pocket and sipped on water as I could still hear his remonstrances back down the nettlesome trail. I never found that 2nd salt tablet in any of my three pockets. Despite looking several times. But am grateful for the one I did swallow. And for the best freeze pop I've ever had in my life.

I briefly feared being attacked by a swarm of bees somewhere along the never ending climb up a fire service road 30 some miles in. Never saw a bee but I sure heard them back up the mountain. One big strange, buzzing drone.

I'd like to remember how I thought about oh so many people I'm blessed to know in this world of ours... but truth be told I really didn't much during the race. Mostly I concentrated on the next step. Or when the trail was less rocky, rooty, and down right rugged I worked out math equations in my head... time elapsed and distance to the next aid station... in conjunction with the time to beat the cutoff to finish. Or shared encouraging exchanges with fellow runners I met on the course (and oh the joy when the foursome of us finally got to the FS 90 aid station at mile 43).  But you were all with me in my heart. This is the type of journey one cannot do alone.

Maybe the most valuable lesson learned out there was delivered by a voice deep inside of me that kept whispering "keep moving forward."  Even if its just inches at a time.

Fans of mine at Cedar Cove



Visions, dreams

Short hill repeats on Sugar Loaf Hill last week in the near suffocating heat and humidity. I think so this is how it is in the jungles of southeastern Asia?  Its almost hard to catch my breath after I crest the sandy hill each time and gaze out at the mouth of the Cape Fear River, forever nonplussed by any of this. My heart races bam bam bam bam bam bam bam as I turn to head back down. Today taking the narrow steeper stretch of hill fairly fast to get a bit of a feel for how I may run some parts of the terrain at Iron Mountain.

I catch site of yet another lizard that scurries like a hallucinated flash across the trail and think "the lizards are getting fat."  This amuses me, and makes me feel a bit more at peace with my surroundings. I always feel more of a communion with the animals and to some extent the vegetation when I'm running in adverse conditions such as heat, rain, snow, etc. The line that separates us becomes a bit more blurred. Life and death are essentially the same for them as it is for myself.

An easier run Sunday as the calendar tells me its less than a week until the big race. I mix in some sprints on the way back. Get in some pushups and weights later in the day. Natasha texts me that night  "what if I don't finish?"  I respond something to the extent that don't worry we will... but she reminds me of a friend, a good ultra runner who didn't finish 2 years ago. Which puts my ego a bit in check and gives me a moment of pause. Though I'd rather not think along those lines at all and instead occupy my mind with visions of running thru deep, dark woods on top of the ancient, rocky Appalachian Mountains... feeling perhaps a cool breeze tingle my skin as the late summer afternoon passes by like an ephemeral dream I had a thousand years ago...as I move forward like a flying ghost unbound by the 3d world.

Finished reading Dharma Bums again. Scenes of the boys hiking the magnificent golden, gnarly trails out west.

Me trying to get the spirituality as right as I can going into the event. Hoping the physical and mental parts have been honed and are ready for action. Storing up energy. Waiting for it all to uncoil like one mad spring let loose to wail on and on...up, down, and across the unforgiving, rugged miles and miles and miles

Rumbles in the belly. Starlit visions. Purple dawns await.

11 days

Until the Iron Mountain 50 mile trail race. Looking at elevation profile maps and aid station lists on their website. Cut off times. Names that conjure a mythical, dark romantic lore about them... Skull's Gap... Hurricane Gap...Rowland Creek Falls.  Making hotel reservations and travel plans. Thinking about what I might put in my drop bag. Counting down the days.

Getting in a few more harder threshold runs. 5 on Sunday in 36 minutes and 10 on Sunday in a buck sixteen in oppressive heat and humidity down in Brunswick County. Ancillary work almost daily. Pushups, free weight. Sit ups, planks. Lunges.

Telling myself to finish the deal.

Tapering. Easy 4 mile run today. On the inner island dirt roads... somewhat overgrown late summer look of higher grass and overgrown weeds. Brief recollections of harder runs done here much earlier in the year. Today...smelling the roses. Soaking it in. Enjoying the act of running in its most basic simplicity. Being outdoors. Healthy (though I'm slightly concerned about some low level pain on the outside/ bottom of right foot- initially bruised on a rocky trail way up the Blue Mtn in PA).

Eating a lot. Fresh fruits. Reminding myself to get pistachios like Michael suggested. Conversations with those who wish me well.

Trying to silence any doubts. Enjoying the journey.

Sickness, the Sun and Dragonflies

The liner notes to Jane's Addiction's album Ritual de lo Habitual contain a sentence that some 20 years later I have never forgotten. "Sometimes in order to realize you are well, someone or something has to come along and hurt you."  A quick invading stomach bug was the something that hurt me Tuesday... perhaps brought on by the exhaustion of running and travelling the past 2 weeks.

But later in the evening I was feeling a little better and was able to hold down solid food. Went over to the beach for a little bit and on the walk back home was captivated by the massive orange fuzzy ball of the sun setting to the west. My first thought was I have to go for a run

Just a short run, but a run nonetheless. Again captivated or almost mesmerized by the magnitude of this enormous orange circle that was kind of fuzzed over at the edges as seen thru the late day haze...slowly dropping into the tree tops and woods on the back side of the island.

And as I would move into vantage points that would obstruct more of the sun I noticed countless dragonflies filling the skies. They appeared to have come out of nowhere and were flying haphazardly all about. Fortunately they seemed to have no interest in humans. Maybe all the rain this summer has brought them all out?  Nonetheless it was such a curious and mystical site to see... and to be running through.

Run lasted 20 minutes and in that time space the sun safely slid below the tree lined horizon to the west. Was some of the best 20 minutes of running I've had in good while.

home in Pennsylvania

I told some guests I was sitting with at a party yesterday that I had run from Franklin Township to Nesquehoning and back (about a 30 mile round trip). Get a kick out of the incredulous looks, and answering the inevitable follow up questions like "how?", "why?", "are you nuts?"

Back home running last week in Pennsylvania. Running with ghosts from my past. Old courses I (we) ran during high school cross country and track practices. Or along routes I did when I lived back home after college and got back into running a lot. At times I can feel them loping along side of me. I can hear whispering lilting melodies that ride the gentle breezes. Its like time can condense and fold back in on itself creating a quasi duality where the present and the past are fused as one.

Got to the end of Born to Run again last night where the protagonist known as Caballo Blanco tells a spellbound audience just who exactly he is and perhaps why he does what he does. I got it, and get it today. All the running. But I cant really explain it or synthesize it into words. Suffice it to say this is where we need to be.

It was Emerson I think who said he "never trusted a sedentary thought."

Ukes run last Tuesday night with Paul. He was talking at the time so I had to cut him off and ask for a moment of silence as we passed Kathy Jo's old house. I tear up just thinking about. I'm not sure why. But its times like that I hope we truly can communicate with the deceased on some medium. Its dark til we get done. Saturday we do a similar run with his 12 year old son Alex. He guts out a 6 mile run admirably. Big hills. I make shadow puppets behind his head as we run.

Found trails the one morning that snake up and around the Blue Mountain. Single track, steep, rocky in places. I have to really pay attention to the red trail markings on trees and rocks on the upper trail as to not get lost. I think about ducks in Dharma Bums...Gary Snyder explaining to Jack Kerouac how fellow climbers use them to mark the easiest paths to take over rocks. I'm pretty thirsty on the way down as I open it up and fly like an animal on parts of the trails. Stop and drink with cupped hands out of a spring in the woods.

I come upon clearings in the trees and am blessed with 20,30+ mile views northward back beyond Jim Thorpe and into the Poconos, and southward down and across the Lehigh Valley. I think about all the times I looked at this mountain as a kid (could even see from the living room window of my old house) and how now I was almost on top of it. Running. For a moment I wished I had a camera... but perhaps views like this are only to be seen by climbing on up oneself. Purity.

Capped it Sunday with another run on the towpath to complete my first ever 100 mile week.