I was out running in the San Bernardino Mountains last weekend, when
it occured to me that
a little retrospection was in order. I'm new to the trail racing
world and to ultras in particular, but definitely an old hand at
running on trails. One might say I'm a reformed hermit of sorts;
the Hemet hermit, like the Paul of Thebes or Henry Thoreau of trail
running. Others who have heard my tales and followed my adventures over
the years might argue that a comparison to Sasquatch or Grizzly
Adams might be more appropriate. I've run on trails in many countries;
Germany, Holland, Austria, England, Switzerland, Belgium, Italy, France,
Spain, Luxembourg, Denmark, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and Kuwait. I've also run on
trails in many states; California, Oregon, Washington, Utah, Alabama,
Oklahoma, Texas, Tennessee, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, and Kentucky.
I've decided a good topic to begin this look back is one which concerns
the things one should watch for while running on trails, and one object in
particular.
I've had the fortune, or misfortune depending on how you look at it, to
have experienced a lot of interesting things on the trails and even
find myself laughing at situations that, while they were occuring,
weren't the least bit amusing, particularly because I was always alone,
but it's a common theme, isn't it?
I've come across Mountain Lions, 5 in all. I've seen more snakes than I care
to discuss. I've come within inches of them and even passed them on the
trail before I realized what they were, lying there. Fortunately, they
have so far ignored me. There's nothing like that sudden urge to hop five
feet in the air to sidestep a six foot rattler sun bathing on the
trail that you didn't see until you were inches from it. I've come across
Bobcats; the scaredy cats.
They're always in a hurry to leave. I'm not complaining. I've
been bonked on the back of the head by a hawk; daily for a week in the same
place. It must have had a nest nearby and was letting me know I wasn't welcome.
I've had a hawk hop chest high up out of a ditch I was jumping over, only
to watch it struggle to fly away as I was struggling to apply my air brakes.
His claws actually came in contact with my chest when he turned his head to
look me in the eye. I know he didn't crap himself like I did because
I had a pretty clear view of where this would have occured.
Once I even had long horned cattle insist on the right of way on
the PCT above Idyllwild.
I don't remember seeing that rule in the PCT
handbook, but just didn't feel it was the appropriate time to take it up with
them. Maybe next time I'll be somewhat more argumentative from behind those
bushes I was hiding behind. It sure didn't sound like she said cheese when
she smiled for the camera; must have been a cow from New Jersey.
I've come across numerous idiot hikers with dogs not on leashes that have
accosted me. The owner's telling me Brutus won't bite and is as harmless as
a flea, but, that stance, snarl, and baring of teeth aren't convincing me.
Hey, don't tell me how friendly your dog is, tell your dog how friendly he's
supposed to be; easy for them to be so casual about the whole thing.
Suffice it say I'm confident in my ability to
handle these dogs and their owners should the need arise. On one particular
occasion an elderly couple went off trail with their dog off his leash to
have lunch. As I passed that place
their dog decided to alert them to my presence. I became aware of him
when I noticed in my peripheral vision, a large short-haired tan creature
leaping out at me. I went down hard while attempting an evasive maneuver with
hand fully extended, locked and loaded, with pepper spray.
Fortunately for that dear creature I care more about dogs than his owners do
because I realized what was happening. I didn't hurt him. He was
actually rather friendly. I gave his owners an earful as I surveyed my bloodied
legs and continued on my way. It's actually the only time I've ever fallen
while running on a trail.
I've twisted my ankle on loose rocks, tripped over roots, and stumbled over
boulders, but there is one thing that stands out in my mind that one should
be most cautious about on the trails and that's the pine cone.
All the other hazards pale in comparison.
California, in particular, has many types of pine cones, including the largest
in the world,
those found on the Coulter Pine. If you've ever been near one of these as it
fell you doubtlessly understand why they have become known as
"widowmakers" in some circles. They can grow as long as 16 inches
and can weigh as much as 10 pounds. Need I say more? These things can
brain you before you even know what hit you.
The largest pine cone sculpture can be found in the
"Court of the Pigna (Pine Cone)" in the Vatican. Did you know the Pope's
staff has a pine cone on it? Of course, Bacchus, the Roman-Greek god of
drunkeness and revelry, also had a pine cone staff. Pine cones have also
been associated with the god Osiris, Dionysus, and various Mexican,
Assyrian, and Hindu Gods.
But, these large and/or religious pine cones aren't the ones that present
themselves as an
issue for those who runs on trails. The smaller ones that litter mountain
trails, like the millions of land mines that exist around the world, waiting
quietly and patiently for their next victim, are the ones a trail runner
must be extremely cautious about.
Imagine you're running along and don't spot one of these and step on it.
You know, they're not all cute and crunchy when you step on them. Have you
ever stepped on a skate? Now, imagine you're on a narrow mountain trail with
a steep incline of several hundred feet of nothing to one side
precariously perched on top of a solid 2-inch round pine cone skate. In any
other location this would be the stuff of slapstick comedy. But for you
this moment stands out in your mind like the fatal heart attack your Uncle Joe
had on Thanksgiving in front of 30 family members; he stumbled around until
he just fell over dead. You may be rolling around on this thing
as if in a drunken and revelrous state cursing Bacchus with similar results
as you go over the edge,
only they don't have a body to bury until yours washes into town next Spring
when the ravines are rushing with water from the melting snow.
Another scenario is where you sort of stumble on one and simultaneously kick
it several feet further up the trail and this process continues with each
step, and for several steps you continue to reconnect with
that one deadly object losing more control on each contact.
The first stumble or two you attempt to recover, but after that you simply wish
you would finally go down so that regardless of the end result the ordeal is
at least over. Too much excitement crammed into those precious few seconds.
My favorite expression about life in general is, "Boring is good!"
The image in my mind during these moments is one where I end up with my
head planted in a boulder with my gray matter splashed around ready to suprise
and delight the next hiker that comes along. That'll teach you to run on the
trail. HAHA!
A particular incident I became
aware of when I worked as a Statistical Research Analyst for Southern
California Edison comes to mind.
A meter reader was confronted by three very large and angry dogs in a
back yard. As he attempted to back out of the yard, distracting them
with his dog stick, a small chihuahua-sized dog snuck up behind him and
took a piece out of his leg. It was a serious wound that ensured he
was on disability for over six months. Never underestimate the little
things. Next time you're out on the trails under the trees, instead
of looking over your shoulder for Mountain Lions and up the trail for long
horned cattle, keep your eyes down and to the front. Watch your step!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Things to Watch For
Posted by LT at 9:47 PM 4 comments
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Snowshoe the Bear 10 km
So I ran the first running of Snowshoe the Bear 10K up in Big Bear in the
San Bernardino Mountains today. It's not an ultra, it's not running
really, it wasn't even 10K, more like 12K, but hey, even little side trips
on a journey can have value, no?
I woke up early; on top of the world. The morning started
out simply delicious. But, somehow I got my old butt up to the race 5
minutes before the close of packet pickup and not in the best frame of mind,
to say the absolute least. I'm so darn confused. 'nuff said.
When I first saw this event posted at Equada Outfitters I had envisioned
packs of runners chasing bears, roping them, and applying snowshoes to
them much as the cowboys branded cattle during the 1800s. I dig country
music but that's as country as this cowboy gets, no roping or riding here.
Well, umm, oh, never mind.
Standing around the start line where literally the street ended and the
snow began, I noticed a lot of ultra shirts. Of course, they noticed the
rundown shirt I was wearing and that created more topic for conversation
than I would have guessed. Remember, I wasn't exactly on top of my game
getting to the race so I fumbled my way through these greetings as best
I could. I met a really friendly couple from the VDP and another guy from
just down the hill who all said they had heard of the SCTH and were
interested in joining if they didn't have to drive very far. Of course,
I gave them the quick rendition of "the hermit from Hemet" spiel and that
seemed to convince them it would be worth their while. There were others who
came from as far away as Mexico, Brazil, and Portugal just to run this race.
So, we were told to shuffle our way up to the start line for the countdown,
but, then began the longest rendition of where to go and what to look for
I have ever heard. "...and then after the third tree on your left you'll
come to a fork in the trail with ribbons and an arrow. You'll want to take
the..." AAhhhhhh!
I was really becoming irritated by all this, I just wasn't my usual
happy-go-lucky self; grouchy old man. It's a 10K for crying out loud.
We'll follow the arrows. How lost could we possibly get?
So, when he finally finished, a cheer went up, a go was heard, and we
were off - and all hell broke loose. If you've never seen what a single pair
of snowshoes can do to snow when its occupant is running, you're really
missing out. It's not like what you see on TV (I may not watch them, but
I have it under good authority that this is so), where someone is strolling
along with sticks gently placing one foot in front of the other; so quaint.
No, when one runs sticks FLY and snow FLIES. Now, multiply that by some large
number. I'm scheduled to have the stick that's embedded in my left thigh
removed next Wed. The owner of that stick ran the entire course looking
like a three-legged horse cursing to the high heavens the unfairness of it
all. I thought it was a friendly enough gesture on my part. I saved her from
having to carry that extra two pounds of weight for the entire course.
Actually, I broke it off just above the surface of the skin so it wouldn't
catch on anything and so I didn't look like one of those bulls that get
tortured in Spain; running along with sticks jutting out.
Now me, I wasn't allowed to have sticks, outside of the one holstered in
my leg; something about not being part of my parole agreement or something.
Hey, I'm all for sticks when I eat my sushi with lots of wasabi, but when
it comes to running, ain't nothing coming between me and the trail but my
two little old feet - and those blasted snowshoes.
Now, I have unusually wide feet 8 1/2 4E, the 4E isn't like 4F in the army,
exemption due to mental or physical disability. It means I have feet that
look attractive to ducks. So now add on an extra 3 or 4 inches in all
directions for the snowshoe and you get the picture. When you first try this
you look and feel like John Wayne after a long ride; bowlegged and wide.
However, once you have the hang of it you really can get a good clip going
and you don't have to go so wide. You just have to remember to avoid one
foot with the other as you go. I forgot this twice and found that the
location of my head and arms had switched with that of my feet. No, LT, you
can't run this one on your head like a pogo stick. A good way to practice
without snowshoes would be to just leave your laces untied as you run and
try not to trip. As I sit here I'm reminded of the chunks of snow and ice
that are still embedded in my forehead and the back of my neck - an additional
consequence of flying debris.
It is currently melting out of my forehead and dripping into my coffee cup
each time I take a sip.
For the longest time I thought the guy behind me was throwing snow at me.
I couldn't figure out why. But, it was like ding dong ditch. Every time I
looked back there he must have been running over to hide behind a tree because
I saw no one. It turns out the snow from my snowshoes was kicking up and
flying across my backside, my back, the back of my neck, and clear up to the
top of my head. It also kept getting into my open hand. I ended up running
with one hand clenched in a fist, the other carrying my bottle. Yeah baby,
angry runner under way. Viva la revolucion!
I managed to come in 6th place. The three men and two women ahead of
me and the woman behind me all got some really nice prizes. I got jack.
If you've never gone snowshoeing, I highly recommend it. It is really good
training for hill climbing and, of course, allows you to go up to some higher
elevation during the Winter months.
One word of advice, be careful of what snowshoes you wear, I have two large
blisters across the back of my heels that were bleeding through my shoes
when I went running to the top of San Gorgonio after the race.
I needed the escape to clear my mind. Now I need a blood transfusion to
replace the lost blood.
Posted by LT at 9:01 PM 5 comments