Winter on the Way

On my drive to town two weekends ago I took these photos of the marsh that I drive past. Every morning, as the fog lifts, I peer along the waters edges in search of moose grazing. So far my sightings are null but my hope remains the same. One day I will spot a moose just as I did in Alberta, when I was growing up.







The tree photos were taken at a local town park 10 miles from our house. On my way to visit Dave at work, I had a bit of extra time to stop at the park and take a look around. I found a loop path and decided to take a stroll.

As I looped around the park trail, coming out of the woods, Mt. Mansfield came into view, drawing my gaze to its rocky ridge. I knew that tons of people were hiking on the trail known as Sunset Ridge. Not long ago, I drove to that particular trailhead hoping to run a loop up the ridge, across the mountain, and back down. That had to wait though: cars were backed up down the gravel road and people were thick, mingling at their cars, lacing up their hiking boots, packing their backpacks with water and snacks. Some simply had cameras slung around their necks and thin coats tied to their waists. I was not about to join this crowd--too many people for me!--so I drove south to the Nebraska Notch trail and ran south on the Long Trail, away from the hordes.

Nebraska Notch Trail: A trail on the southern end of Mansfield that leads toward the mountain but offers a southern route to Taylor Lodge and Mansfield Lake or futher south to Mt. Mayo and Bolton mountain. Yesterday, Dave and I decided to check out Taylor Lodge. It was a gusty, rainy day: roughly translated as No People on the Trail Today.

We arrived at the trailhead to a nearly empty parking lot. I was overjoyed, considering that the last time I came here the parking lot was full. We parked and I hopped out and walked to the kiosk to check out the map, comparing it with my map. As I came back to the car I heard a whack, like someone had thrown a tennis ball at the car. Dave and I looked up and saw that we had parked under an apple tree. "I'll move the car," he said.

As walked into the woods we heard the wind: huge gusts barreled through the trees, daring them to stand their ground. I pleaded with the trees to hold strong, to crack and topple deep in the woods, far away from our path. Gusts worked the leaves into whirlwinds around us.

Nebraska Notch trail is a gradual climb, requiring little effort from the hiker. I walked ahead of Dave taking photos of flying debris, trees, ground cover. I documented Dave eating his GU shots and lifting his head to look at me as he hiked.

On sections of the hike, we walked through stands of beech trees wearing their silver bark like suits.

We passed marshes and trail signs and a group of backpackers headed to Twin Brook, a shelter to the north, before Butler Lodge and the summit of Mansfield.

At Taylor Lodge, our destination, we met a husband and wife and their daughter. They were on vacation from Manchester, England, and decided to check out Vermont's "walking paths." They were ecstatic to see their first beaver dam and hoped to catch a glimpse of the beavers at work on their way down. Dave told the little girl that she would probably hear the beavers before she saw them because they slap their tails against the water as an alert signal to all the other beavers when they perceive danger. Her eyes lit up and her parents laughed. We wished them well as they headed back down the trail.

Photos from Taylor Lodge viewpoint.

Once we got home, we realized that the power was out so we called up the power company. Supposedly, our entire road, about 10 miles long, was out and it was unclear when we would be up and running. So we bundled up, lit some candles, put on our headlamps and read our books. I whipped together some soup and salad (we have a propane stove which is a bonus in power outages, unlike Missouri where we would get out our Whisperlite stoves and cook outside) and tea. Cozy as kittens, we enjoyed 3 hours without power. However, we both felt very fortunate the loss didn't occur mid-winter or we would have froze our butts off! We hope to install a woodstove in our house next weekend.

Today our friends are coming over for the first time, to see our new home and share in a tasty meal. And tomorrow it is back to the grind, to the long days when all I can think about is the weekend and getting outside; when all I can think about is slow mornings, coffee, and a good book; when all I can think about is the Long Trail and the smell of black dirt and wet moss and hiking in the green mountains.

Mt. Mansfield 5-mile Trail Run

Last weekend I ran my first short race since the Endangered Species 10K in Missouri. I have decided to pick up some shorter races this year instead of focusing on marathon and ultramarathon distances. I am like a horse that has gone sour, that doesn't want to do what it has been doing, whether it be jumping, dressage, or barrel racing, and needs time away from the event to gain some appreciation and perspective, or not. Some horses never get the love of the sport back and instead become trail riding favorites. Maybe that is what I will become, a sprint distance trail runner (we must not forget my love of mountain running!).

The race went well. Unfortunately, Dave had to work the entire weekend so I went solo to the race, which usually is not a big deal because I know a lot of people in the sport; however, moving to a new place requires time to get to know people. And this event was more of a family run so a lot of kids and their parents were mingling in groups.

I cracked up at the start, laughing at the youngest kids who took off like there was no tomorrow; heads down, feet kicking up sand and grass for the first 100 meters. Then many of them slowed to a walk. Tired and ready to head back with only 2 miles to go! Most of the younger kids and many of the parents signed up for the 2 mile run.

The first 2.5 miles of the race were UPHILL! I was dying! My goal of 35 minutes seemed far away. My throat was burning and my tongue tasted metallic. Blood. This bloody-throat experience has only hit me once before: at track workouts in Columbia. The cold temperatures and sprinting made for the right bloody-throat recipe.

Up we ran, sore throat and all. Three people passed me on those uphills. I kept telling myself, Run your own race. Relax. Enjoy the woods. Finally I got into the groove and started to enjoy myself.

Halfway through the race, the uphills headed down and I began to fly. My legs were loose and a smile crept over my face. Now this was fun! With only a mile left, I caught up with two people that had passed me on the uphills. It always surprises me how things change in a race. One minute I feel like a turtle, slowly creeping up the hill; the next I am bounding down the trail as light as air.

At the finish line I was handed a popsicle stick. Interesting, I thought, not knowing that we were to return these sticks as a guarantee that we had made it out of the woods. I took my stick home with me. Later that day, I received a message on my phone from the race director letting me know that they were going to look for me if they didn't hear from me soon. I quickly called them back. "Did you receive the popsicle stick," they asked. Telling me it was a sort of check-in, to let them know which runners had made it to the finish line. "Oh, that's what that was for," I said. (At least I will know for next year.)

That evening I felt a bit overtired and went to bed at 8 p.m. Little did I know that a bug was creeping into my system. I was sick last week and this weekend and still feel under the weather today. I need to get better soon so I can bust my butt at this weekend's 6-mile run at Morse Farm! A new friend from work, Heather, and I are running the race together. She has only run one semi-trail race before and is looking forward to trying something new. I have enticed her to get into the excellent world of trail running.

Today, Heather and I start our lunch runs. We only get 30-minutes for our lunch break and usually go for a power walk, which is never enough to get my heart pumping. Last week I decided that the days wouldn't be such a wash if I could get out at lunch and run. Luckily, I always find someone who is experimental enough to test out this exercise thing and join me in the fun.

Adaptation

I have been thinking a lot about Laurence Gonzales and his book Deep Survival, which explores "Who lives, who dies, and why." Gonzales investigates many instances when people have faced catastrophe, near death, and against all odds, have survived. He writes:

The phases of the survival journey roughly parallel the five stages of death once described by Elizabeth Kubler Ross in her book On Death and Dying: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. In dire circumstances, a survivor moves through those stages rapidly to acceptance of his situation, then resolves to do something to save himself. Survival depends on telling yourself, “Okay, I'm here. This is really happening. Now I'm going to do the next right thing to get myself out.” Whether you succeed or not ultimately becomes irrelevant. It is in acting well–even suffering well–that you give meaning to whatever life you have to live.

Adaptability defined, in Webster's, is the ability "to adjust or become adjusted to a specific use or situation" or adaptation, defined in the Oxford Dictionary of Science: "Any change in the structure or functioning of an organism that makes it better suited to its environment." Gonzales suggests that the person who adapts quickly to their situation is the person most likely to survive.

I have been thinking about adaptation and my ability to adapt. Over the weekend, I got bummed out about the amount of time I spend commuting to work, the amount of time wasted sitting in the car, the time I could spend outside or exercising. I thought of Gonzales and reminded myself to adapt, which is not the same as becoming complacent. Complacency comes into play when I am satisified with my situation but unaware of detriments that could set me back. I have always thought of complacency as giving in but perhaps it's simply being unaware.

So this weekend I came up with ways to adapt to my commute so that I would be better able to survive.

I decided to spend more time at home in the morning. So instead of getting up at 5 a.m., eating, rushing out the door for my run, and leaving by 7 a.m., I chose to give myself one more hour of free time (hence the blog post!) and to leave the house at 8 a.m. But since everything gets pushed back an hour, I will be getting home later. I guess life is about trade-offs.

The next decision was about reading: The drive is cutting into my reading time. Instead of crying about lack of reading time, I decided to get a few books on CD to listen to on my commute. Last night after work I stopped at the public library and picked up two books. (I also picked up a couple of books for weekend reading!)

And the next decision was about training. Usually, I rush home after work, trying to beat the traffic and arrive home when Dave does so we can let the dogs out together, eat together, and go for our walk, together. However, I decided that once or twice a week it would be good for me to stop at the Mansfield High School track, which is on my way home, and work on speed training.

As I think about adaptation I wonder about creativity. Perhaps the key to survival is adaptation, and the key to adaptation is creativity.