once you get started you can't sit down.

Staring out the window at mid-day and taking in the rare sight (this year) of snowflakes falling with conviction, I knew I needed to find a way to sneak in a run.  Never mind the fact that the temperatures hovered just above freezing and it seemed unlikely that accumulation would amount to much.

No matter.

Snow was hard to come by and I was going to get out in it.

It wouldn't happen then, not with work stacked figuratively and, judging by the state of my desk, also literally to the ceiling.  I made a call to Lindsay to confirm her schedule for the rest of the day and allowed the dangling carrot of a night run to keep me hopping along happily until quitting time.

A few hours later I had several hundred acres of private and public land all to my lonesome.  The snow had continued to fall and the mercury had dipped enough to allow something close to an inch to pile up.  At slightly higher elevations, as much as two inches clung to the trees and added surprising visibility even with the nearly full moon mostly obscured by clouds.

I'd half-heartedly sent out an online invite to the "tribe" but wasn't disappointed to be on my own in the pristine conditions.  As is often the case when I run alone at night, I settled into a slightly slower than usual pace with the intent of maintaining that pace all night long.  Pulling a Lionel is what I've taken to calling that and it never fails to make me grin a stupid grin before I cringe slightly at the fact that I'm finding myself funny.

Still, the grin is genuine.

I crossed above Hammer Creek on Route 322 and hooked a quick left onto the Horseshoe Trail, pleased to find not a single set of tracks before me.  I hung another left and dug into the steep, rocky climb that peels up and away from the Horseshoe Trail.  The legs felt fresh and I soon topped out, crossed the power line and headed into the wooded state game lands on the other side.  Before long I took yet another left and followed the long descent that eventually returns to the banks of Hammer Creek and leads to the intersection with the Sharp Valley Trail, my first right turn of the run.

The snow served up a lovely, crisp lullaby underfoot and I marveled at the stillness and silence of everything else but the murmured chattering of the creek.  A far off train whistle, probably originating from the same train and tracks that called to me through the bedtime window of my childhood, just barely made itself heard above my footfalls.

Sharp Valley eventually led to the Big Timber Trail and after clambering up a rocky ascent, I found myself on the old logging road that skims Camp Mack and climbs its way back toward the Horseshoe Trail.  Before getting that high, I turned right onto the Explorer Lodge trail/road and followed it all the way back to the point where I'd first strayed from the Horseshoe Trail.

Feeling exceptionally at ease in the woods and still full of energy, I decided against returning to the car and instead began climbing up, up the Horseshoe Trail to Eagle Rock, headed east from there along the ridgeline and then came all the way back down the logging road again to the Big Timber Trail and retraced (in reverse) some of my earliest miles.

Somewhere along the way, I glanced down at my Garmin and realized that the clock had struck midnight.  At that same moment, I realized that it was now February 9th, the day that would've been my father's 60th birthday.

That hadn't crossed my mind at all, at least not consciously, before that very moment and its arrival jolted me out of my dreamy state.

I'd covered more than 10 miles by the time I arrived back at the car and had held my pace throughout, but the remaining turns and trails chosen after realizing the date had blurred and failed to register.  My head never quite settled back into its earlier peaceful state.

Instead, I pondered what it would be like to playfully give Dad a hard time about being an old man but discovered that I couldn't actually conjure up a vision of that happening.  There are photographs to remind me of how my father looked and, though I don't go out of my way to visit the mirror, it's hard not to see at least a bit of him when I cross one's path.

But in my mind, and I can't even begin to express how disappointing I find this, he often lurks as the 49-year old man in a coma that I visited every day for the last 5 months of his life.

You have a lot of time to look, really look, at someone when they lie prone and motionless for days, weeks and months on end.  You look as close as you should've looked all along but, sadly, you no longer have the opportunity to see anything more than the cold exterior shell and it really drives home how much life and beauty lives in gesture and movement, in the magical whatever-it-is that eyes are able to convey.

I looked too late to fully appreciate the magic.

The flicker of that magic in photographs is a poor reproduction of what is no more.  There's a reason that live shows transcend studio recordings and I'll take raw vulnerability over doctored perfection any and every day.

But, sticking with the music analogy, we don't get to see every band play live that we'd like to.  Even those acts that we were privileged enough to see perform aren't waiting in the wings for us to call them out for an encore.

Poor reproduction or not, recordings do still contain magic, however, and, if nothing else, they retain the ability to transport us back to those first listens, chill-inducing concerts or moments that became indelibly connected to specific notes or musical passages.

I love that about records.

And, I love that about photographs.

Especially when it's all I've got left. 

Miss you, Pops.

a light in the midst of the tunnel.

I really am beginning to believe that I do my best running in the dark.

By settling into the narrow tunnel of light and letting my brain pull what little info it can from the beam and quickly convincing my feet to trust that little bit of info and get on with things.  Maybe there's too much available data in the light of day and it's my brain that can't stay on task, leaving my feet wondering what it is they're supposed to be doing.

The Stone Mill 50, my first attempt at running 50 miles at one shot, is two weeks away and I'm considering wearing blinkers like a skittish racehorse.  Maybe I can start a new running fad.

Anyway, that decision can wait.  For now I'm concentrating on cranking out a few last moderate length runs to stay fit and keep the legs moving.  The family schedule has been wacky so night runs have become the norm.  Tonight, after a couple hours of fun hiking with Lil, Piper, Dan and Adeline and then getting the kids to bed, I zipped over to Pumping Station to spend some time on the Horseshoe Trail and the surrounding area.

Yes, it's dark out there.  But that is why I bring a headlamp.  And here's what things look like (be forewarned, this is barely watchable):

While I didn't grow up IN the forest, I did grow up just outside of the forest and spent many nights venturing into them.  I feel strangely at ease in the dark or at least I'm told that it's strange from folks (my wife, for one) who shudder at every snap of a twig and hoot of an owl.  I expect to hear those sounds and they don't bother me one bit.

That's what I was telling myself as I began to hear what sounded like the steady squeak of a slightly rusted tricycle apparently pedalling along in the woods just outside of my field of vision.  It held steady through a quarter mile climb and the subsequent descent.  I knew I was imagining it or, more correctly, misidentifying what I was truly hearing and morphing it into something creepy.

Time to think about something else.

I began thinking about Kelly Agnew's invitation, made a few weeks earlier, to have me pace him at the Javelina Jundred (pronounced Havelina Hundred for anyone unfamiliar with the hard-as-nails Javelina's soft-as-butter J) out in Arizona in mid-November.  He needed someone to accompany him on the final 39 miles and kindly (I think) thought of me.

I was flattered and intrigued even though I knew right away that I wouldn't be able to pull it off.  I had neither the money or the time to get myself there, not to mention the fact that I've never done 39 miles in a single go, haven't served as a pacer for anybody at any distance and I was signed up for Stone Mill the weekend that followed the Javelina Jundred.

Honestly, I was more than intrigued.  I wanted to do it.  For Kelly and for me, I wanted to find some way to be there.

But, it wasn't to be, despite Kelly's persistent texts that were equal parts urging and mocking.  It was an effective tact and resulted in a nagging conscience despite my sticking to my guns (facing reality).

So, anyway, here I am running in the Pennsylvania darkness and thinking of Kelly and I running in the Arizona darkness.  I was no longer concerned about ghost tricyclists but I did begin questioning if I had the stuff to be of any use to anyone as a pacer.

I never did get my answer, but I did decide that I want to find out.  I fully intend to keep running my own races and testing my own boundaries but, man, there's something about the idea of being there for a friend at a time that he or she most needs support while together tackling the very kind of challenge that has likely brought us together in the first place.

Sitting high up on Eagle Rock, I looked out over the sleeping valley below and looked forward to adventures to come.

So, if you're looking to go long and think you could use some company somewhere along the course, pick up the phone, send me an e-mail, let me know where I need to be.  I may not be the world's best and certainly won't be the fastest pacer out there, but I will do my damnedest to have an encouraging word when you need it, shut my mouth when you need it shut and suffer right along with you to the finish line.

My finish line on Saturday night was the Pumping Station parking lot where my car waited to escort me back to my slumbering household.  It was a satisfying finish.

As satisfying as making a finish can be, I can only imagine it's that much more satisfying to help someone else get there too.

Whether it's in broad daylight or by the glow of a headlamp. 

octo-brrr.

I loaded the girls (my two daughters and their great aunt) into the van, jumped in the driver's seat, turned the key and pointed the vehicle toward Lycoming County and, with any luck, some freakishly early snow.

My wish came true (though I'd have never guessed--weather reports notwithstanding--that there'd actually be more snow home in Manheim than up in the higher elevations of northern Pennsylvania).

Whichever friend of my stepfather's who owns and built the cabin that we frequent a half hour's drive north of Williamsport chose a beautiful location.  Perched on a nice vantage point just above the Lycoming Creek, the cabin is close enough (a 2.5-3 hour drive) to always feel within reach but remote enough to seem as though home is far, far away.

Arriving on Friday after the sun was already down, we didn't get a peek at the state of the fall foliage but we could see that there wasn't any snow on the ground.  It wasn't warm, but the temperatures hadn't dipped below freezing.  Regardless, the cabin's wood stove made for a cozy night's sleep.

When I woke to my alarm at 6:30, things had changed.

A solid frost clung to everything, steady snow was falling and a cold fog hung in the dim light of early morning.  The first few miles of my run would keep me low in the valley away from what little warmth the rising sun might bring.  The mercury hadn't dipped far below freezing, but a very wet snow dampened everything it touched and made the air feel that much colder.

I followed Route 14 south for about 4 miles until it reached the town of Ralston.  Once there, I hung a left onto an old logging road that quickly left town behind and crept out toward Loyalsock State Forest.  Rather than continuing into the state forest (which is beautiful), I soon bore left onto McIntyre Road, another unpaved mountain road, that offers a challenging sustained 4 mile, 1000+ foot climb to what, in fairer weather, is a pretty stunning vantage point of the valley that I'd just passed through.

A gathering blanket of snow on the tree branches welcomed my arrival.

I settled into a steady pace determined to run the entire climb and managed to so.  I had the road to myself except for a couple of passing hunters who greeted my wave and smile with the subtlest of acknowledging nods that, honestly, I may have invented to assure myself that we'd made nice.  Because of the road conditions, it took them a long time to leave me behind which gave me a nice shot of adrenaline to finish the climb.

Before actually reaching the vista, the road levels and even offers a slight downhill before the turnaround.  Having run the entire uphill, I decided to mess around with the small tripod in my pack and see if I could get any decent shots of me running.  They turned out so-so, but I liked this one:

When I did reach the overlook, visibility was extremely limited by the icy fog that rolled between the rocky outcrop on which I stood and the far ridgeline, a couple of miles removed.  Vanity coaxed me into another self portrait:

I lingered for several minutes as small gaps in the clouds opened and closed, providing momentary glimpses of the landscape below.

I realized I'd stayed long enough when a torso-shaking chill reminded me that I was soaking wet and it was still snowing.  I dug a dry shirt out of my pack and welcomed the immediate warmth.  Though the hardest part of my out-and-back was behind me, I still had a 9 mile return trip and was glad I'd planned well enough to have brought the change of clothes.

With four immediate miles of downhill, I pushed the pace a bit and was happy to have my legs respond nicely.  At the lowest section of McIntyre Road, the mid morning temps had climbed enough to keep the snow from accumulating.  I really enjoyed the autumnal beauty and almost wished that the road went on forever.

It didn't.  Eventually I was back along the comparatively bustling Route 14 and churning out the last few miles to the cabin.  I was pleased to see that I'd held comfortably below 9 minute mile pace for the entire 18 miles despite the climb up McIntyre and without every really trying to push hard.

This is the route, if you're interested:

http://www.usatf.org/routes/view.asp?rID=458308

Despite having snow fall throughout the day and into the evening hours, we didn't have any measurable accumulation at the cabin itself.  I learned that back home Lindsay had had the displeasure of shoveling 5-6 inches of heavy snow and a limb had sheared off of one our favorite backyard trees.

By the time I got home late on Saturday afternoon (and with the exception of the tree branch), most of the evidence was gone.  It had clearly snowed but little of it remained.  Still, curiosity led me back to the car and off to Pumping Station to check on the Horseshoe Trail.

Because of the closures of Route 322, I couldn't get the car all the way there.

I'm assuming there were trees down somewhere on 322 to merit the closure, but on foot, I couldn't see them.  There were limbs down everywhere on the Horseshoe Trail, however, and it was slow going through the gathered slush and what snow lingered.

After the long, quick road miles of the day before, the varying footing and the riddle that is route-finding on rocky terrain was a nice change of pace.  Topping out at Eagle Rock, I snapped a quick photo to show the couple of inches of snow and the view north toward Schaefferstown, Myerstown and Blue Mountain far in the distance.

For good measure, I took one more "I wuz here" photo of you know who too.

I tacked on a couple more miles before returning to the car to get home to my lovely snow-shoveling wife, some pizza and a couple hours of not running.

weeks 12-14.

My last post looked back at my last few weeks but didn't provide any of my usual visual evidence.  Lest you think I ceased my documentation project, here are photos to prove otherwise.

Before I get to the post-run shoes and GPS screens, here a couple of random images, starting with one from the weekend just prior to discovering my Achilles issues.  With any luck, it was also the last frost-inducing weather we'll see until October.

While my running has fallen a bit short of expectations, life at home has been great.  Piper turned 2 on the 4th of April and Lil's 4th birthday happens next weekend.  We've been plotting mischief together to celebrate.

More on that some other day.  For now, here's the weeks that were:

Tuesday, March 22 - Post-work run on Power, Sun Hill and Park Hill Roads 

Wednesday, March 23 - Pre-work run on the Horseshoe Trail

Saturday, March 26 - Pumping Station and Horseshoe Trail

  

Sunday, March 27 - Eagle Rock and Mole Hill - felt great but may have been the straw that broke this camel's Achilles.

Sunday, April 4 - This run was a test to see if I was imagining my injury.  I wasn't.

Tuesday, April 5 - Pre-dawn run with Chris on the Horseshoe and Light Trails - ran tentatively but the heel felt "ok"

Thursday, April 7 - Horseshoe/Light Trails and State Game logging roads - ran harder and feeling good

Saturday, April 9 - Matthew Paul Arment's first 5 trail miles - not too shabby

Sunday, April 10 - Mole Hill repeats - concentrated on transitioning between running and power hiking - gave trekking poles a try to see if they make sense for next weekend's Hyner Challenge - the jury is out.



week seven.

As much as I've enjoyed logging my recent runs, I'm disappointed that I haven't managed more non-log bulletins.  I'm in no position to change that tonight, but here at least is a photo that doesn't consist of a pair of my running shoes and a GPS readout:

I snapped it of Jefferson on Sunday morning as he neared the top of the climb back up from Camp Mack just off of the Horseshoe Trail near Brickerville (I didn't do him or the climb any justice with that camera tilt). He's been battling some knee issues and showing patience I wish I possessed in rehabbing with discipline instead of charging ahead prematurely and ending up on the shelf entirely.

We went a bit further together on Sunday morning than we had for a while.  It was good to have company and be in the woods.  A lot of my recent miles have been roadwork which takes good advantage of my available time but lacks the joy of any time spent on the trail.  Needless to say, getting in two nice trail runs over the weekend was a blessing.

Week seven consisted of a lot of individual runs, but many of these were short on mileage and time required.  Still, the miles added up and I am pleased to have goteen out with enough frequency to make up (somewhat) for the lack of long runs.

Here's the full rundown:

Monday, February 14 - AM Run to work - good pace after 10+ trail miles the day prior.

Monday, February 14 - PM Run home from work - pace dropped off considerably from morning.

Tuesday, February 15 - Short AM run to work after dropping the van off for inspection.

Tuesday, February 15 - Another PM run home from work (van still at the shop).

Wednesday, February 16 - AM run to pick up the disappointment of a van.

Thursday, February 17 - Finally a chance to settle in for a few miles on a meandering run home from work.

Friday, February 18 - Back to work to finish the work week.

Saturday, February 19 - Pre-dawn run up the Horseshoe Trail to Eagle Rock, down to Camp Mack and back through State Game Lands - wicked winds (60 mph gusts!) had littered the trail with limbs and branches.

Sunday, February 20 - Backwards loop of the day before plus additional short loop - legs feel strong.

present company.

Running a mile or two in the woods and still seeing the moon and stars peeking through the trees can be rather surreal.  It's a unique experience that is a nice one to share with friends.

On Sunday morning , I met Jefferson and John and we headed east on the Horseshoe Trail headed for Eagle Rock.  Because of the preceding week's multiple small storms, there were several inches of snow on the ground.  For the most part, the trail had already been broken, though the track was narrow because those who had come before us had stuck pretty closely to the initial path that had been blazed.  The higher we climbed the fewer footprints appeared ahead and more trail-breaking was required.

Each of us had our individual reasons to be concerned less by pace and more by simply getting a workout and enjoying the time outdoors.  In my experience, that's usually a healthy recipe for having fun in the woods.

The last moments of darkness hung in the air when we topped out at Eagle Rock.  I tried to coax the camera into taking photos in the limited light and, thanks to my rudimentary (at best) ability to manipulate settings, managed only a couple of successes and even those bore peculiar effects.

Moments after our arrival, the sun poked its head above the horizon and our headlamps became unnecessary.  With full fields of vision and the surer footing of a beaten path, we bounded swiftly down from the ridge top before post-holing through virgin snow on the climb up the neighboring ridge.

We completed our short run (about 5 kilometers) happy to have stretched our legs and spent time together.  In the parking lot we swapped stories about recovering from sicknesses and injuries.  We discussed the focus and dedication of elite athletes and mutually agreed that we wouldn't trade for their success if it meant being lesser parents, spouses or friends to those who contribute so much to our overall happiness.  Being able to get out and run on a regular basis, be it alone or with company, and enjoy ample time with my friends and family seems to me to be overwhelmingly successful.

I slid into the drivers seat of my car and started the engine with the dual goals of getting home to the girls and thawing out my beard.

As if the loveliness of the woods hadn't been enough, the sun rising over the farmlands outside of Manheim painted a beautiful landscape.

Even though it wasn't yet 8:00 and I had a boatload of work to get done before the sun would set that evening, it had already been a great day.

horseshoe daydreams.

The work week has begun and I'm on the road again.  Or, rather, I'm back to running back-and-forth to work on roads and sidewalks, wishing I was playing in the dirt.

Being there for the start of Lily's and Piper's day keeps the Horseshoe Trail just out of reach on most mornings.  A fair trade, for sure, but a good example of absence fostering a fonder heart.  As my feet pound the pavement on those runs to work, my mind stays busy replaying images of recent trail runs and conjuring images of those to come.

Images like these:

While this photograph doesn't offer much in the way of aesthetics, it marks the crossroads and parking lot from where any number of great off-road runs originate.  If you happen to see my car parked in this lot, you can be pretty certain that somewhere out in the woods beyond there's a smile on my face.

Last Saturday morning I followed an out-and-back section of trail that Jefferson turned me on to back in early Fall.  The last time we ran this section together, a heavy bed of leaves made it difficult to decipher if we were managing to remain on the winding and little used section of trail.  Running it in the snow without any sets of footprints put down ahead of me, I was questioning how I might manage to navigate.  Just as a I began to doubt that I was on the right path, a set of deer tracks appeared out of nowhere to confirm first that I hadn't strayed and then to escort me the rest of the way to the turnaround.

On a prior bulletin, I snapped a photo from Eagle Rock overlook, noting that due to the snow falling that day visibility was limited.  I paused at that same spot this past weekend and took another photograph and this time you can make out Blue Mountain off in the distance across the valley.  You can also make out, if you look closely, some frozen snot in my right nostril.

Snow and elevation change combined to my moving at a glacial pace.  On a day as beautiful as this day, who cares?  Not me.

This photo was taken from a high point on the Horseshoe Trail within Middle Creek Wildlife Management Area.  These sections of the trail, where it overlaps with old fire roads, are some of my least favorite on most days of the year.  Add snow, however, and it's a different story.  The photograph looks northeast and somewhere on the ridgeline visible between the gap in the trees is the small house in which I spent the latter half of my childhood.

Thinking about that happy home on Texter Mountain (let's be honest, a wooded hill) brings back a host of other images to ponder on tomorrow's run.

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.