Things to Watch For

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!

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.