fi-los-uh-fee

My good friend, Jefferson, accompanied me to Titusville last weekend for my first 100-miler.  

The first time we'd ventured out to this part of western Pennsylvania together, we had attended out our first beard competition, had an absolute blast and made a ton of lasting friends in the process.  All of which was quite a surprise, as we had arrived in Oil City unsure of what to expect.

This weekend actually felt similar in that regard.  The difference this time was that we already had friends waiting for us.

The longest race I'd run previously was a 54 miler.  I'd started but failed to finish a 70 mile race earlier in the year, so there were plenty of internal question marks.

Jefferson had paced for me and another friend at the Labor Pains 12-hour event but that course was held on a 5-mile loop that provided nearly constant access to food, drinks and friendly faces.  Oil Creek would be less accommodating.

Because this post isn't specifically about the race, I'll jump ahead and say that Jefferson had a few growing pains during the "crewing" portion of the race, but I deliver that news with a grin on my face.  He did just fine, but crew chief extraordinaire Jo Agnew, in doing her best to give Jefferson a crash course on crewing, actually managed to cast a spotlight mostly on what he wasn't doing "right" (whatever that means).

Hell, he'd never crewed before and I'd never been crewed for before.  How smoothly were things gonna go?

Once he could lace up his own shoes and get out on the trail as my pacer, Jefferson shined.

He didn't get to do nearly as much running as he expected to as pain in my feet converted me to more of a power hiker than a runner over the last 30 or so miles, but I set a pretty mean hiking pace (yes, I did say so myself) and he stuck with me, in the process surpassing his previous longest distance by a good half marathon, logging nearly 38 miles.

He was everything I needed him to be which was mostly just a calm, comforting presence, a by-my-side friend who didn't say a single thing to lower my spirits or shake my confidence.  I felt pain, for sure, but never  enough to pull me completely into a solitary place of suffering and I believe having Jefferson there with me was a huge factor for staying out of that place.

Jefferson never delivered my favorite stolen-from-Deadwood "the world ends when you're dead" reminder, but he didn't need to and it wouldn't have made sense if he did.  He didn't quote any Neitzsche either even though it must have been tempting, considering the fact that Friedrich had penned quite a bit of content that might seem relevant in the dark of the night AND had sported a moustache eerily similar to the one that currently resides on Jefferson's upper lip.

No, there weren't any specific quotes offered up in the middle of the night, but, after the fact, Jefferson did hand me an interesting passage from Neitzsche that I'm now going to share with anyone still reading along:

"There is as much wisdom in pain as there is in pleasure:  both belong among the factors that contribute the most to the preservation of the species.  If pain did not, it would have perished long ago; that is hurts is no argument against it but its essence.  In pain I hear the captain's command:  "Take in the sails!"  The bold seafarer "man" must have mastered the art of doing a thousand things with his sails; otherwise he would be done for in no time, and the ocean would swallow him.  We must learn to live with diminished energies, too:  As soon as pain gives its safety signal the time has come to diminish them; some great danger or other, a storm is approaching, and we are well advised to "inflate" ourselves as little as possible.

True, there are people who hear precisely the opposite command when great pain approaches: Their expression is never prouder, more warlike, and happier than it is when a storm comes up; indeed, pain itself gives them their greatest moments.  This is the heroic type, the great pain bringers of humanity, those few or rare human beings who need the very same apology that pain itself needs--and truly, one should not deny it to them.  They contribute immensely to the preservation and enhancement of the species, even if it were only by opposing comfortableness and by not concealing how this sort of happiness nauseates them."

Now I'm not going to go so far as to side with the bit about comfortableness making me nauseous but I do like the idea of facing the storm head on, weathering it and then taking the time to restore those diminished energies after the storm has passed.

And so, having done my part to preserve and enhance the species (who knew?), I'm savoring this recovery week, pondering endurance and...

...wondering who would be a better ultra-runner, Neitzsche or Al Swearengen?

snow business.

Two consecutive days of measurable (barely) snow lured me out to the Horseshoe Trail for a midday run on Saturday.  Admittedly, I'd have been headed that direction anyway but a couple of inches of snow made the prospect that much more inviting.

I even had a new pair of Patagonia Arrant Gore-Tex kicks to break in.

Another snow squall swirled as I pulled on my hat and zipped up my jacket.

I crossed over Hammer Creek and turned east on the Horseshoe Trail.  A few mountain bikes had clearly passed through earlier in the day, but otherwise there were no tracks to be seen.  Because of the snow, the footing was unusually forgiving but slippery and I didn't progress very quickly.  It was such a beautiful day, however, I couldn't have cared less.

A couple of right hand turns lead the Horseshoe to the top of the ridgeline before the trail bends back on itself and up to the overlook at Eagle Rock.

With snow continuing to fall over Lebanon Valley down below, visibility wasn't much more than a mile or two.  I couldn't make out Blue Mountain to the north where I'd head later that night with friends for a winter hike-in/camp out on the Appalachian Trail.  The short horizon didn't diminish the cold, crisp loveliness in the slightest.

I continued across the ridge top trail and began winding my way down, down, down towards Route 501 and Middle Creek Wildlife Management property beyond.  Wanting to watch my time and knowing that the snow base was impacting my pace, I decided to turn around at the bottom of the descent and climb back up the way I'd come.

On the way back up, I had a juvenile but motivating moment, passing another trail runner (I see few--as in almost none) on his way down the Horseshoe.  We were both grinning from ear to ear, offered brief words of encouragement without breaking stride and pulled off an instinctive, perfectly executed low five as we passed by each other.

My pace slowed further on the ascent back up to Eagle Rock but enjoyed every step.  Reaching level ground, my feet turned over more easily, my breathing stabilized and I pushed hard on the way back down towards Hammer Creek.  Instead of returning directly to the car, I hung a right and worked my way up the next ridge to the west, passing by the large rocks that lurk above the creek and then navigating back down the technical track that dumps back onto the lower portion of the Horseshoe Trail.  It had taken me over 53 minutes to cover a little more than 5 miles but I had a blast.

The Arrants proved heavy companions though I knew that would be the case at the outset.  The Gore-Tex lining kept my feet warm and dry, making up for carrying several ounces more per foot than I normally do.  They shed snow wonderfully and I suspect I'll turn to them on a few more occasions before winter is through, especially for running in snowshoes should we get some more significant snowfalls.

The beard, as usual, was not as successful in its attempts to shed snow.

As if I'd have it have it any other way.

bibs.

The Free Dictionary offers three definitions for the word bib.  I find two of the definitions to be of particular interest.  The first reads as a piece of cloth or plastic secured under the chin and worn, especially by small children, to protect the clothing while eating and I'm certain this is the most common use of the word.

In the world of runners, however, the word brings to mind a slightly different image.  To return to the Free Dictionary for a moment, a runner's bib is a piece of cloth or plastic bearing a number, usually worn over the chest or back, identifying a competitor in a race. Most every bib I've ever worn at a running event is made of paper, but let's not split hairs.  The rest of the definition is apt.

I'm not much of a packrat and even if I were, changes in places of residence, failed relationships and the overall evolution of living situations has led to many misplaced, discarded or forgotten mementos.  Now and then I do lament not having a bib stashed away to confirm my having taken part in such-and-such a race.  I wouldn't mind being able to pull out the number from the wonderful 10-miler in Ocean City, Maryland or the one from the midnight 5K in Central Park at the stroke of a new year.  Might be nice to still have the bibs from the few (very few) races in which I placed in my age group or even the number from my very first Red Rose 5 Mile run in which my in-shape-but-not-in-running-shape body learned a lesson in humility and finished in a tortoise-like 44 minutes and 44 seconds, a time that even my poor memory can't seem to forget.

In the end, however, they're really all just little squares of paper with random numbers printed on them.  I've got the memories and that's certainly what's important.  I've held onto a few and will make a point to do so in the future when it really does seem important, but I expect the collection will never be very sprawling.

Our other bib collection, however, has grown to epic proportions. Between Lily and Piper Bea, we've amassed enough bibs to present a fresh one at every meal the girls partake in for the next 6 months.  Much like ironic t-shirts, there are bibs in every gift shop and clothing store emblazoned with clever graphics and text.  Some of them, I must admit, are absolute treasures.  Others are, well, simply pieces of cloth or plastic secured under the chin and worn to protect clothing while eating.  Still, I have some favorites.

Here, then, is a very condensed look at some of the standout Lutz family bibs:

a.  "If you think I'm cute you should see my Dad!" is one of the bibs we've had the longest and despite the fact that Lily and mealtimes have put a hurting on it, it remains in circulation for obvious reasons.

b.  The Wasatch Wobble is a Montrail sponsored race held in Red Butte Gardens above Salt Lake City each summer to coincide with the large Outdoor Retailer trade show.  The course changes each year and I'm not sure how precisely the distance is ever determined, but it works out roughly to a 5K and usually involves some quirky plot twists along the way.  Last year, to launch Montrail's Mountain Masochists (see my earlier posting), the twisted folks at Montrail basically ran us straight up a mountain for a mile-and-a-half before dumping us straight down the other side in a hamstring burning suffer fest.  Asking a flatlander to start at an altitude of 5,000+ feet and tackle 900+ feet of gain in just over a mile is indeed masochistic.

c.  Piper Bea's "Tuesday" bib is just one in a collection of 7, I suppose intended for a far more organized household than our own.  The idea of using the Monday bib, depositing it in the laundry basket at the end of the day and then laying out the Tuesday bib for tomorrow is an adorable and preposterous concept.

d.  I was handed number 79 before the start of this year's New York City Beard and Moustache Championships, never suspecting that it would lead to my crowning as the winner of the Sideburns Category and the runner-up for the overall winner.  AND, I certainly didn't suspect that it would lead to my face appearing in The New York Times, The Onion, Time Out NY or prompt a visit to Live With Regis and Kelly (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=doJyLysW4_A).  Sometimes life just works out that way.

e.  The Amos K. Herr 5K Honey Run is a local favorite.  I've probably participated in this run more than any other organized event.  I believe I've run my fastest time at this event and, more memorably, this was the first race that I ran with Lily and then, just this past summer, it was the first event that Lindsay and I ran in together.  With any luck, August 2010 will find all four of us crossing the line as a family of four.

f.  This cute little bib was knitted for us by a friend as a maternity gift.  It's such a wonderful, thoughtful gift and we cherish it.  Because of the handful that Lily proved to be in the high chair, it unfortunately didn't provide the coverage necessary to be a functional day-to-day bib.  Somewhere along the line, I got it in my head that it would make a great, though airy, loin cloth.  If I'm not mistaken (and I might be), it deserves some of the credit for Lily having a big sister.

Having said too much, I believe it's time to put the bibs away.