This has been a slow season for running for me. The moving and shaking about in my life has been quite consuming. I have only done a triathlon... and that is just about all as far as organized events go. But, I have kept in good shape for the most part. I run three times a week, and try to do the all-important long run. I cross train by season and just have fun for the most part. I am pretty whimsical compared to 2004, when an early season half marathon and late season full marathon really kept me focused.
So, it was with great hesitation that I entered the Mulberry Island Half Marathon on OCT 1st. In fact, it was with such hesitation that I entered on the deadline date of SEPT 23rd! I was sure to be as slow to run the event as I was to enter it, so I thought I had some kind of synergy working.
The 25th Annual version of this local race was held at Fort Eustis VA, on the Chesapeake Bay side of the VA Peninsula. The area is chockablock with trees and water... very pretty. And, being on an active base gives a civilian access to a seldom seen geography.
I will never get race mornings down, and this particular event proves that much is out of our control. Active.com said there was an 8am start. The event brochure said 845am. Which to believe? I chose 8am and was wrong. At least I was early! So in the darn-near-dark drive through the bridge tunnel, the morning overcast had me feeling pretty good about the weather. Even better, the temperatures were hovering in the 60’s. Perfect! But, I was EARLY. By the time the artillery fired [yes… not a horn or a pistol… we are talking pee-your-pants-loud military ordinance], it was in the 70’s and sunny. In just 45 minutes conditions went from perfect to acceptable.
Now, I had a plan. At or just below a 10-minute pace until late in the run, then do what my body told me to do. The first three miles led out to the bay and the first of two course turnarounds. It was early and I was entertained by some of the chatter of the 200 or so runners talking. At the first turnaround, one obviously military guy [to me, anyway] was sandwiched between two “runners” in front. I can tell such things by body type. “Runners” don’t generally carry as much muscle around… it just doesn’t help them to do that. They were at mile four and the spread was already over one minute between first and third place. Meanwhile, I started at a 9:52 pace and had stuck to it with amazing accuracy. My variance against that pace over the first four miles… one second!
Miles 5 through 8 provided some inland hardwood scenery and more entertainment. Through some lovely shaded roads, consumed a couple of gels and watched other runners coming from the second turnaround. They were really spread out now. The two runners had dismissed the young military dude by quite a margin. People in my turtle section of the race were still chatting, with two guys even diving to the side of the road and into the woods for a nature call. Too funny! I don’t talk too much during runs. I run on rhythm, so I get pretty deep in concentration. For my dead reckoning of pace, I use breath counts and cadence. At the eight-mile mark my variance was still under 10 seconds. I felt superb!
I had been using an average cadence with a six-step breath count [3 steps inhale and 3 steps exhale]. I really don’t know what approach other runners take. I guess I am a little curious about that. All I know is the breath/cadence method I use is accurate for pacing and feedback. Since I felt superb, I decided that I could bump things up for the final five plus miles. So, I switched to a 5-breath count [2 inhale and 3 exhale]. I slowly increased my cadence to medium-high turtle level. It takes a few minutes to figure out if the change will groove or not. By mile 9 I was rolling along in a new rhythm that I knew would stick. I saw a mile marker that led me to believe I could break a personal goal time of 125 minutes. So with about 5K to go I bumped the pace a little more by lengthening my stride. I also started to gradually increase my cadence to a four-breath rhythm. This is a “last move” for me. I bump my rev limiter after about 30 minutes when I take this approach.
I had covered the first eight miles in about 78:45. And my legs were starting to go numb with the increased pace in the final miles. I thought a lot to myself in those final miles. I thought of how this would test my threshold. I thought of whether or not I would actually have a kick left at the finish. It is very inspiring to do nothing but pass people in the final stages of a race, even as a turtle! So my energy was very high. With less than I mile to go, I realized that the mile marker I had seen a couple of mile back was one of the many military training markers on the road surface. I have no chance of the goal time, but I knew a PR was inevitable. It felt good to finish strong and really dominate what I had done last year. My three previous Half Marathons were 158 minutes [Quivering Quads], 131 minutes and 130 minutes. I crossed the line at 126.5 minutes this time. Cool! That means my pace was 9:21 for the last 5 miles. I was likely a sub-9 miler for the last two miles. Not bad for a turtle!
It was all very sweet for me. I had not trained as much this year. As a result, I believe I felt fresh for the event and did better than I thought I could. I also recovered unlike any other lengthy run I had ever done. The two days following the event were remarkably without soreness. I ran last night after a couple of days off. There was a little extra confidence in my steps. It felt really solid. Summer has ended for me in a perfect way. I hope all other runners feel this way at some point. Regardless of their relative speeds, it always feels good to be in “the zone.”
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Thursday, June 09, 2005
That’s Right Sir – I’m No Tri-geek!
That’s Right Sir – I’m No Tri-geek!
JUNE 2005
Oooooh. That feels good! Water sloshing around at 82F always feels good. I knew that as I progressed through my training for my first ever triathlon. I had done the bike portion as a team member before, but I had never done the whole thing alone. Swimming was definitely the focal point of training for me. I could bike in the top 10%, I knew that by looking at past year performances in the race. I could crawl to the finish, I thought. I might have to after the swim and bike portions. But, the 65F swim in murky Willoughby Bay [part of the Chesapeake Bay] kept coming back to my mind. How cold is 65F when you are swimming? How many times will I get kicked and elbowed? Will I see a dolphin charging at me out of the darkness to investigate all of the commotion? God forbid!
I am going to be totally transparent here. I have been training pretty consistently for about two years. I am very confident in my ability to reach personal goals in my athletic endeavors. I have no fear of registering last-minute for just about anything half-marathon distance and under and being able to complete the event. I’m not going to dominate anyone, and really don’t care to. I have always raced myself. And this case was no different. I had my own goals of 25s-2.5t-32b-2t-29r for a total of about 1:31. That would be fine for me. I thought that I’d leave it all out on the bike course and have my glory there [if I didn’t drown]. Then, I could just coast to the finish with an easy jog. Yeah… right!
The night before the event I laid out all the gear I would need. I took it out to the car and slept well all night. That was a good plan! I arrived at the race a little later than planned, but gear check went fast. I placed my bike and gear and walked back to the car to suit up for the swim. After about 30 minutes I was back in the start area when I noticed that my bike was on the wrong rack. They penalize you for time if that is the case, so I replaced my bike and gear on the proper rack and went back for the start. No big deal, and worth a few laughs. The race announcer kept calling out race numbers who were in bike-rack-purgatory. I am just glad I caught mine before everyone knew about it!
The cattle herd starting waves progressed until I waded into the water. It was bracing. Thirty seconds later I was swimming and trying to find a rhythm. It never came. About 250 meters into the swim I knew I had a problem. No vision, too many kicks [both to me and by me], too cold, and too nervous. So I would freestyle 50 meters and breast stroke 25 meters. Then I remembered that I sucked so bad at breast stroke that I’d rather drown. So, back to freestyle. About 600 meters in I inhaled some water when I kicked a guy so hard it hurt my foot. People were swimming into each other because they couldn’t see a damn thing! I went to alternating a vigorous sidestroke and freestyle. The shore grew large and I walked out of the water and across the chip pad at 26:04 for the 1000 meter swim. That was good for 586th out of 710 participants. Perhaps I should have drowned! [The Grand Lesson… train for race conditions. Training in a “laboratory” environment will not work in most instances]
T1 was fun! I sat down and peeled off my shorty wet suit. I wipe down my feet and legs and slid into my bike tights. Then I struggled with my socks and jersey, sticking to every moist patch of skin. [Newsflash… Lesson 1… 10 more seconds drying off is better than 45 seconds of struggling with sticky and wet garments and skin. Finally, the helmet was strapped and off I went to the transition exit. Ooooops. I ran to the entry point I had used to bring in my equipment, but it was closed. The exit was now the furthest point away in the transition zone! None of the volunteers said anything to me. I was left to find my own way. [Newsflash… Lesson 2… scope out the T-zone before the race]. T1 was an astonishingly turtle-like 4:25!
I got onto the bike and hit it pretty hard. I warmed up fast. The streets were a bit bumpy on the Norfolk Naval Air Station, so everyone got a little beat up. I saw two guys changing tires… bummer. I was technically very solid. Cutting the apex of the curves, staying down on the airstryke bars I use through corners, passing without drafting, and gear selection were all solid. I slid into T2 with a chip time of 35:08. That put me at 106th out of 710. My age division [35-39] actually had the vast majority of the fastest bike times. Chalk one up for the “experienced” group. It was a breezy day at Breezy Point. Living up to its name, the fastest average bike speed was 24.6 mph.
T2 was not fun. I missed my bike aisle and had to do a circle around the entire length of the aisle back to my bike. Once again I was running circles in cycling shoes. [Newsflash… Lesson 3… use some unique way of marking your bike or your aisle if you need to. A ribbon or something like that would work great] Some jar-head volunteer was yelling at me and I was not taking it well. I thought he was a spectator! I was in real turtle mode now, double knotting my shoes and glaring at the T2 drill instructor as he screamed on and on “… this is a sprint triathlon people, this ain’t no Boston Marathon!” Really? You think? [Moron] [Newsflash… Lesson 4… use speed laces, and if you have to change shirts, do it while you run] I beat my previous transition by a whole second, posting the second-longest T2 time of the day in a molasses-like 4:24!
It had warmed up well into the 80’s and it was humid, so my run strategy of jogging was looking pretty good! I was in good spirits. I might have started a little faster, but a tweak in my calf told me to take it easy. That I did! I saw one dude puke and walk over to a loading dock stairway and sit down. I felt good, but I knew that my goal times were a complete bust. So, finishing happy was the only goal left. Running through a military base is not a scenic adventure. It was with great joy that most of the competitors made the final turn and ran down an old section of tarmac along the bay to the finish line. I finished happy and thirsty, as the effort and the heat left me a little dehydrated. I actually sprinted the last 200+ meters. Crazy to even give the effort considering my T times! 1:41 and some change. 509th out of 710.
Would I do it again? No sir… I am no tri-geek. As many of the participants loaded their bikes and made the short trip to the after-party, I quietly went home to relax. Enough is enough. This was a sprint race, not an epic… no sense in making it an epic. I guess my jar-head DI friend was right. Perhaps a pool start would entice me, but for now I’ll be checking into biathlons, duathlons, and other similarly ill-advised pursuits. I will also continue to lap swim at least once a week. One of these days I might actually be considered proficient! I have always considered myself to be a doer and a survivor. Doers are willing to try anything at least once. Survivors know when to declare victory and move on.
JUNE 2005
Oooooh. That feels good! Water sloshing around at 82F always feels good. I knew that as I progressed through my training for my first ever triathlon. I had done the bike portion as a team member before, but I had never done the whole thing alone. Swimming was definitely the focal point of training for me. I could bike in the top 10%, I knew that by looking at past year performances in the race. I could crawl to the finish, I thought. I might have to after the swim and bike portions. But, the 65F swim in murky Willoughby Bay [part of the Chesapeake Bay] kept coming back to my mind. How cold is 65F when you are swimming? How many times will I get kicked and elbowed? Will I see a dolphin charging at me out of the darkness to investigate all of the commotion? God forbid!
I am going to be totally transparent here. I have been training pretty consistently for about two years. I am very confident in my ability to reach personal goals in my athletic endeavors. I have no fear of registering last-minute for just about anything half-marathon distance and under and being able to complete the event. I’m not going to dominate anyone, and really don’t care to. I have always raced myself. And this case was no different. I had my own goals of 25s-2.5t-32b-2t-29r for a total of about 1:31. That would be fine for me. I thought that I’d leave it all out on the bike course and have my glory there [if I didn’t drown]. Then, I could just coast to the finish with an easy jog. Yeah… right!
The night before the event I laid out all the gear I would need. I took it out to the car and slept well all night. That was a good plan! I arrived at the race a little later than planned, but gear check went fast. I placed my bike and gear and walked back to the car to suit up for the swim. After about 30 minutes I was back in the start area when I noticed that my bike was on the wrong rack. They penalize you for time if that is the case, so I replaced my bike and gear on the proper rack and went back for the start. No big deal, and worth a few laughs. The race announcer kept calling out race numbers who were in bike-rack-purgatory. I am just glad I caught mine before everyone knew about it!
The cattle herd starting waves progressed until I waded into the water. It was bracing. Thirty seconds later I was swimming and trying to find a rhythm. It never came. About 250 meters into the swim I knew I had a problem. No vision, too many kicks [both to me and by me], too cold, and too nervous. So I would freestyle 50 meters and breast stroke 25 meters. Then I remembered that I sucked so bad at breast stroke that I’d rather drown. So, back to freestyle. About 600 meters in I inhaled some water when I kicked a guy so hard it hurt my foot. People were swimming into each other because they couldn’t see a damn thing! I went to alternating a vigorous sidestroke and freestyle. The shore grew large and I walked out of the water and across the chip pad at 26:04 for the 1000 meter swim. That was good for 586th out of 710 participants. Perhaps I should have drowned! [The Grand Lesson… train for race conditions. Training in a “laboratory” environment will not work in most instances]
T1 was fun! I sat down and peeled off my shorty wet suit. I wipe down my feet and legs and slid into my bike tights. Then I struggled with my socks and jersey, sticking to every moist patch of skin. [Newsflash… Lesson 1… 10 more seconds drying off is better than 45 seconds of struggling with sticky and wet garments and skin. Finally, the helmet was strapped and off I went to the transition exit. Ooooops. I ran to the entry point I had used to bring in my equipment, but it was closed. The exit was now the furthest point away in the transition zone! None of the volunteers said anything to me. I was left to find my own way. [Newsflash… Lesson 2… scope out the T-zone before the race]. T1 was an astonishingly turtle-like 4:25!
I got onto the bike and hit it pretty hard. I warmed up fast. The streets were a bit bumpy on the Norfolk Naval Air Station, so everyone got a little beat up. I saw two guys changing tires… bummer. I was technically very solid. Cutting the apex of the curves, staying down on the airstryke bars I use through corners, passing without drafting, and gear selection were all solid. I slid into T2 with a chip time of 35:08. That put me at 106th out of 710. My age division [35-39] actually had the vast majority of the fastest bike times. Chalk one up for the “experienced” group. It was a breezy day at Breezy Point. Living up to its name, the fastest average bike speed was 24.6 mph.
T2 was not fun. I missed my bike aisle and had to do a circle around the entire length of the aisle back to my bike. Once again I was running circles in cycling shoes. [Newsflash… Lesson 3… use some unique way of marking your bike or your aisle if you need to. A ribbon or something like that would work great] Some jar-head volunteer was yelling at me and I was not taking it well. I thought he was a spectator! I was in real turtle mode now, double knotting my shoes and glaring at the T2 drill instructor as he screamed on and on “… this is a sprint triathlon people, this ain’t no Boston Marathon!” Really? You think? [Moron] [Newsflash… Lesson 4… use speed laces, and if you have to change shirts, do it while you run] I beat my previous transition by a whole second, posting the second-longest T2 time of the day in a molasses-like 4:24!
It had warmed up well into the 80’s and it was humid, so my run strategy of jogging was looking pretty good! I was in good spirits. I might have started a little faster, but a tweak in my calf told me to take it easy. That I did! I saw one dude puke and walk over to a loading dock stairway and sit down. I felt good, but I knew that my goal times were a complete bust. So, finishing happy was the only goal left. Running through a military base is not a scenic adventure. It was with great joy that most of the competitors made the final turn and ran down an old section of tarmac along the bay to the finish line. I finished happy and thirsty, as the effort and the heat left me a little dehydrated. I actually sprinted the last 200+ meters. Crazy to even give the effort considering my T times! 1:41 and some change. 509th out of 710.
Would I do it again? No sir… I am no tri-geek. As many of the participants loaded their bikes and made the short trip to the after-party, I quietly went home to relax. Enough is enough. This was a sprint race, not an epic… no sense in making it an epic. I guess my jar-head DI friend was right. Perhaps a pool start would entice me, but for now I’ll be checking into biathlons, duathlons, and other similarly ill-advised pursuits. I will also continue to lap swim at least once a week. One of these days I might actually be considered proficient! I have always considered myself to be a doer and a survivor. Doers are willing to try anything at least once. Survivors know when to declare victory and move on.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Looking down the barrel and seeing darkness
Looking down the barrel and seeing darkness
~Reed Nelson~
JUNE 2005
Just a quick note from me this month. There is a lot going on, but I was not sure what to put here. So, I will give you my personal horizon. I joined about 6,000 people in Chicago in 1992 and did the bike portion of the triathlon with two other gentlemen from my employer at the time. I really smoked the course. It was flat and I am actually pretty accomplished as a power rider when I am in shape for such efforts. I love biking… I really do. I have another triathlon coming up this weekend. This time I have to do it all. It will be my first solo effort. It is sprint distance, so no worries there. The biking is again flat, so I will likely blow past a lot of people and might even be fortunate enough to have an age group best time. The run is easy, too… but I will lose nearly 4 minutes per mile to the best runners in my age group. This is very humbling. And then there is swimming. Murky water with a temperature of 61F is on tap. I have never done any competitive swimming, and have just learned to swim 1,000 meters without cardiac arrest. So, my horizon is murky darkness. God forbid I see any fish, as I might be startled enough to inhale a bunch of salt water. Ever seen someone throw up while riding a bike at 25+mph? Yet another fear will be confronted and conquered as I do this, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. Did I mention how cold the water is going to be???
~Reed Nelson~
JUNE 2005
Just a quick note from me this month. There is a lot going on, but I was not sure what to put here. So, I will give you my personal horizon. I joined about 6,000 people in Chicago in 1992 and did the bike portion of the triathlon with two other gentlemen from my employer at the time. I really smoked the course. It was flat and I am actually pretty accomplished as a power rider when I am in shape for such efforts. I love biking… I really do. I have another triathlon coming up this weekend. This time I have to do it all. It will be my first solo effort. It is sprint distance, so no worries there. The biking is again flat, so I will likely blow past a lot of people and might even be fortunate enough to have an age group best time. The run is easy, too… but I will lose nearly 4 minutes per mile to the best runners in my age group. This is very humbling. And then there is swimming. Murky water with a temperature of 61F is on tap. I have never done any competitive swimming, and have just learned to swim 1,000 meters without cardiac arrest. So, my horizon is murky darkness. God forbid I see any fish, as I might be startled enough to inhale a bunch of salt water. Ever seen someone throw up while riding a bike at 25+mph? Yet another fear will be confronted and conquered as I do this, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. Did I mention how cold the water is going to be???
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Want To Run The Kentucky Derby?
Want To Run The Kentucky Derby?
~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
MAY 2005
It is actually a simple thing to do if you are a horse and can sprint for a mile at about a 1:47 pace. Otherwise, you are a human, and that pace should humble you right out of your Asics. Can you imaging running 10mph faster than any human has ever run? Can you imagine that you’d have to be an elite cyclist to beat a Derby contender using pedal power? Oops, you’d still need pavement.
Well, so much for the pep talks and Rat Tales. Let’s get right down to it, shall we? Humans are weak! I mean, athletically we are pretty pathetic compared to other species. Domestication has cost us dearly. [excuse me while I get another calf’s shank on which to chew]. If you relate strength and speed to size and weight, most wild animals can run rings around us or just fling us aside. It is all quite depressing.
So, if we are not to run [or bike] with horses, swing with monkeys or leap with leopards what are we to do? Well, I just wanted everyone to be humbled into the gym to pump some iron a few times a week. That is my goal here. Unless you are competing on an elite marathoner pedestal, you are going to be much better off as you age if you hit the weights. And I would bet you get faster, too.
I’m certain that most of us have heard the stories. Weight training increases bone density, retards the effects of aging, and brings about a host of other benefits. But, why is it that I see so few runners putting 45-pound plates on a bar? There is a disconnect. I think runners are afraid they will become bulky or will injure themselves. Or they do not think it is an intense workout. Let me tackle those issues with a runner’s speed.
First, let’s look at bulking up. In the past 20 months I have lifted 2 to 3 times per week. I do not skimp on weight. I lift! I started weighing in at 216 pounds and now tip the scales in the low 170’s. I lift more weight now than I did when I started. I can row, bench press, and pull up more than my body weight. I can easily press several of our smaller members above my head several times. Remember, I accomplished all of these strength gains while losing 40+ pounds. Bulking up [or not] is a matter of diet. You have to eat more than you burn to gain weight. That is a fact. Just the opposite is true, too. You have to burn more than you eat to lose weight. And, I will tell you that protein is your friend if you are lifting and losing at the same time. You certainly don’t want to lose muscle! Anyway, the bulking up worry is nonsense.
Second, there is the question of injury. This one I agree with. I would love to be able to lift with a blindfold on, as I watch people every week that just drive me insane. They accelerate weights too fast, lower them too fast, hyperextend their joints, and use varying forms that reduce results and increase chances of injury. If I had my own gym, NOBODY would work out until they completed instruction on each apparatus. If they injure themselves or get poor results, they won’t be customers for very long. The fitness club business is in dire need of a redo. But, that is another story. Fifty bucks on a trainer and you will likely never see an injury from lifting. Let them know your goals… strength, proper form, and aerobic gains.
Segue. Can we lift and get secondary aerobic gains? Aren’t weight-training sessions anaerobic? Well, yes and yes! But [newsflash], hill and sprint repeats are anaerobic too! Silly humans! The key is that you don’t rest between repeats when you run, you just slow down. You vacillate between anaerobic and aerobic condition. And what happens? You get STRONGER! It is the same with weights. Again, just put on blinders and get ready to be assertive. You will need blinders to ignore the resting fools that are standing around socializing between sets. You will need to be assertive to jump on a machine that someone was using for a lounger between sets for a quick set of your own. Don’t be shy! I am a madman in the weight room. Briskly walking from machine to machine. Using three different sets of dumbbells at the same bench at the same time. Sweating, crying, drinking spitting, huffing and puffing. I am a runaway locomotive. What does this get me? Strength increases in about 15 minutes per session. That’s right. I blow through 24 sets of weightlifting in about 15 minutes. Still time for a run or a ride? You bet… maybe both!
So, you can believe the Bowflex hype. Just 20 minutes a day 3 times a week is all you need. Now, if we could just let people know that is not the case with aerobic fitness. You can’t gain much fitness in 1 hour of cumulative aerobics per week. But you CAN gain STRENGTH. But, most of you are already aerobic gods and goddesses. Add some strength training and see what happens by fall of this year. Do it right, and then let me know if I am full of dung. I am placing bets that I will not receive any calls. Any takers???
~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
MAY 2005
It is actually a simple thing to do if you are a horse and can sprint for a mile at about a 1:47 pace. Otherwise, you are a human, and that pace should humble you right out of your Asics. Can you imaging running 10mph faster than any human has ever run? Can you imagine that you’d have to be an elite cyclist to beat a Derby contender using pedal power? Oops, you’d still need pavement.
Well, so much for the pep talks and Rat Tales. Let’s get right down to it, shall we? Humans are weak! I mean, athletically we are pretty pathetic compared to other species. Domestication has cost us dearly. [excuse me while I get another calf’s shank on which to chew]. If you relate strength and speed to size and weight, most wild animals can run rings around us or just fling us aside. It is all quite depressing.
So, if we are not to run [or bike] with horses, swing with monkeys or leap with leopards what are we to do? Well, I just wanted everyone to be humbled into the gym to pump some iron a few times a week. That is my goal here. Unless you are competing on an elite marathoner pedestal, you are going to be much better off as you age if you hit the weights. And I would bet you get faster, too.
I’m certain that most of us have heard the stories. Weight training increases bone density, retards the effects of aging, and brings about a host of other benefits. But, why is it that I see so few runners putting 45-pound plates on a bar? There is a disconnect. I think runners are afraid they will become bulky or will injure themselves. Or they do not think it is an intense workout. Let me tackle those issues with a runner’s speed.
First, let’s look at bulking up. In the past 20 months I have lifted 2 to 3 times per week. I do not skimp on weight. I lift! I started weighing in at 216 pounds and now tip the scales in the low 170’s. I lift more weight now than I did when I started. I can row, bench press, and pull up more than my body weight. I can easily press several of our smaller members above my head several times. Remember, I accomplished all of these strength gains while losing 40+ pounds. Bulking up [or not] is a matter of diet. You have to eat more than you burn to gain weight. That is a fact. Just the opposite is true, too. You have to burn more than you eat to lose weight. And, I will tell you that protein is your friend if you are lifting and losing at the same time. You certainly don’t want to lose muscle! Anyway, the bulking up worry is nonsense.
Second, there is the question of injury. This one I agree with. I would love to be able to lift with a blindfold on, as I watch people every week that just drive me insane. They accelerate weights too fast, lower them too fast, hyperextend their joints, and use varying forms that reduce results and increase chances of injury. If I had my own gym, NOBODY would work out until they completed instruction on each apparatus. If they injure themselves or get poor results, they won’t be customers for very long. The fitness club business is in dire need of a redo. But, that is another story. Fifty bucks on a trainer and you will likely never see an injury from lifting. Let them know your goals… strength, proper form, and aerobic gains.
Segue. Can we lift and get secondary aerobic gains? Aren’t weight-training sessions anaerobic? Well, yes and yes! But [newsflash], hill and sprint repeats are anaerobic too! Silly humans! The key is that you don’t rest between repeats when you run, you just slow down. You vacillate between anaerobic and aerobic condition. And what happens? You get STRONGER! It is the same with weights. Again, just put on blinders and get ready to be assertive. You will need blinders to ignore the resting fools that are standing around socializing between sets. You will need to be assertive to jump on a machine that someone was using for a lounger between sets for a quick set of your own. Don’t be shy! I am a madman in the weight room. Briskly walking from machine to machine. Using three different sets of dumbbells at the same bench at the same time. Sweating, crying, drinking spitting, huffing and puffing. I am a runaway locomotive. What does this get me? Strength increases in about 15 minutes per session. That’s right. I blow through 24 sets of weightlifting in about 15 minutes. Still time for a run or a ride? You bet… maybe both!
So, you can believe the Bowflex hype. Just 20 minutes a day 3 times a week is all you need. Now, if we could just let people know that is not the case with aerobic fitness. You can’t gain much fitness in 1 hour of cumulative aerobics per week. But you CAN gain STRENGTH. But, most of you are already aerobic gods and goddesses. Add some strength training and see what happens by fall of this year. Do it right, and then let me know if I am full of dung. I am placing bets that I will not receive any calls. Any takers???
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Trail Rat on the Endless Seven
Trail Rat on the Endless Seven
~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
APRIL 2005
Most rats have run in some pretty exotic places. This rat dares not name his favorite places he has spent his tread. Well, what the heck, maybe a few highlights!
Most Beautiful – The deck of a Royal Caribbean cruise ship for 10K
Hottest – El Corridor Highway in Los Cabos for 5 miles
Coldest – The last Saturday AM club run in Jan 2004 was pretty chilly!
Hilliest – Running out of the New River Gorge in WV in 1996
Flattest – well…
I suppose it is time for a more recent rat tale. Virginia Beach is flat, aside from a few dunes to sprint over. I mean, you really have to be creative. Sometimes you just have to give up and run the flats! Sooooo… back to my handy little biking book I went. Now, you all know they don’t make a lot of bikes for us four-legged types, so I really bought the book to scope out trail runs.
It seems that a long time ago there were a few slaves that escaped and hid out in a nearby swamp. President Washington visited this 1,000,000 acre wetland and decided he would dig a series of ditches and try to drain it. Well, he might as well have spit into the wind! But ole George created some mighty fine roads through the swamp when the ditches and canals were made. In fact, one of the first monuments named after a president resulted. Washington Ditch spans about 4.2 miles from the edge of the swamp to the mysterious Lake Drummond. A raised road was made with the dirt from the ditch. Voila… a trail run!
Now, many of you may think of flats as a blessing. Or, maybe you think they are just plain easy. Me? Despite my four legs I personally struggle with flats. This was a nightmare waiting to unfold. I quick glance at the historical marker and off I went. My girlfriend was with me, so that was a good thing. We started with a brisk walk and advanced into jogging speed. We’re lucky, because we run pretty fast for rats. I’d guess about 6.5mph to begin with, and about 6.7mph as a pace.
At that pace, the scenery is still very observable. From a rat’s view, it was paradise! Wet swamp lands and fallen timbers were everywhere. Ah ah! I forgot to mention that the original 1,000,000 acres had been harvested of timber over the years, and now about 125,000 acres remain. Hey, don’t be sad mister and miss Tree Hugger. The area is in splendid condition and free of logging since the early 1900’s, and still the largest wetland reserve in the eastern US. Anyway, the remnants of past logging is evident in the amount of deadfall and decay. I was so tempted to take my four little legs off-trail. But, custom waders for us rats are expensive, and I only use mine for fly-fishing.
As I looked down the corridor of trees I swore it was just another Hollywood backdrop. It didn’t seem real. But, the grind in my muscles and joints did not vary. The same view. The same feel. Mental entropy occurred [that means chaos], and I was immediately dreaming of our Lake Drummond arrival alternately with the sound of spring traps being activated. You know how that makes a rat feel? Of course you don’t! Silly humans. But, I still noticed the crickets and katydids and all the other delicacies making noise. It really was rat heaven… I felt better. The corridor was interrupted once by an intersecting ditch/road combo. And on it went. And on. But an end appeared to materialize, and as we jogged on, it became real. There was A TURN. Wow! A change of direction! And so as we made the dogleg right another end appeared. Then another dogleg right revealed a massive lake with a landing dock and a free spotting scope.
Lake Drummond is massive. My partner asked me how far it would be to jog around it [if there was a road]. I estimated 20 to 25 miles. It was an impressive sight. Impression depends on perspective. Witness these writings on Lake Drummond
Canoeing Sketches, John Boyle O'Reilly, From: Athletics and Manly Sport, Boston: Pilot Publishing Company, 1890
The Lake of the Dismal Swamp is the very eye of material anguish. Its circle of silvery beach is flooded and hidden, and still the pent-up water, vainly beseeching an outlet, is raised and driven in unnatural enmity to the roots of the tall juniper, cypress, and gum trees, that completely surround its shore. The waves that should murmur and break on a strand of incomparable brilliancy, are pushed beyond their proper limits, and compelled to soften and sap the productive earth; to wash bare and white the sinews of the friendly trees, and inundate a wide region of extraordinary fertility. The bleached roots of the doomed trees seem to shudder and shrink from the weltering death. There is an evident bending upward of the overtaken roots to escape suffocation. The shores of the lake are like a scene from the "Inferno." Matted, twisted, and broken, the roots, like living things in danger, arch themselves out of the dark flood, pitifully striving to hold aloft their noble stems and branches. The water of the lake, dark almost as blood, from the surface flow of juniper sap and other vegetable matter, is forced from six to ten feet above its natural level, and driven by winds hither to this bank to-day and thither to-morrow, washing every vestige of earth from the helpless life-givers, till its whole circumference is a woful net-work of gnarled trunks and intertwined fibres, bleached and dry as the bones of a skeleton, and sheltering no life, but that of the blue lizard and red-throated moccasin.
Well well... that should get you ready to run back to the car… don’t you think???
And so it was that the return would have no walking. The two ruts in the road became the paths to glory. My partner clocked mile two on the return at an 8:30 pace, which just killer for rats. This rat was inspired by her effort and gave extra effort of his own to stay within sight of her. But upon thinking, she could be a mile away and still be seen! Yet, the effort remained high and great strains were made to spot the gate at the parking lot.
We spotted no snakes, bobcats, black bears, or other creatures of fear known to inhabit the reserve. We did startle a herron into flight. I have not seen a herron since canoeing the Current River over a year ago. Anytime a bird with a 6-feet wing span takes off you have to pause mentally. It is a beautiful sight. But there was no physical pause, and soon the dark brown metal and wooden gates appeared in the distance. My partner asked me on a couple of occasions how far away I thought they were. Knowing what she really was asking, I gave her the answer in finishing kick time. “Uh…that’s about a 4 minute finish sprint, baby.” We jogged it home to the car!
It was a long drive in the ratmobile back to our little nest in the wall of a Virginia Beach apartment complex. It gave us time to contemplate about 7.4 miles of Great Dismal agony and ecstasy [and our one mile warm up walk]. As with most rats, our experiences can be summed up in moments. And our moments of sadness and euphoria are what we recall as time goes by. The long straight road to the center of blackness that is the Washington Ditch will always evoke more smiles than frowns.
~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
APRIL 2005
Most rats have run in some pretty exotic places. This rat dares not name his favorite places he has spent his tread. Well, what the heck, maybe a few highlights!
Most Beautiful – The deck of a Royal Caribbean cruise ship for 10K
Hottest – El Corridor Highway in Los Cabos for 5 miles
Coldest – The last Saturday AM club run in Jan 2004 was pretty chilly!
Hilliest – Running out of the New River Gorge in WV in 1996
Flattest – well…
I suppose it is time for a more recent rat tale. Virginia Beach is flat, aside from a few dunes to sprint over. I mean, you really have to be creative. Sometimes you just have to give up and run the flats! Sooooo… back to my handy little biking book I went. Now, you all know they don’t make a lot of bikes for us four-legged types, so I really bought the book to scope out trail runs.
It seems that a long time ago there were a few slaves that escaped and hid out in a nearby swamp. President Washington visited this 1,000,000 acre wetland and decided he would dig a series of ditches and try to drain it. Well, he might as well have spit into the wind! But ole George created some mighty fine roads through the swamp when the ditches and canals were made. In fact, one of the first monuments named after a president resulted. Washington Ditch spans about 4.2 miles from the edge of the swamp to the mysterious Lake Drummond. A raised road was made with the dirt from the ditch. Voila… a trail run!
Now, many of you may think of flats as a blessing. Or, maybe you think they are just plain easy. Me? Despite my four legs I personally struggle with flats. This was a nightmare waiting to unfold. I quick glance at the historical marker and off I went. My girlfriend was with me, so that was a good thing. We started with a brisk walk and advanced into jogging speed. We’re lucky, because we run pretty fast for rats. I’d guess about 6.5mph to begin with, and about 6.7mph as a pace.
At that pace, the scenery is still very observable. From a rat’s view, it was paradise! Wet swamp lands and fallen timbers were everywhere. Ah ah! I forgot to mention that the original 1,000,000 acres had been harvested of timber over the years, and now about 125,000 acres remain. Hey, don’t be sad mister and miss Tree Hugger. The area is in splendid condition and free of logging since the early 1900’s, and still the largest wetland reserve in the eastern US. Anyway, the remnants of past logging is evident in the amount of deadfall and decay. I was so tempted to take my four little legs off-trail. But, custom waders for us rats are expensive, and I only use mine for fly-fishing.
As I looked down the corridor of trees I swore it was just another Hollywood backdrop. It didn’t seem real. But, the grind in my muscles and joints did not vary. The same view. The same feel. Mental entropy occurred [that means chaos], and I was immediately dreaming of our Lake Drummond arrival alternately with the sound of spring traps being activated. You know how that makes a rat feel? Of course you don’t! Silly humans. But, I still noticed the crickets and katydids and all the other delicacies making noise. It really was rat heaven… I felt better. The corridor was interrupted once by an intersecting ditch/road combo. And on it went. And on. But an end appeared to materialize, and as we jogged on, it became real. There was A TURN. Wow! A change of direction! And so as we made the dogleg right another end appeared. Then another dogleg right revealed a massive lake with a landing dock and a free spotting scope.
Lake Drummond is massive. My partner asked me how far it would be to jog around it [if there was a road]. I estimated 20 to 25 miles. It was an impressive sight. Impression depends on perspective. Witness these writings on Lake Drummond
Canoeing Sketches, John Boyle O'Reilly, From: Athletics and Manly Sport, Boston: Pilot Publishing Company, 1890
The Lake of the Dismal Swamp is the very eye of material anguish. Its circle of silvery beach is flooded and hidden, and still the pent-up water, vainly beseeching an outlet, is raised and driven in unnatural enmity to the roots of the tall juniper, cypress, and gum trees, that completely surround its shore. The waves that should murmur and break on a strand of incomparable brilliancy, are pushed beyond their proper limits, and compelled to soften and sap the productive earth; to wash bare and white the sinews of the friendly trees, and inundate a wide region of extraordinary fertility. The bleached roots of the doomed trees seem to shudder and shrink from the weltering death. There is an evident bending upward of the overtaken roots to escape suffocation. The shores of the lake are like a scene from the "Inferno." Matted, twisted, and broken, the roots, like living things in danger, arch themselves out of the dark flood, pitifully striving to hold aloft their noble stems and branches. The water of the lake, dark almost as blood, from the surface flow of juniper sap and other vegetable matter, is forced from six to ten feet above its natural level, and driven by winds hither to this bank to-day and thither to-morrow, washing every vestige of earth from the helpless life-givers, till its whole circumference is a woful net-work of gnarled trunks and intertwined fibres, bleached and dry as the bones of a skeleton, and sheltering no life, but that of the blue lizard and red-throated moccasin.
Well well... that should get you ready to run back to the car… don’t you think???
And so it was that the return would have no walking. The two ruts in the road became the paths to glory. My partner clocked mile two on the return at an 8:30 pace, which just killer for rats. This rat was inspired by her effort and gave extra effort of his own to stay within sight of her. But upon thinking, she could be a mile away and still be seen! Yet, the effort remained high and great strains were made to spot the gate at the parking lot.
We spotted no snakes, bobcats, black bears, or other creatures of fear known to inhabit the reserve. We did startle a herron into flight. I have not seen a herron since canoeing the Current River over a year ago. Anytime a bird with a 6-feet wing span takes off you have to pause mentally. It is a beautiful sight. But there was no physical pause, and soon the dark brown metal and wooden gates appeared in the distance. My partner asked me on a couple of occasions how far away I thought they were. Knowing what she really was asking, I gave her the answer in finishing kick time. “Uh…that’s about a 4 minute finish sprint, baby.” We jogged it home to the car!
It was a long drive in the ratmobile back to our little nest in the wall of a Virginia Beach apartment complex. It gave us time to contemplate about 7.4 miles of Great Dismal agony and ecstasy [and our one mile warm up walk]. As with most rats, our experiences can be summed up in moments. And our moments of sadness and euphoria are what we recall as time goes by. The long straight road to the center of blackness that is the Washington Ditch will always evoke more smiles than frowns.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Trail Rat Meets The Sandman
Trail Rat Meets The Sandman
~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
MARCH 2005
One of the first questions I asked myself after arriving in Virginia Beach is “where do I run?” The second question, for the record, was “where are the hills?” Trail withdrawal was eminent. It was mid-January and winter was in full “bloom.” Most of this Trail Rat’s training occurs on a “dreadmill” in the winter, staring blankly at a display with basic information. Unfortunately, wrist GPS gadgets won’t work on a dreadmill, so calculations are performed in one’s mind. This is particularly frustrating to rats, as our brains are quite small and thus limited in capacity for such calculations. And rats sometimes digress, so this one will move on.
There were a few other rats at work, but none with the real lustful sort of enthusiasm that this rat has. And nothing like other rats such as Larry K, or George P, or Kathy M, or Ed C, or Heidi GM, or… drat! Rats do digress! Anyway, this rat was on his own to figure out the best place to get a trail fix. Rats at the Tidewater Striders running club sent me to First Landing State Park. But rats get disappointed when you have to pay to enter a park to park. Rats may digress, but parking at a park is just plain redundant! So this rat bought a book at a bike shop [gasp] about mountain biking in Virginia. The book cost 18 rat dollars and the park tips contained therein saved 4 rat dollars per trip to the park. This rat was happy!
So, I put a rat rack on top of my sled and loaded the mountain bike. I had to be true to the purpose of the book for the first trip to the park. I rode the General McGuire trail out and back for 12 miles. Not a lot of distance, but rat riding in mixed dirt and sand can be a challenge that is not well measured by distance alone. It is not the length of the trail, but the firmness of the surface [innuendo intended]. This rat decided that the GMT was going to be a fine running trail! Plus, there were many capillary trails leading outward from the main trail. Rats love to explore!
One more bike ride and a rat run was finally in order. I parked at the bike shop [gasp again] and jogged the paved mile to the park trailhead. Through the mixed forest I ran, with pine trees providing green in the winter I was not used to seeing. Past the parking lot I ran, thinking of the money I saved and the extra two miles I would run by parking outside the park [redundancy intended]. Onto a capillary trail [The Bald Cypress Trail] I swerved. I was soon in heaven. 1.75 miles worth of trail took rats over little mounds [hills around here] and around swampland dotted with amazing bald cypress trees. The trees belched the breath of time itself, standing firm beneath an overcoat of Spanish moss. Oh my… I was not in Missouri! Only 6 miles of running provided me with 6 hours of smiling. Rats look mean when they smile, so I had to contain my joy.
I saw many other rats while at First Landing. There where scout rats, couple rats, and rats with strollers in the woods. There were biker rats and runner rats, and even a military rat or two keeping in tune for deployment. But, there were no familiar rats to me, so my joy was justly tempered to a mild euphoria. Rats are social, and even with small brains, we remember things for a long time. Running with familiar rats is one of those lingering memories. So new trails will be found and reported, just to share with my old rat friends, and bring back some great memories that no rat could ever forget.
~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
MARCH 2005
One of the first questions I asked myself after arriving in Virginia Beach is “where do I run?” The second question, for the record, was “where are the hills?” Trail withdrawal was eminent. It was mid-January and winter was in full “bloom.” Most of this Trail Rat’s training occurs on a “dreadmill” in the winter, staring blankly at a display with basic information. Unfortunately, wrist GPS gadgets won’t work on a dreadmill, so calculations are performed in one’s mind. This is particularly frustrating to rats, as our brains are quite small and thus limited in capacity for such calculations. And rats sometimes digress, so this one will move on.
There were a few other rats at work, but none with the real lustful sort of enthusiasm that this rat has. And nothing like other rats such as Larry K, or George P, or Kathy M, or Ed C, or Heidi GM, or… drat! Rats do digress! Anyway, this rat was on his own to figure out the best place to get a trail fix. Rats at the Tidewater Striders running club sent me to First Landing State Park. But rats get disappointed when you have to pay to enter a park to park. Rats may digress, but parking at a park is just plain redundant! So this rat bought a book at a bike shop [gasp] about mountain biking in Virginia. The book cost 18 rat dollars and the park tips contained therein saved 4 rat dollars per trip to the park. This rat was happy!
So, I put a rat rack on top of my sled and loaded the mountain bike. I had to be true to the purpose of the book for the first trip to the park. I rode the General McGuire trail out and back for 12 miles. Not a lot of distance, but rat riding in mixed dirt and sand can be a challenge that is not well measured by distance alone. It is not the length of the trail, but the firmness of the surface [innuendo intended]. This rat decided that the GMT was going to be a fine running trail! Plus, there were many capillary trails leading outward from the main trail. Rats love to explore!
One more bike ride and a rat run was finally in order. I parked at the bike shop [gasp again] and jogged the paved mile to the park trailhead. Through the mixed forest I ran, with pine trees providing green in the winter I was not used to seeing. Past the parking lot I ran, thinking of the money I saved and the extra two miles I would run by parking outside the park [redundancy intended]. Onto a capillary trail [The Bald Cypress Trail] I swerved. I was soon in heaven. 1.75 miles worth of trail took rats over little mounds [hills around here] and around swampland dotted with amazing bald cypress trees. The trees belched the breath of time itself, standing firm beneath an overcoat of Spanish moss. Oh my… I was not in Missouri! Only 6 miles of running provided me with 6 hours of smiling. Rats look mean when they smile, so I had to contain my joy.
I saw many other rats while at First Landing. There where scout rats, couple rats, and rats with strollers in the woods. There were biker rats and runner rats, and even a military rat or two keeping in tune for deployment. But, there were no familiar rats to me, so my joy was justly tempered to a mild euphoria. Rats are social, and even with small brains, we remember things for a long time. Running with familiar rats is one of those lingering memories. So new trails will be found and reported, just to share with my old rat friends, and bring back some great memories that no rat could ever forget.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
The Truth Of Life
What matters most when the stuff hits the fan
FEBRUARY 2005
By Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson
By now, many of you know I have moved. Currently, I am sitting in an Extended Stay Hotel room typing on my work laptop. I have no phone. I have no ISP. I have no friends in the area. The traffic sucks. I can’t save to my 401k until July. I have to pay for two months of COBRA heath care. After 15 years of company cars I now have a car payment. I now have no home. The apartment I have leased is nowhere near big enough to hold the past 10 years worth of gathered goods. I will need storage. On the positive side I have made considerable settling progress since my arrival 7 days ago. I actually know my way around most of the time. This area has one of the worst reputations for getting people utterly lost. I believe it. I have such good directional sense that my initials should be GPS, and I still get confused here. I will live within running distance of the ocean. First Landing State Park has 7+ miles of un-groomed trails for this rat. The seafood is fresh. There is a Dick’s and a Bass Pro Shop for trail rat supplies. The Tidewater Striders running club here is one of the largest in the USA. Can you believe they do not publish a newsletter? I wonder whom they could get to do that? I wonder if the content could be tailored to TWO clubs… hmmmm….
I had been looking for a new job for about 26 months. Already having a job afforded me time and selectivity. It was only recently that the truth of my search hit me. The truth was that a new job might take me away from St Louis and my friends there. And so the truth came to be. But there is more.
I left behind a lot of truth. Terry hammers a marathon with a PF flare after 10K… that is truth. Kelly runs in a 25mph wind as Wonder Woman… that is truth. Bert invites us to ride 100 miles on a stormy summer day just for fun… that is truth. Jim just plain writes the truth… check out his story. Many of you are THE truth, out there leading lives of honor and courage and loyalty. You have physical injuries, failed relationships, challenged children, challenging jobs, aging parents, and many other things that demand your energy. But out you go. You freaking run. You friggin' pedal. You create a space for the peace of an elevated heartbeat… that is truth. In street slang, the truth is someone who is the epitome of excellence. Many of you fit this definition in my mind. So, it was pretty easy for me to get out and take my first run in Virginia Beach when I think of all of you. It was not on a trail, but through a business park. The majority of the run was on a street named Crossways. Well, if you ever find yourself crossways with this area, I should be able to show you a good trail run by then, and maybe we can hammer a tray of blue crabs together. Between the beer and Old Bay Seasoning I’m sure we will enjoy ourselves. And don’t forget the truth. When everything around you is changing find something that is steady. For me, that is faith, hope and love. And you don’t have to be an apostle to know for sure that the greatest of these is love. Indeed. That is truth.
What matters most when the stuff hits the fan
FEBRUARY 2005
By Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson
By now, many of you know I have moved. Currently, I am sitting in an Extended Stay Hotel room typing on my work laptop. I have no phone. I have no ISP. I have no friends in the area. The traffic sucks. I can’t save to my 401k until July. I have to pay for two months of COBRA heath care. After 15 years of company cars I now have a car payment. I now have no home. The apartment I have leased is nowhere near big enough to hold the past 10 years worth of gathered goods. I will need storage. On the positive side I have made considerable settling progress since my arrival 7 days ago. I actually know my way around most of the time. This area has one of the worst reputations for getting people utterly lost. I believe it. I have such good directional sense that my initials should be GPS, and I still get confused here. I will live within running distance of the ocean. First Landing State Park has 7+ miles of un-groomed trails for this rat. The seafood is fresh. There is a Dick’s and a Bass Pro Shop for trail rat supplies. The Tidewater Striders running club here is one of the largest in the USA. Can you believe they do not publish a newsletter? I wonder whom they could get to do that? I wonder if the content could be tailored to TWO clubs… hmmmm….
I had been looking for a new job for about 26 months. Already having a job afforded me time and selectivity. It was only recently that the truth of my search hit me. The truth was that a new job might take me away from St Louis and my friends there. And so the truth came to be. But there is more.
I left behind a lot of truth. Terry hammers a marathon with a PF flare after 10K… that is truth. Kelly runs in a 25mph wind as Wonder Woman… that is truth. Bert invites us to ride 100 miles on a stormy summer day just for fun… that is truth. Jim just plain writes the truth… check out his story. Many of you are THE truth, out there leading lives of honor and courage and loyalty. You have physical injuries, failed relationships, challenged children, challenging jobs, aging parents, and many other things that demand your energy. But out you go. You freaking run. You friggin' pedal. You create a space for the peace of an elevated heartbeat… that is truth. In street slang, the truth is someone who is the epitome of excellence. Many of you fit this definition in my mind. So, it was pretty easy for me to get out and take my first run in Virginia Beach when I think of all of you. It was not on a trail, but through a business park. The majority of the run was on a street named Crossways. Well, if you ever find yourself crossways with this area, I should be able to show you a good trail run by then, and maybe we can hammer a tray of blue crabs together. Between the beer and Old Bay Seasoning I’m sure we will enjoy ourselves. And don’t forget the truth. When everything around you is changing find something that is steady. For me, that is faith, hope and love. And you don’t have to be an apostle to know for sure that the greatest of these is love. Indeed. That is truth.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Trail Rat Holiday Tails and Tales
Trail Rat Holiday Tails and Tales JANUARY 2005
Well, this trail rat knows better than most that this is has been one heck of a year. 2004 left this rat in a tail spin [pun FULLY intended]. Momma rat ran off and left this one to fend for himself in September 2003. But by December I was running the trails named for discoverers. And while running the frozen and crunchy trail tundra, I discovered a few things on my own.
This rat started lifting and running and biking again. About 40 pounds later I woke up and looked in the mirror. After the initial shock wore off I realized that when you burn more calories than you eat you start to shrink. Go figure?!
I found out that traffic truly sucks in St Charles. I’d load up for a trail run, and it would take me 35 minutes to drive what used to take 20 minutes. I searched high and low for a way to multi-task and use this time wisely. More on that later.
I did a few long runs… longer than I had ever planned. I met some amazing people along the way. I met rats like Terry and Kay, and found out that kindness, compassion, and irreverence can all happily coexist in the same household. Rat Kelly showed me that rats can look just like Lynda Carter if they try REALLY hard. Rat Glen became an encourager, which I found to be MOST effective coming from someone so incorrigible. I met rats I’d known before like Bert. He’d run some of the same trails and had woven some similar tales. I met gadget rats like Shiela, who take longer to suit up for a run than me with all her toys… but can provide far more interesting data along the way. Rat Bob R worked out at the same YMCA earlier in the year, and I found that it is possible to meet someone lifting weights who is truly a nice person. I met rats like Bev who threatened to whip my butt for my verbal faux pas, and I kind of liked that . Rat Dave gave me some perspective while his significant other, rat Joan, gave me some of the best cookies EVER. I don’t even think Dave would debate about that! Rat Vicki gave me work ethic at Flat Five... “stand in front of those cars!” I’m still in therapy after that. Rat Larry K gave me some great laughs while defending America from the onslaught of my French girlfriend [I hope he knows she was mostly juicing him for a reaction]. I learned from a few trail runs [with Heidi, George, and Kathy] that rats of different abilities can run and train together effectively.
Finally, all of these rat encounters have brought me through to the end of the best year of my life. I learned to use the drive time to think up newsletter articles. I learned to use my free will to run. I became the comeback rat. And a darn thankful rat. Thankful my paws will get me down the trail next to my home. At no time is this more poignant than when I see my neighbors getting their paraplegic son out on the trail for some fresh air. After seeing that, every run should seem easy. Anyway, this rat will carve a trail out of granite for all you club rats… anytime. You are all great people in your own unique ways. Share those gifts with both friends [and a few strangers] this season. Peace, Hope, and Love. ~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
Well, this trail rat knows better than most that this is has been one heck of a year. 2004 left this rat in a tail spin [pun FULLY intended]. Momma rat ran off and left this one to fend for himself in September 2003. But by December I was running the trails named for discoverers. And while running the frozen and crunchy trail tundra, I discovered a few things on my own.
This rat started lifting and running and biking again. About 40 pounds later I woke up and looked in the mirror. After the initial shock wore off I realized that when you burn more calories than you eat you start to shrink. Go figure?!
I found out that traffic truly sucks in St Charles. I’d load up for a trail run, and it would take me 35 minutes to drive what used to take 20 minutes. I searched high and low for a way to multi-task and use this time wisely. More on that later.
I did a few long runs… longer than I had ever planned. I met some amazing people along the way. I met rats like Terry and Kay, and found out that kindness, compassion, and irreverence can all happily coexist in the same household
Finally, all of these rat encounters have brought me through to the end of the best year of my life. I learned to use the drive time to think up newsletter articles. I learned to use my free will to run. I became the comeback rat. And a darn thankful rat. Thankful my paws will get me down the trail next to my home. At no time is this more poignant than when I see my neighbors getting their paraplegic son out on the trail for some fresh air. After seeing that, every run should seem easy. Anyway, this rat will carve a trail out of granite for all you club rats… anytime. You are all great people in your own unique ways. Share those gifts with both friends [and a few strangers] this season. Peace, Hope, and Love. ~Reed “Trail Rat” Nelson~
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