binge. purge. (agnew's revenge)

I'd held out as long as I could.  Except for a brief, relatively unsuffocating trip to the mall earlier in the month, I'd managed to steer clear of the mad swirl of Christmasing.

With time slipping away, I was going to have to venture into the fray.  With a focused plan, a map through the maze, I hoped I could get my shopping done in one two hour operation of determined tunnel vision.

I pulled into the Target parking lot, the first stop on my consumerist binge.  I should have laced up my sneaks because the closest parking spot was about a 1/4 mile away from the front doors.

There isn't much to tell of my time behind the wheel of the wobbly cart that greeted me at the front door.  All went relatively well and the shelves kindly peddled many of the things on my list, saving me any need to check it twice.  I didn't get everything I needed at that Target but expected visits to two more retailers addressed all remaining items on my list.

Time to purge.

To distract the girls while I was busy playing Santa, Lindsay had decided on a trip to Dutch Wonderland (a quaint little kid-oriented theme park for you non-Lancastrians) for holiday inspired amusement.

My inspired amusement would come from my beloved Conestoga Trail.

I have written about the Conestoga Trail on many occasions and those of you who read along have likely heard of or have had the pleasure of spending time on the trail.  For those who haven't, the Conestoga begins near the southern end of Lancaster County and meanders roughly due north until intersecting the Horseshoe Trail just below the Lancaster/Lebanon County line.  At its southernmost end, the trail serves up a jaggedy profile of elevation changes as it climbs high points and dips into hollows on the eastern shore of the Susquehanna River.  The terrain is rocky and rooty and the scenery is absolutely stunning, especially considering its close proximity to the ever creeping suburban sprawl of Pennsylvania and Maryland.

The aptly (if not terribly creatively) named Conestoga Trail Run takes place here each September, beginning at Pequea Creek Campground and traversing "10 challenging miles" on its way to Holtwood Park.  I love that race and had invited my good friend Kelly to join me there this year only to have him bear a grudge for what proved to be anything but the "totally runnable" course that I'd (admittedly) falsely promised.

What can I say?  My want for Kelly to love the trail as much as I do had totally clouded my recollection of how punishing the Conestoga can be.

Long story short, I now cannot think of the Conestoga without also thinking of Kelly and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, considering the unlikelihood that he'll ever set foot on it again.

Anyway...back to my story.

With hours to blissfully while away, I decided to park the car just beyond the small riverside village of Pequea and jump on the trail at a point a couple of miles along the race route.  This allowed me to skip the very short portion of established road and get right onto glorious singletrack.  Before long I'd climbed past the cave (yes, there is a real cave that sits just off of and likely beneath the trail) and up to the vista at House Rock.

The panorama looking south toward Pinnacle, past the few dotted islands and up to the curve in the river before the Holtwood Dam was as lovely as ever.  I progressed at a nice pace in the mid-40 temperatures but also stopped frequently to take in the view, listen to the subdued quiet of the river below and fiddle with the camera.  Honestly, I only wanted to go so fast.

It was nice to see a number of other people on the trail, though all were hiking not running.  As much as I love solitude and am susceptible to having a day downgraded or even ruined by excessive on-trail traffic, I often find it sad to cover mile after mile of trail without crossing anyone else's path and am left wondering how few people appreciate the beauty that while arguably fading is still all around us.

  

There were still many signs of the beating that the landscape had sustained from the hurricane and violent weather that came through in late summer and early fall, but it was also apparent that nature rolls with the punches and a bit of debris on the trail is of little consequence to the overall health of the forest and its inhabiting creeks.

Tucquan Glen, as usual, was lush and picturesque.  It's a lot of fun to run here but this is also one of those cherished places that cries out for you to stay and it always feels a shame to rush through too quickly.

The long brutal climb up out of Tucquan to Pinnacle is less about lovely scenery and more about doing the work required to just keep moving forward and achieve the high point above.  This is definitely a point during the Conestoga Trail Race, especially on a bad day, where you start to wonder if and when the race will ever end.

Without a clock ticking at the finish line, I was able to enjoy this section more than usual, but did break it into two parts, playing again with the camera at the top of one of the rockiest bits.

I still felt pretty good when topping out at Pinnacle though the circling vultures suggested otherwise.

I've always struggled with the next half mile to a mile of downhill trail after it changes over from the old fire road that departs Pinnacle onto loose scree and slabby rock that drops aggressively toward Kelly's Run below.  The first time I did the Conestoga Trail Race I took a hard fall and bounced on my tailbone.  Back in early September, while running with friends, it took everything in me to not recreate that fall.  Dead legs during this year's Conestoga Trail Race had me unsteady and tentative through this segment.

This day proved no different as downed leaves and fir needles made the rock slabs even more treacherous than usual.  By the time I arrived at the more level trail down  in Kelly's Run, my ankles and shins had taken a pounding.  I climbed well from there to Holtwood Park but knew that I'd lost a lot on the descent from Pinnacle.

It was time to refuel...

...and check my progress.

The food, drink and salt tabs went down well with my stomach giving its approval and my body immediately feeling improved.  Considering the time I'd piddled away not running, I'd covered the "out" section in pretty strong fashion.  I hadn't stopped having fun and everything suggested that the return trip would include more of the same.

Except for one thing.

I nudged the display buttons on the side of the GPS and discovered that it was 4:30 on the afternoon of one of the shortest days of the year.  In other words, I had about 45-60 minutes of daylight remaining, maybe less with the heavy cloud cover, and, while slightly refreshed at the moment, my legs were definitely going to be showing fatigue on the way back.

None of this would've mattered in the slightest if I had been in possession of a headlamp which, aggravatingly, I almost always am when running with a pack.  For whatever reason, I didn't have one with me today.  Those overcast skies were going to ensure that I didn't get any help from the moon or stars, so there was no getting around the fact that sooner or later, I was looking at still being on the trail with little to no visibility.

Somewhere, Kelly Agnew was grinning.  I imagined him the villain in some Scooby Doo-like cartoon, spying me through some far off computer monitor, bellowing out a vengeful cackle and perhaps even shaking a fist in the air.

And I, in my lack of preparedness, deserved it.

Nothing left to do but run and run hard while there was still enough light left to risk it.  I made it back down into Kelly's Run, clambered back up to Pinnacle and pushed to get down into Tucquan Glen before the sun set entirely.  I'd gotten turned around on that descent from Pinnacle on an overnight hiking trip with friends and that was with headlamps, so I was definitely relieved to put that section behind me with light to spare.

There was still light enough to run through Tucquan Glen but by the time I topped out on the next climb, I was alone in the dark.  This didn't immediately prove problematic as even without a light the worn in groove of the trail was followable.  I couldn't see enough to risk running over the technical surface and really injuring myself, but by keeping my strides close to the ground, I was able to power hike pretty briskly.

Eventually tricky water crossings and sections that skirted large rock slabs left me bushwhacking and/or staggering about trying to figure out how I'd literally just been on the trail and now could find no sign of it.  Knowing that the blazes on the trees that are impossible to miss in the daylight hours were lurking invisibly all around me was fairly maddening.

I was frustrated but never panicked, as there was no missing the Susquehanna River off to the left and, so long as I kept within earshot and continued progressing northward, I was going to get where I needed to get.

Just not very quickly.

Though I managed several times to get back on the trail after losing it, I finally lost the track for good on the climb up the ridge that shelters the aforementioned caves.  I'm pretty sure now that I initially climbed too steeply too soon and missed some aggressive  switchbacks that would've taken me higher and also a bit further inland.  My chosen route got me up and over the face of the climb more directly but also put in me in a couple of precarious positions and forced me through thorns and brambles that tore up my shins, knees and upper thighs.  I'd stumbled on several occassions once the sun set but was falling with regularity during this leg of the trip.  Twice I ended up having to do makeshift self arrests to keep me from sustained slides and on one of those flailings I bloodied my hand.

My lesson learned and a note driven with a mental steel spike to ALWAYS have a headlamp, the forest decided to spit me out onto familiar ground a few hundred yards from my car.

As I trudged up the road and fumbled for my keys, I remembered that it was just up the hill from this point back in September where I'd unsuspectingly come upon a nest of bees kicked up by the runner just ahead of me.

Perspective is everything and, wanting to end on a high note that reaffirmed that it had truly been a beautiful day in the woods, I focused on how nice it was to be  returning home without a single sting.

Purge accomplished.

grace.

Sipping my way out of slumber with a tall cup of coffee, I found myself driving down Route 272 yesterday morning for the Keystone Trail Association's 2nd annual Susquehanna Super Hike.  This was the same road on which my father's vehicle was struck head-on by a semi, resulting in him suffering massive head trauma, spending several months in a coma and eventually passing away in July of 2001.  At the same time that I was creeping closer to Holtwood, my grandmother was hooked to an IV and a boatload of monitors, none of which indicated any functional brain activity.  I would learn over the next several hours that two more friends and fellow volunteers at the event would have their days rearranged by family members being rushed off to hospitals.

It didn't seem strange to ponder mortality on a day that many, many individuals would be undertaking an adventure that, once upon a time, they probably wouldn't have expected to attempt and one that would force them at times to question whether they had the ability, the willpower and the want to keep going.  When you spend your time running long distances and burying your head in blogs written by accomplished athletes, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that 28.4 miles is a long, long way to go over the course of a single day.  I'd guess that a good number of the folks signed up for the Super Hike hadn't come anywhere near covering that mileage on foot in a 48 hour period, much less within a 12 hour window.

The sun cast its glow over the river as I reached the mouth of the Norman Wood Bridge and wheeled towards York County.  Having overestimated the time it would take to get from Manheim to Lock 12, the site of aid station 2 and the first place at which I needed to deliver tables, canopies, etc. and help with set-up, I was rewarded with solitary minutes to devote to a morning run.  The woods were crisply quiet and I had them all to myself.  As my body warmed to the effort so did my spirits and I began to fully realize how perfect the weather and conditions were for a day of hiking and running.

My place of work, Backcountry Edge, was proudly serving as the gold sponsor for the Super Hike and, though that meant I wasn't going to have a chance to cover the course myself, I'd be involved in the event from start to finish.  When you take part in an event, it's all too easy to pack up and head home as soon as you're done and there are moments of comaradarie and ecstasy that you miss out on by doing so.  Like it or not, I wasn't going to miss out on them today.

Our assemblage of volunteers began trickling in about a half hour after I'd switched out of my running shoes and damp clothes.  Preparations began in earnest with the erection of our Kelty shadehouse (thanks, Tindall), the setting up of tables, the mixing of electrolytes and the placement of food, water and other essentials.  Details were discussed regarding the logging of times and participants as they passed through the aid station.  Our position at mile 15.2 was confirmed so we could safely assure passersby that they were more than halfway to the finish line.

Cones were distributed.

Positive reinforcements were applied.

Clipboards were manned.

Suddenly finding myself unneeded as our crack crew had things well in hand, I jumped into the van and headed to my next stop, the Pinnacle overlook and aid station #3.  If you haven't been to the Pinnacle, stop reading and go there now.  This perch high above the Susquehanna offers sweeping views of the river below, the rolling hills of York County on the far bank and, if you're lucky, bald eagles soaring overhead.

With an absolutely cloudless sunny sky and seemingly endless picnic tables near at hand, the volunteers at the Pinnacle turned down my supplies and shooed me away.  I paused to breathe in the view before heading to Pequea Creek Campground and the light at the end of every participant's tunnel, the finishing chute.

I put the van in park, shut off the engine, grinned at the sight of the banner being hoisted in front of me by a number of volunteers and literally leaped at the opportunity to slither up the tree to help with securing it in place.  Being that Backcountry Edge has been a web-only retailer throughout it's six year history, it was exciting to at last see the name living beyond the confines of its usual virtual walls.

In my peripheral vision, I noticed the requisite line-up of flyers for upcoming race events that never fails to pique my curiousity and get me psyched.

I put up another of the shadehouses (with a fresh set of helping hands) and a few more tables, hung banners touting some of the generous vendors (Kelty, Cascade Designs, Osprey, Ultimate Directions and Darn Tough) who'd helped us out with supplies and door prizes and made conversation with the warm and enthusiastic collection of individuals staffing this final stop on the Super Hike.  The boundlessly energetic Becky Schreiber was running the show with a smile on her face and we talked about how to distribute the screen-printed Platypus bottles (much appreciated, Rick!) that we'd brought for every participant and the approach we wanted to take on awarding the other giveaways (thank you, Tom, Justin and Ben!).

It wasn't long before the lead runner, Jesse Johnson, came roaring across the line with an impressive 4:09:10 finish.

I joined in the congratulations before saying my momentary goodbyes and heading back to aid station two.  I was anxious to see if things were still going smoothly and mingle with participants further back the trail.  I love seeing the myriad of different ways that people experience events of this type.  Goals and expectations differ, as well they should, and a grimace on one person's face can be just as positive and affirming as the smile on another.

I was particularly curious about good friends Matt and Heidi and hoped that I wouldn't return to find that they'd already passed through Lock 12.

They hadn't, but arrived soon after I'd returned with glorious and surprisingly fresh smiles on their faces.  Shepherded by Shannon's ferocious trail-blazing, they were ahead of their expected pace and ONLY had the worst of the day's climbs left to tackle.  They weren't unaware of that fact, as Heidi had tackled the remaining portion of the trail within the last month.  Still, they were all smiles.

The next few hours passed fairly quickly, despite my antsiness about remaining at our fixed position.  Pumping up participants with positive feedback and promises of food, drink and shade just ahead, I was finding it more and more difficult to not tag along.

It was great, however, to share in everyone's day and see the mixed emotions brought on by fatigue, injuries, thirst and simple effort.  I found (have always found) the back of the packers the most compelling and their barely arriving by checkpoint cut-off times or, in some cases, just after can be equally heartwarming and heartwrenching.  There is no way to physically pick someone up and transport him or her further along (at least not without disqualification) which urges you to find something, anything in a word or gesture that can compensate and muster in the individual the necessary motivation to move forward.  The emotion is palpable and intoxicating and leaves me both inspired and exhausted.

The sweeps, volunteer hikers who bring up the rear and confirm that all participants have passed or bear the sad news that checkpoints have closed and lagging participants have reached the end of their day without reaching the end of the course, arrived.  I helped to retrieve an older couple who weren't going to make it any further, openly admitted that our "Pennsylvania hills had kicked their Maryland butts" and both proudly and happily accepted the fact that they'd just covered nearly 15 gut-checking miles and could now catch a ride to the end to see their daughter cross the finish line.  Two final participants, a mother and daughter, laughed as they were "busted" and ushered off the course, cheerily pointing out that they'd planned all along to cover just this first section (their car was parked in Lock 12's lot as evidence) and that knowing this had allowed them to pause and marvel at every flower and butterfly, stop to enjoy a relaxed lunch and, most importantly, share each other's company on a beatiful September morning.  More inspiration.

With that, we were free to tear down and because aid station #2 had refused my offerings earlier in the day, the Backcountry Edge crew could skip right to Pequea to join in the celebration at the finish line.  I checked my watch and realized that I still had time to lace on my shoes and run out onto the course to hopefully provide Matt, Heidi and Shannon with a late-in-the-day pick me up and, with their blessing, walk with them to the end.  My friend and boss, Tim, decided to join me and we moved off briskly, hoping that our fresh legs wouldn't undue our messages of "your'e doing great" and "almost there" as we passed Super Hikers who'd already logged more than 25 miles over the course of 9 or more hours.  It was a mix of positive and negative reactions as we passed by.

Shannon appeared up ahead first and, with apologies, informed me that she'd had to leave Heidi and Matt behind in holding to her intended pace and not slowing down to let an aggravated knee turn into something much worse.  Another ten minutes of steady running brought me to a high point just being reached by my two friends.  I told them that they were one climb and 2 miles shy of the finish line and crossed my fingers that this was welcome news.  When they didn't throw up middle fingers or mutter and brush past me, I assumed that my presence wasn't completely unwelcome.

Together, Heidi, Matt, Tim and I plowed through the final miles, laughing and chattering away.  I could tell they were fatigued but they were in good humor and still looking strong.  The toast of her hometown, Heidi seemed to know everyone that we encountered over the last two miles through Pequea and she even managed to secure Matt a celebratory beer to down before turning the last corner to the finish line.  Tim and I raced out ahead and off of the course to let Heidi and Matt soak in their deserved cheers and applause.  I also wanted to make sure that I could snap a photo of them crossing the line together.

I sat with Matt while he refueled and we talked about the day.  He was in great shape considering the effort but I didn't think he'd believe me if I kept telling him so.  It seemed almost comical how proud I felt.

The remainder of the day was a bit of a blur as exhaustion finally set in, but there were more touching moments as people reached the end and fully grasped what they'd achieved.  Spirits ran high and you could see and feel the connections forged by the shared accomplishment of having attempted and, in most cases, completed the course.

And now it is tomorrow.

Grace, my grandmother, is gone.  The clouds have returned and much needed rain is falling.  Lily and Piper awoke to colds that seemed to confirm a changing of the seasons.  I'm at the coffee again turning over memories of childhood alongside those from yesterday.

There are a lot of long, long trails out there and we cover them in our varying ways, sometimes reaching the defined "end" and sometimes bowing out gracefully somewhere along the way.

I'm ready for whichever trail comes next.