opening weekend.

Two-thousand eleven was slipping away with each tick and every tock.

Despite the mild temperature, I saw few people outdoors on my drive to Holtwood Park.  New Years festivities may have been well under way but they were either happening elsewhere or behind closed doors.

Fine by me.

The first face I saw was a friendly one.

Gary climbed out of his truck, delivered a proper hug and introduced me to Charlie who, along with a few other members of the Lancaster Road Runners Club, would be accompanying us down into Kelly's Run and up to the overlook at Pinnacle to greet the new year.

After watching the venerable Bill Smith sweet talk a couple of State Police officers into turning a blind eye and letting us venture off into the darkness, the crew assembled for a quick group picture.

Photo courtesy of Evan Sandt

Down, down, down we dropped into Kelly's Run, picking our way over the debris that has collected in the lower portions of the ravine in the wake of the rough weather earlier in the year.  My camera refused to play nice in the dark and left me without evidence of the frequent creek crossings and the bouldery climb up to Pinnacle.

"Running" was limited by a lack of light, tricky footing and the steep clamber up to high ground, but the company and conversation were top notch.  Being on the Conestoga again with Gary, Cassie and Steve was a nice reminder of our day of adventure back in September.

The lead pack arrived at the Pinnacle just moments ahead of midnight and gathered at the rail high above the Susquehanna to soak in the view of far off fireworks displays over Red Lion, Wrightsville and more rural outposts.

The remaining members of our pack arrived shortly thereafter and we gathered above the cliffs to break open a bottle of celebratory champagne.  Bill offered up short-and-sweet best wishes and we hoisted and "clinked" our plastic cups to another year of shared experiences on the trail. 

Photo courtesy of Evan Sandt

On the return trip, the group split into two, one following the more direct white blazes back to Holtwood Park and a few others doing a true "back" on the Conestoga.  Feeling frisky, I charged up and out of Kelly's Run, catching a few of the others just before the trail dumps out into the open at the top of the climb.  With a little luck, one of these days I'll actually finish the Conestoga Trail Run with a push this hard.  Could take lot of luck, now that I think about, but what better time to dream than New Years.

After a blissfully uneventful drive home to Manheim, I caught a couple of hours of sleep, woke up to play with the kids and then headed to Marietta to meet an entirely different crew for the first (annual?) Fancyfeet DiSanto New Years Day Half Marathon.

I had enthusiastically invited myself to join in the event, having stumbled on the announcement for the event on Facebook and, as is my habit, assuming that I was more than welcome.  Only after posting my "I'm in!" did I read a bit further and realize that this was initially established as a friends and family outing by Leo DiSanto in celebration of a recent return to running and a kickoff to another year.  Leo, quite graciously and never having met me, didn't just let me tag along but offered a warm reception.  Good man.

Leo did offer some warning that this was a pretty ambitious undertaking and seemed to suggest that we may not be moving along very quickly.  My gut told me that good times were to be had, regardless of pace and my lukewarm feelings for road running, and for once my gut was to be trusted.

I met Leo, his brother Nick (the only person in the group that I actually knew), Josh and Katie in the square at Marietta and we hopped on the ribbon of trail that parallels the old railbeds along the Susquehanna River. 

We passed beneath the picturesque face of towering Chiques Rock and then followed the tracks through the old rail yard and into the town of Columbia.  That first mile or two of trail was a nice surprise but was soon left behind as we headed south toward Washington Boro.

Thankfully, traffic was pretty light and we were probably passed by as many bicycles as four-wheeled vehicles.  When we hung a left in Washington Boro, we'd covered half the route and had a rolling 6 miles left on Route 999 before reaching our destination in the borough of Millersville.

The weather was again unseasonably warm, but not unpleasantly so.  A cold rain and accompanying wind descended with just a mile or two left in the run, too late to do much more than motivate us to the finish.

I was super impressed by the effort on everyone's part and really enjoyed the camaraderie.  New friends lurk everywhere, I sometimes forget, and this day unearthed a few more.  Katie even passed along a fresh pitted dates filled with peanut butter and cayenne recipe that I look forward to utilizing both on trail and off.  As it did when she first shared the concept, my mouth is again watering as I type this paragraph.

I slept like a log on Sunday night and awoke Monday morning to don a rare shirt and tie.  I drove a somber hour-and-a-half to Ambler, Pennsylvania where the family of Debora L. Schultz was gathering to pay their final respects.  An extended running family, of which I feel proud and blessed to be part, was also in attendance to support Debora's son, Derek, and husband, Randy, two of the finest individuals anyone could possibly hope to meet who just happen to also be runners. 

Both seemed surprised to see so many people who had never even met Debora, but it was an honor and a privilege to be given the direct opportunity to let them know how deep is the affection that many of us have for the two of them.  I hope our presence was of some comfort.  Having been in Derek's shoes when my father passed, I suspect that it may mean more upon reflection than it can possibly mean on the actual day of farewell.

In spite of the unfortunate circumstances of our gathering, it was nice to see Derek, Randy, Jo, Jason, Paul and other familiar faces.

Needing to get back to Manheim, I said farewell and headed back toward the Turnpike.  As I neared home, I touched base with Lindsay and learned that she and the girls were headed out on adventure of their own and the afternoon was mine to do what I wanted with it.

So, what do you think I did?

It's been a while, or feels like it has been, since I've run at Governor Dick Park near Mount Gretna.  A surprisingly extensive network of trails crisses and crosses through the 1105 acre park and offers a wide variety of terrain and demands.  I parked just off of Route 72 and jumped immediately on loop trail #13 and followed it to #12 which meanders westward and climbs to a high point in the park, passing by the still-standing fire tower that stands as the most striking landmark in the park.

It was significantly colder than the previous two days but still not nearly as cold as one might expect in early January.  I still felt comfortably warm and sported fairly fresh legs when I reached the environmental center and gave the trail map a close look (hence my being able to quote the trail #'s above that I've never managed before to retain knowledge of).

Here I learned that the trail I've enjoyed the most is trail #15, a winding, technical 2.6 mile trail that traversing rolling slopes on its way back to the eastern side of the park.  I also discovered that an intersecting path, trail #4, was the only one with a "difficult" designation, despite appearing to be rather short in length.  I decided to keep my eyes peeled.

I'm going to come right out and say it.  Trail #4, I love you.

Steep and technical, this is the kind of trail that most cries out to me and, at least in short duration, plays to my strengths.  With some tweaks in my technique and building of endurance over the last few years, I now climb well and, most importantly, absolutely enjoy the hell out of it.  Despite beginning to feel the creep of fatigue from the preceding miles of the last couple of days, I attacked #4 and reveled in the exertion.

As I neared the top, I also understood that the morning visit to the Ciavarelli Funeral Home had me revisiting a deep well of emotions and what might have otherwise been darkness was transferred into celebration of all the things I love most about being "here" now and retaining possession of wonderful, vivid memories of those who are not.

Some "sads" are good sads and this was one of those.

As is the case after my favorite days (or consecutive days) of running, I found myself ready to get back home to my beautiful family.  My melancholy had washed away and I had nothing but genuine smiles and laughter to share with a wife and children who deserve as much of that as I can provide.

I'd bagged 25+ miles in two days to kick off the new year and cherished the exercise, the conversations and the time spent NOT inside.


With the Phunt 50K coming up on January 7th and all kinds of other challenging opportunities materializing in the months ahead, I'm as excited about my upcoming race calendar as I've ever been, but I'll trade each and every potential race for sustained health for me and my family.

2012?  Let's do this.

along my journey.

"Along my journey

through the transitory world,

new year's housecleaning."

-Basho

The sun was shining brightly this morning and the temperatures crept higher than plausible for the last day of December.  It was as though 2011 was asking forgiveness for all of the sickness, lost loved ones, strained relationships, financial struggles and other hardships of the last 12 months.

Heavy skies and dipping mercury seemed more befitting but the day's offering was too good to pass up.  The air smelled of promise, if only in my hopeful imagination,as it tends to in the context of new year anticipation.

It gave me pause to reflect on the fact that the negativity while ever present hadn't managed to outduel the countering positivity that also coursed throughout the year.  Balance was struck and, in the sieve that is my memory, many of the details were replaced by general impressions of "wasn't that great" or "please, never again."

I revel in blacks, whites and grays and purposely employ them in my journaling.  Beauty rests there and demands that imagination do the coloring should it feel the need.  In the darkest of memories, all remains gray and there arises no temptation to paint anything more.  Those most precious moments, however, easily come to life in the full bloom of color.

And there was color in 2011.  Much color.

Shared experiences with friends old and new.  Celebrations of life lived well and pain escaped.  Births and rebirths.  Invention, reinvention and paths altered.  New connections, reconnections and necessary, healthy disconnections.  Adventure into new landscapes and physical challenges.

The children grew taller and wiser and thirsty for more, more, more of everything.  Of every single thing.  And the momentary quenching of that thirst (thankfully only momentary) was joy and reward unmatched by a paycheck, a bill paid in full, a conscious-clear accounting of one's purpose.

Color, color everywhere.  And more to come.

Photo courtesy of Bianca Cordova Photography

Photo courtesy of Andrew Rebeiro

Photo courtesy of Eric Harvey Brown

Photo courtesy of Jo Weakley Agnew

Photo courtesy of Dan Martzall

Photo courtesy of Dan Martzall

Photo courtesy of Dan Martzall

Photo courtesy of Jack Anderson

Photo courtesy of Mike McMonagle

No need to clean the house (why start now?) at the end of this year.  Sure, it's less than pristine, far less, but it is also surprisingly, comfortingly livable despite its blemishes and imperfections.

Thank you, friends and loved ones (and what joy it is to have the lines blurred between the two!), for the flawed but glorious year that it was.

I could not be more excited for all that lies ahead.

"Happy, happy.  Joy, joy."

-Stimpy

last call.

The final daylight hours of the last day of the year were slipping away.  My had arrived to watch the girls while I snuck out onto the Horseshoe Trail for one final run in 2010.  I was moments from stepping out the door when Clouseau misunderstood Veterinarian Lily's waving of a tongue depressor with a too meek "say ahhh" command and ended up giving her a pretty scary double swipe to the face that barely missed delivering damage to her right eye.  I'd eventually soother her with two calming (though thankfully unnecessary) band-aids and gotten her to agree to my departing.

Pulling into the trailhead parking lot just off of Route 72 South, I glanced at the dashboard clock and realized that I had two hours of light left and I'd forgotten to pack a headlamp.  No time to waste, I fired up the GPS and headed up the abandoned but paved road on the far side of the gate and hoped that the yellow blazes would soon deposit me on unimproved terrain.  Nearly half a mile later I got my wish.

The next few miles wound through Governor Dick park lands on a path that wavered between technical and smoothed-over single track that allowed me to move briskly.  I passed a number of small access points that harbored parked cars but I never did see the people who had piloted the vehicles there.  Not that I minded.

Other than pondering Lily's near miss, I'm not sure my mind was terribly active with anything other than taking in the unseasonably mild weather, the rhythmic crunching of my feet and the periodic called complaints of woodland birds as I clambered by.  In other words, I was enjoying myself.

Crossing Pinch Road and entering into PA state game lands, the single track gave way to overgrown abandoned logging and fire roads, open meadows and woods-ringed farming tracts.  While not technical in the least, this portion of the run was a blast as I could push the tempo a bit without worrying about each footfall.

Reaching what turned out to be Colebrook Road, I peeked at my wrist and discovered that I'd traveled nearly 6.5 miles.  The sun was definitely riding low on the horizon but I decided to cross Colebrook and go far enough to ensure that I'd have covered half-marathon distance by the time I got back to the car.  I wasn't sure what time it was but I knew I'd need to maintain pace to finish with any light remaining.

On the return trip I was overcome with gratitude for the luxury of health and support at home that was enabling me to do what I was doing.  The shoes I was wearing had been Christmas gifts as was the camera I was carrying.  My boss had been generous enough to give all his employees the day off and my aunt had been kind enough to tend to her nieces so I could spend the time I was spending in the woods.  I silently thanked all involved and vowed to pass along my appreciation at each available opportunity.

Minutes passed swiftly and, relative to the limits of my abilities, so did the miles. I arrived back at the trailhead with a few moments of light to spare.

As far as running was concerned, the year was over.  Proof that it had been a good year, I would be able to step into 2011 injury-free.  I undid the laces on my shoes and grinned at the realization that I'd be lacing them right back up again in the morning.

Thanks.