Signs

I went for a hike with my parents, and at the trailhead, saw this sign:

No Dogs. No Bikes. No Jogging.

I've seen plenty of signs in my life:

No parking.
No loitering.
Please don't feed the bears.

But this is the first "no jogging" sign I've ever seen.

Fortunately I'm a runner, not a jogger.
I doubt the sign-painter knows the difference.

(And, on this particular day, I was planning to be a hiker anyway.)

What's the weirdest sign you've ever seen?

Shiggy

Today's run was deep in the shiggy.

"What the heck is shiggy?" you ask.

Shiggy is what mud runs aspire to be and never will achive. But perhaps that's too cryptic a description, so here is Urban Dictionary's apt definition:

shiggy (noun)
Off-road hashing (running) trail through muck, mud or other wet areas. Term derives from shigella/shigellosis - bacteria causing dysentery occurring most frequently in areas of poor sanitation such as pig sties and back-water swamp lands. Term first used by Brits & Aussies on Hash House Harrier runs (in Asia) in 1940's.

Sounds horrible, right?

Well, that's a matter of perspective...

Lily pond in Gulf Breeze, FL

Let me start by saying that I had foolishly scheduled a 12-miler this morning. I scheduled that long run thinking only of my next race, not of much-needed recovery time. I truly believe in an ebb-and-flow style training plan, with some hard weeks followed by an easier one. But I wasn't planning to practice what I preach.

As a result, I have been bordering on burnout. Those of you who follow on Facebook will know that after back-to-back racing weekends, I was not looking forward to my long run. I already swapped my Friday morning run for an hour on the stationary bike, and the idea of running 12 miles on Saturday morning was making me itch.

So I didn't run 12 miles this morning.
I slept in and went hashing in the afternoon instead.

Off trail at the Gulf Islands National Seashore.
This is what today's "trail" looked like.

The hash route made me itch in an entirely different way... We ran through brambles, skirted around swamps, and waded knee-deep into a drainage ditch. (Trying to jump the ditch was out of the question. Those who tried just made a bigger mess.)

I have never been such a muddy mess after a run.
It was glorious!

Guess which shoes went running today...

Hitting the trails was just the break I needed from long-distance road running. This trail running thing might become a new habit.

(I'm pretty sure Hubby wasn't happy that we took his nice, clean car. We usually use my 10-year-old workhorse for the dirty jobs. But we survived and I think the car upholstery did, too. PS - Speaking of shiny, pretty things vs. workhorses... The answer to yesterday's quiz: that Chanel bike costs $17,000.)

What's the muddiest, messiest thing you've done lately?

Race report: Blackwater Trail 10k

The Blackwater Trail 10 Mile and 10k Challenge is the first event in a series of three trail races in northwest Florida in 2012. I volunteered at the inaugural event, a trail half marathon, last year. Finishers' reactions to the race were so positive that I decided to run this year.

The start:
The race director asked participants to park at the finish line and take a shuttle bus to the start. Pre-race email instructions were clear on this point and the school bus shuttle system was efficient.

Shuttles to the start.
PS - The guy with the bandaid was our starting line official.
He earned the scratches while marking our trail.
Image source

Two buses disgorged 50 or 60 runners at the end of a dirt road, where a race official was waiting (standing on the bed of his pickup truck).

The official gave runners a course talk, explaining trail markings (orange blazes and yellow tape = good, pink tape = bad trail), hazards (snakes! slick log crossings over swamps!), and the location of aid stations. He also warned runners to be very careful at the course's road crossings, as the locals don't take kindly to hippie trail runner types. (I'm paraphrasing, but you get the point.)

There were no banners. No photographers.

The race started with the honk of a deer call (we're in hunting country, after all). At that point, one runner asked, with a note of... concern: "Will there be shooting in the woods today?" Fortunately, at this race, no. Deer hunting season is over. But at last fall's trail half I definitely heard gunshots.

Welcome to trail racing in Florida.

The bad:
Honestly, any criticisms I have of this race would be minor quibbles in an attempt to find something "bad" to say. Road-runners should not expect chip-timing. The finish chute confused a few people, who ran off to the left instead of going through the chute.

Finish chute at the Blackwater Trail 10 mile and 10k Challenge

Oh, and there was a swarm of bees.
(Hubby would probably like me to mention that he got stung three times, powered through it, and paced me to a strong finish. Rockstar.)
But knocking a trail race for bugs would be like knocking Badwater for high temperatures.

So let's just get on with the good...

The good:
The facilities were excellent, including one of my favorite race amenities: running water and flush toilets at the pre-race parking area. Shuttles were on-time and full, but not overcrowded. (Why can't every race be like this???)

The course was exceptionally well-marked and included 2 aid stations on the 10k course and 3 or 4 on the 10-mile route.

The finish line had a plentiful supply of water, sports drink, cookies, and bananas.

The scenery was gorgeous. We had cool, overcast weather and the park was virtually empty except for runners. The forest in northwest Florida is always green, but as an added bonus, the mountain laurel was in bloom. I even saw a few pitcher plants on the trail (yes, folks - in Florida even the plants will try to eat you).

The carnivorous pitcher plant
Image source

After the race, runners hung around comparing bee-sting stories and congratulating one another for a race well-run.

The entire atmosphere of the race was prompt and organized while still being casual and very relaxed. (Essentially the race organizers worked their butts off to make sure runners could just run and then rest.)

The finish:
In addition to finish-line food, there was a post-race feast in the form of a good, old-fashioned cookout overlooking the Blackwater River. Hot dogs and hamburgers might not have been the most vegetarian-friendly of foods, but my cheeseburger-with-a-side-of-scenery tasted fantastic.

Cheeseburger, coleslaw, and beans - breakfast of champions!

What is your favorite race-day amenity, the thing you can't do without?

Happy trails - literally

I am floating on a post-race endorphin cloud right now.
I was intensely anxious about this morning's trail race, but now - having finished successfully - my feeling of contentment is impossible to put into words.

Resting in the parking lot after the Blackwater Trail 10k

Why so worried?
I have run hundreds of miles of trails in my running life. Before moving to Florida, I used to lead a weekly 5-mile trail run in San Diego. But to say southern California trails are different from Florida Panhandle trails would be an... ahem... understatement.

Southern California trails are often (although not always) wide fire roads or bridle paths. Their difficulty lies primarily in the topography. Hills do not "roll" so much as they present walls that you must climb. The trails are tough. But the shrubbery only reaches waist-high, so while sun exposure is an issue on So Cal trail runs, generally you can see the path ahead.

Hiking the Three Sisters trail in San Diego:
There's no question which way the trail turns.

Florida trails are a completely different beast.

I have done some hiking and trail running since moving to Florida. But after only a year, I am not yet comfortable with these deep woods the way I was comfortable after a decade of running and hiking in San Diego's backcountry.

Still, I signed up for a trail 10k - the Blackwater Trail Race. (Six days after my most recent half marathon, too.)

Knowing my (local) inexperience, I had a restless night of sleep - scenes of trail wipeouts and snake bites dancing on the edges of my dreams. I had been on portions of the trail before, and I knew the markings, but a few steps down a false trail can get a person completely lost.

In this part of Florida, the forest continues, thickly wooded, for miles. (Cue "Deliverance" jokes.) To give you a sense of how thick the woods are here, for half of the race we were within a few dozen yards of the Blackwater River. I never saw the river.

Blackwater River State Park in a "clearing" near the finish line.

So, I worried.
I fretted.
I talked with Hubby about wanting to "run not race" this race.

I suggested, then dismissed, the idea of just sleeping in and skipping it.

We took the shuttle bus to the starting line.

During the pre-race talk, the gentleman who set our trail explained which markers to look for, assured us that the trail was well-marked, and warned us that most of the trail was windy, muddy, single-track that he (affectionately) referred to as a "rabbit trail." He also warned us about snakes. Oh, have I mentioned the poisonous, aggressive local wildlife?

This was not helping to calm any of my fears.

But, as soon as the deer-call sounded the start of our race, I learned a few things:

• I am incapable of "taking it easy" during a race. Call it ego. Call it a competitive streak. If I'm not having a major medical crisis, I can't "not race." I have suspected this before, but now I am certain.
• Despite all of my pre-race anxiety, once I'm on the trail, I am not nearly as timid as I worry I'll be. About a mile into the race, I took the lead for our pack, and held it until the finish. (Yes I did call back, out of courtesy, to see if anyone wanted to pass - the single-track was narrow. No one was interested.) I enjoyed being the one on lookout for the trail markers and calling back to the pack about patches of mud and other hazards.
• I might be a little lucky, too. About a dozen people got stung by bees, including poor Hubby. I breezed through the swarm - not even noticing until I heard a string of "ouch" shouts behind me.
• Hashing, oddly, is excellent training for trail running. A year of running by following hash clues (mostly chalk signs and dots of flour) has sharpened my skills at looking for trail markings.

Post-race happiness:
Maybe it was all of my pre-race nervousness wearing off, or maybe it was the thrill of crashing through the underbrush, sliding through muddy patches, and making it out alive, but I have never felt so giddy after a race.

I can see why trail racing is addictive.

Oh... And while I'm not sure of my exact finish time (60 minutes give or take 30 seconds), I do know that I came in 2nd out of women 30-39. (Maybe there were only 2 women age 30-39? Who knows. An AG place is an AG place. I'm thrilled!)

My detailed start/good/bad/finish race report will follow...

For now, I need a NAP!

What's your take on trail running - love it or hate it?
How do you deal with nervousness when you're taking on a new challenge?

Hello Pensacola

Hello Pensacola,

It is nice to see you again.

Thank you for welcoming me home with a weekend of summery, 80-degree days. I know you thought that I got soft after a week of San Diego's sunny, 60-degree, perfect weather, but it did hail on me there. That hail kept me on my toes weather-wise.

I also suspect that you thought 80-degree temperatures would keep me indoors. You know I don't like running in the heat. But on that count, you were mistaken. I took to the trails this morning and enjoyed every minute of my 10-mile run through Fort Pickens, even though there was no shade at all. (Yes, I am now showing signs of the first sunburn of the season... I never claimed to be a skin care role mode...)

Running over your soft sand trails will make my ankles and calves stronger. Powering through a shadeless run, with the sun beating down on me, is good mental preparation for next month's half marathon. The conditions then will be no cooler (or shadier) than they were today, so really, the weather was perfect for training.

And - dear Pensacola - you must, on some level, be glad to see me, too. Otherwise why would you have graced my run with blue skies and even bluer seas? You even had the hospitality to send some winged ambassadors my way. Great herons and ospreys greeted me at every turn. (The ospreys seemed to ignore me. They were intent on building their nests... and... ahem... filling those nests. But I enjoyed their company nonetheless.)

And the snapping turtle at the turn-around? She swam quietly under the bridge as I passed, and gave me a good excuse to pause and catch my breath.

I might not have wanted to move to Florida a year ago, but this morning's run felt pretty darned good. Thank you for welcoming me home.

Sincerely,
Beth (i run like a girl)

What running tales do you have to share this weekend?
And... sunblock or no sunblock? Am I the only (crazy) person who prefers to run early morning or late evening rather than slather on the spf?

Haunted Halloween hash

On my life list of running I can check off:

Running at night
Trail running
Running in costume
Hashing

But trail running, in costume, in the dark, for a hash run?
Now I can check that off too!


The weekend's Haunted Halloween Hash run was a trail "run" that started after dark and wound through an oak forest. We ran the streets from our starting point to the trailhead, but despite flashlights, we slowed to a brisk walk once we left the pavement. (I still got whacked by a few unseen branches... )

The hares claim that the trail was "only" two miles, but when you're walking through unfamiliar woods, in the dark, with only the occasional glow stick marking the way, the trip seems much longer than two miles! Toward the end I started to worry that we were going in circles. (I'm pretty sure black-and-orange knee highs + a tech t-shirt are not acceptable attire for a night spent sleeping in the woods.)

Hubby added that bouncing through the woods with flashlights reminded him of a creepy scene from Blair Witch.

Which brings me to the haunting...
One of the "ghouls" got me good! I knew there would be hashers hiding behind trees to jump out and scare us. I heard the screams of a group up ahead, and knew a "haunting" was coming up. But the hidden hasher still managed to scare the bejeebers out of me!

After the run, we huddled around a bonfire, with bowls of chili and our beverages of choice. One particularly kind hasher also baked a cake to celebrate Hubby's October birthday. Aww!

Haunted photo?

We're pretty sure everyone made it back safely, but we forgot to do a headcount.

So who knows...
...maybe the woods really are haunted now?
*cue evil laughter*

Happy Halloween all!

In the long run

Yesterday's half-marathon training long run went off without a hitch. Well, ok. There was one hitch. Hubby and I started about an hour later than we intended to, but we'll just call that "replicating race conditions" (the half will start later than we'd like) and move on.

I've been running my long runs without music for the past couple of months because #1 - in Florida heat I sweat so much I'd short out my iPod, and #2 - my iPod hasn't been holding a charge for more than half an hour anyway. (I don't know about you, but I can't run 10-15 miles in 30 minutes. If I could, I'm pretty sure being faster than Usain Bolt would have gotten me a Nike sponsorship and a wall full of Olympic medals by now...)

Yesterday I decided to give the ol' mp3 player one last chance, and a good, long overnight charge. It must have worked because both my tunes and I lasted through 95 minutes of humid, shade-less, coastal trail running.

This morning my quads and ankles feel like someone whacked them with a tire iron (result of a long run on uneven terrain and soft sand) but it's that "good ache" that tells me I pushed my boundaries yesterday. I just wish I recovered as quickly as I did 10 years ago! (Cue clairvoyant voice: I see more ice baths and foam rollers in your future...)

Hubby finished his run before me (no great shock there) and snapped pics of me at the finish. This is the least unflattering of them (which is saying something about what I look like after a long run). But hey, at least I finished strong, right?

My favorite song from the run: Silversun Pickups "Growing Old is Getting Old" which came on in my last couple of miles. (Confession: I played it 3 times in a row.) Aging + running is definitely a theme from this weekend, but more on that later...

What song motivates you most at the end of a long run?

Have you noticed any changes in your running (or recovery) as you've gotten older?