snow daze.

Nearly a foot of snow had fallen and my own two feet were restless to explore.  A lull in the weather, a predicted gap between the first round of the storm and its second appearance as a separate front pushed it back our way, left the roads surprisingly navigable.

Few motorists expected that to be the case or they were simply too busy digging out to venture onto the roadways.  Whatever the reason, traffic was sparse for the 10 mile commute from my driveway to the Horseshoe Trail at the intersection of Pumping Station Road and Route 322.

As expected, the parking lot at Pumping Station was unplowed except for a few vanishing tracks left by a vehicle or two that had apparently earlier used the lot to turn around and head the other direction.  I followed one of those paths, backing my car into a position I prayed could be escaped from a few hours later.

Most of this winter has been spent in Kahtoola MICROspikes, but they seemed in over their heads for the conditions lurking in the woods.  Besides, there are too few opportunities to dust off the snowshoes and this one wouldn't be missed.

My Crescent Moon Gold 9's are built specifically for running, but, to be fair, they also anticipate packed snow, not the deep powder to which they were about to be exposed.  Oh well.  It's been a year of resistance training thus far and this would just be more of the same.

The Horseshoe was buried, absolutely buried, and there wasn't any sign to suggest that anyone had been out on the trail since the snow had begun falling the night before.  Trail breaking would be required the entire way and the going would likely be slow.

Bearing left off the Horseshoe allowed me to gain high ground more quickly and I was immediately glad to have my Black Diamond Z-Poles as the depth of the snow stacked along the edge of the ridge the trail skirts made for some false footing that kicked powder down into the ravine below.

Reaching the top of the ridge, crossing the power line and ducking back into the trees, I began to establish a pace a bit more recognizable as running though the degree of difficulty had my heart pounding and my temperature rising beneath the warm layers donned to ward off the cold.  Throttling down just a bit to keep from sweating out, I pondered which way to turn as a number of trail intersections approached.

Following the Big Timber trail kept me off of some of the wider paths and had me ducking under limbs bent low from their cargo loads of white.  Other than my own breathing, the crunching of snowshoes and the occasional trekking pole clack, there were few sounds to be heard.  Exceptions were the melodic whew-whew-hews of titmice and the namesake chirping of chickadees.

There were few tracks to be seen, confirming that most animals had the sensibility to hole up and ride out the storm.  One rogue set of tracks in a tight one-hoof-directly-in-place-of-the-last stride seemed to indicate that a deer had been out for a rather casual mid-storm stroll.  Stray appear-disappear-reappear squirrel tracks were there to be found but even they seemed more scarce than usual.

I did also happen upon the work site of a hearty woodpecker that had clearly been rat-a-tat-tapping away recently enough to have left its wood scraps strewn about atop the snow.

In spite of not having seen any human visitors, the trails made themselves known by a dimpled, undulating surface that resembled the cartoon tunneling of Bugs Bunny on his way from that wrong turn in Albuquerque.  I have seen this phenomenon before and it has bailed me out a time or two out in the forest without a headlamp after the light has failed (unless provided by a man-made appliance, can light really "fail"?).

Here and there, fallen leaves skittered lightly across the snow or rested stoicly in the shallow berths that their last inherent warmth had carved, a defiant final proof of having ever really been alive.  If you look close, the leaves have often oozed the slightest stain of their brown and yellow hues into the snow itself, a natural farewell tagging that strikes me as both a sad and beautiful plea for remembrance.

Fatigue snuck up on me until all at once I was gassed.  The sign indicating the broad, smooth Explorer Lodge Road offered an escape route temptation but I was determined to take in the view atop Eagle Rock.

It may not be more than a half mile from there to Eagle Rock but my tired legs felt as though it was a three mile stretch.  A mix of sleet, freezing rain and actual rain was adding weight to what had been deep, but feathery powder.

Earlier in the week, on the ridge line just to the south and west of the one I was then traversing, I had noted quite a bit of damage from the ice storm that had swept the area several days prior.  Broken limbs, downed trees and brush that had collapsed beneath its own weight had cluttered the trails and in some cases made them nearly impassable.  I worried that similar debris was likely on the final approach to Eagle Rock but, other than a lot of snow, it was clear.

Even though visibility was a fraction of what it normally is, the view from Eagle Rock was really stunning.  The blanket of white triggered contrasts and highlights in the forest that otherwise often blend into a uniform sea of browns and greens.  Clouds socked in the next ridge and further muffled any audible evidence of a world beyond these woods.

Brisk winds took advantage of the exposure to whip swirling moisture into my eyes and sent cold air seeking any vulnerabilities in the clothes I was wearing.  Exhausted and concerned I might not be able to stave off the cold as easily as I normally do, I clambered down off the rock and moved on.

As soon as I turned away from the vista and stepped back into the trees, the wind fell away and with it any chill that had crept in.  It was, quite literally, all downhill from there to the car and I took advantage of that trajectory to settle back into an actual run.  Snow took some of the physical punishment out of this stretch of trail by padding the usually rocky footing and allowing me to move along briskly, sometimes running, sometimes glissading.

I paused just long enough to snap one last intersection photo and then barreled the rest of the way down the Horseshoe Trail toward Hammer Creek and the final approach to where the car awaited my return.

I can't say how far I traveled, as my GPS was still sitting at home wondering why it hadn't made the trip.  Suffice to say, the mileage wasn't as far as my body was suggesting.

There's no device known to me that can measure how much ground the mind covers. I don't ever set out with a specific distance goal for my thoughts, but I can tell when a given workout has been a good one for my body AND my mind.

The legs are done in, the quads quiver.  The brain?  It's smiling.

I settled into the driver's seat, turned the key and, as the car freed itself from the lot and powered back onto 322, my body ached and the smile in my mind  grew wide.

the weather aboveground.

The weatherperson was hinting at snow in a way that made it apparent that there wasn't actually going to be any.  I can't bear the way weather segments, like everything else on TV or in print these days, needs to vie for our attention with maybe-just-maybe drama angling that rarely proves out.

Don't we just want to know what the weather is likely to be, as opposed to being teased with not-going-to-happen hopes for snow or sunshine or whatever else the meteorologist thinks we'd prefer?  And while I'm ranting (and then I'll move on, I promise), when did the person who was the weatherman morph from a homely character I couldn't help but trust even though he was wrong at least 50% of the time into a surgically enhanced spokesmodel who leaves me doubting he or she possesses proper weather foretelling credentials?

There will eventually be a tie-in to running here, I think.

Sundays are running days and, should that offend anyone, go ahead and consider that for me running is resting and so, if nothing else, I'm honoring my Christian upbringing on a technicality.  Growing up in "the church", I've seen enough bending of the rules to not think that logging double-digit trail miles on the 7th day of the week on our modern calendar is enough to banish me to hell. 

Not all on its own.

Sundays with snow?  THAT is a gift from heaven, but not one likely to happen tomorrow.  Admittedly it was only through a television screen, but I looked right into the eyes of Weather Woman and she wasn't fooling me.

The mild winter has enabled me to get in a ton of miles at varying efforts and I'm feeling really good about my current conditioning.  Tomorrow should bring more miles and build on the endurance that is my current point of focus.

BUT, I'd trade it for a day of play in the snow.

Those daydreams led to me digging through the files on my computer looking for run/snow photos and I found a short video clip from a trip west I took last April.  Down (and it's all relative when the "low" elevation on the trip was 7,000 feet) in Escalante, Utah, the temperatures were brisk and the wind was a constant.  No snow, though.  Which is why I hopped in the rental car and drove an hour further southwest to the beautiful Bryce Canyon.

Never been?  Go.

Starting from Rainbow Point (9,115 ft), I encountered the snow I was craving and it accompanied me for several miles as I descended the breathtaking Under the Rim trail. 

I was nursing an Achilles strain at the time and even running downhill I could feel the effects of altitude, so the going wasn't fast.  Throw in a bit of snow and ice and scenery that made me want to stop every five seconds and that pace slowed even further.

At some point I decided to see what my point-and-shoot camera could capture on its video setting and here's what I got:

Just by getting out tomorrow, I'm going to have a blast.  The time outdoors (time NOT indoors) and shared moments with friends is blessing enough.  But, I know my mind will mull over from time to time how much more fun we could be having if there was just a bit of the white stuff to plow through.

So, cut the crap, weather folk, and bring me some winter before it's too late.

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.

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.

week five.

February has arrived and I'm still trying to find some consistency.  The legs feel great one day and less than good the next (though, thankfully "less than good" has yet to include pain or injuries).  I've been able to sneak in a fair few short runs but haven't strung together long runs.

Still, twenty+ mile weeks are helping to establish a good base for the year ahead.  Dealing with the strange footing of pock-marked ice and enduring the cold should pay dividends later.  Or so I hope.

Here's the recap (excluding two runs that I included in last week's totals):

Wednesday, February 2 - Ran a short, icy loop around Manheim Central HS on my lunch break.

Friday, February 4 - Short session of post-work hill repeats on Power Road.

Saturday, February 4 - Freezing rain and mixed terrain at Middle Creek - The trails demanded post-holing and the roads were treacherously coated in ice.

Sunday, February 6 - Microspikes were mandatory in the rutted, pocked ice at the R2T - Even so the footing was still ridiculous - I'd hoped to log more miles but the 7 I managed was work enough.

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.

week two.

This was definitely a week of ups and downs, days without any running, days with multiple runs (love those twofers) and, thankfully, a couple of long runs (per the clock, if not the mileage) late in the week.  We got some snow in the middle of the week which made roadwork sketchy at best, especially when trying to sneak in runs after the sun had set.  It also made trail work taxing but extremely rewarding (translation: fun. really, really fun).  The overall pace was laughable this week but it doesn't matter.  Breaking trail, fighting headwinds and bearing fatigue slowed me down but didn't put a dent in my spirits or my satisfaction in getting out and moving, moving, moving.

Here's the week that was:

Tuesday, January 11 - mid-workday road loop.

Tuesday, January 11 - post-work loop starting in Manheim Square and including some snowy hill repeats.

Wednesday, January 12 - mid-workday loop in snow and unexpectedly punishing headwinds.



Wednesday, January 12 - ill-advised PM run in deteriorating conditions - glad just to get home NOT run over.



Saturday, January 15 -an overdue trail run on the 3 Peaks route of (and around) the Horseshoe Trail.

Sunday, January 16 - return to the Horseshoe, this time between Middle Creek and Segloch Road (and back).



he'll be coming around the mountain.

While running on the Horseshoe Trail this afternoon I remembered that the camera tucked in the pocket of my jacket was capable of shooting video.

With the dual intent of finding out what the camera could do and seeing one of my favorite (though short) downhill sections from this part of the trail on "film", I took the footage that follows.  Despite revealing the sluggish pace I was managing today, hopefully the clip shows a little of why I find trail running exponentially more interesting than running on the road.

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.

twas the day before christmas.

Realizing I was the only thing stirring, I threw off the blankets and groped in the dark for my running shoes.  Santa was scheduled to appear that night, but I had things to attend to prior to his arrival.  I'd consulted the USATF website two days prior and mapped out a 13.1 mile course that led from my doorstep to my place of work via a long arcing loop.  Considering it a present to myself, I'd created the Crack of Christmas Eve Dawn Half Marathon.

The preceding weekend had brought with it 9 inches of snow that hadn't budged in the chilly days after.  Though the roads were clear, ice and hard pitted ground lurked just to either side of the pavement.  The sun hadn't yet crept above the horizon when I left the house, so I had on a headlamp and a Petzl Signal safety beacon.  I'm pretty sure they don't actually do much in the way of alerting motorists to my presence, but I appreciate the sense of security they perhaps falsely provide.  As race director, I knew that there were no water stations to be had, so I grabbed my Osprey Raptor 6 hydration pack (coming to retail stores in Spring '10).  I topped off my ensemble with my beloved windshirt, an Outdoor Research balaclava and a newly purchased Santa hat.  I may have looked ridiculous, but I was as "geare up" as I get and feeling great.

With less traffic than I'm used to in the morning thanks to my early start, I enjoyed confident footing as I rarely needed to venture off of the road.  It was extremely cold, but the effort of the run kept me from feeling the effects...at least during the run.  The only disappointment was finding that my failing to insulate the hydration pack led to a completely frozen drinking tube and no way to access the 2 liters of water that I was toting on my back.  Thankfully Osprey has built a pack that fits well enough that I didn't really mind the extra weight.

Upon reaching the historic town of Lititz, I paused to snap a few pics to confirm that I'd made it that far before picking up my feet again and turning back towards Manheim.

It wasn't until arriving at work that I realized just how cold and thirsty I'd become.  Despite the cold and the dawdling in Lititz, I'd covered the 13.1 miles in under 2 hours without really feeling like I'd pushed very hard.  I'd enjoyed the sun coming up on a cold and beautiful December morning that was brimming with the exuberant holiday expectations of my two little girls. I'd grinned like a lunatic and felt truly blessed to be gifted with a beautiful, healthy family and the luxury of my own health and happiness.  All I needed was for my beard and toes to thaw.

Santa was free to pass me by entirely as I didn't need any more gifts than I'd already received.

the snowy day.

If I concentrate really hard I can remember a time (I think) when it snowed in the Susquehanna Valley. Even then though, a pre-winter snowfall of any significance was a rarity. Forecasts call for snow several times a year, but some slight shift in the weather pattern or uncooperative temperatures usually turn promises into wintery mixes, sleet or cold, cold rains.

Tired of the boy crying wolf, when the weathermen were projecting 8"-12" of the white stuff on December 19, I turned a deaf ear. But, sure enough, they got it right this time. Snow it was without a single drop of anything else.

My day began with a quick dash to work to pick up a pair of snowshoes before ducking into the grocery store for supplies other than milk and bread. Snow was already falling, but the roads were in decent condition. At least they were when I left the house. By the time I left Manheim behind me and started the drive "up" into Sporting Hill, conditions had changed dramatically.

Getting home via Mt. Joy Road was out of the question as a jack-knifed feed truck had gobbled up both lanes of traffic and cars were standing in line in both directions. I hung a quick-thinking left hand turn, dropped across the covered bridge on Sunhill Road, crossed over the railroad tracks and...failed to make the inclined turn onto Junction Road. After spinning wheels for a moment, I eased off the gas, put the car in reverse and backed up enough to hopefully get the momentum required to make it up the hill. It sounded great in my head but it didn't work. By my second attempt, other cars had caught onto my brilliant detour and were crowding me from the rear. I-own-an-SUV impatience convinced one driver to pull around me while I backed up and I inched over to the right to create a bit of space between our cars. The end result was the passenger’s side rear tire of my Ford Focus becoming pathetically ensnared between a railroad tie and the actual rail. There I sat directly on the railroad tracks going nowhere.

But I digress. My escape is a story unto itself, but is not the story of my snowy day. Suffice to say, friendly roving snow Samaritans and eventually AAA combined to deliver both me and the vehicle to the safety of my driveway and garage. And, believe it or not, I was grinning the entire time. Snow in December brings with it boundless hope.

Paragraph 2 of this post contains a lie. I tried to turn a deaf ear to the prognosticators but I didn't succeed entirely. On Friday night I found myself wandering into the local hardware store in search of a sled. I left with two. I was fully prepared to hang them in the garage for some later date, but I really, really hoped that they'd get some use the next day. And they did.

After being bundled up by her mother to the point that her arms were suspended straight out at her sides as though her coat was still on its hanger, Lily offered me her mittened hand and we headed for the backyard. Our deep is on a downhill slope that butts up against a decommissioned elementary school playground. The playground also slopes away before joining a farmer's field. Lil and I had a couple of acres all to ourselves though we needed little of that expanse.

Eight inches of powder was enough for the two of us to "wahoo!" and "yay!" maniacally. I'd daydreamed about this day long before actually becoming a father and it was as joyous and magical as I'd imagined. Sub-freezing temperatures, however, cut our festivities short as Lily's sensitive skin was beginning to light up like Rudolph's nose. Whether because she's a trooper or because she sensed Daddy's enthusiasm for sledding, Lil never said a word but there was no hiding the fact that she was frigid. I delivered her to the safety of the house, Lindsay's shared blanket and a steaming cup of cocoa.

Snowblowing blows, but having a long driveway and a short attention span for chores, I ignored the shovel and blew snow. My run was calling.

I own a pair of Crescent Moon Gold 12 running snowshoes, but they've been little more than decorations on my garage wall for the last couple of years. I blew the dust off of them (literally) and adjusted the bindings to accommodate my Mountain Masochists. I had a vague notion of covering the two miles of farmer's fields between my backyard and the nearby section of converted rails-to-trails but was happy enough just to be on snowshoes after a long hiatus.

Running snowshoes are much more compact than traditional snowshoes so that the wearer isn't tripping all over himself or herself. The tradeoff is that these "shoes" don't have the surface area needed to effectively keep wearers up on top of the snow in deep powder. In other words, I and my Gold 12s needed a packed trail or a compressed, icy snow pack of which we had neither. Three-quarters of a mile into my "run", I knew it was time to turn and make this a short "out-and-back".

Except for stopping to snap a quick photo, I ran the whole mile and a half, but I ended up feeling like I ran 10 miles. By the time I got back to the house, I realized that I was absolutely exhausted. I also realized that I still had the same ridiculous grin on my face that had been there since the first flakes began to fall that morning.

To be completely honest, I think that grin had made its way onto my face the very first time I heard mention that it might snow. Deaf ear? What can I say? Snow hope spring eternal.