From running log:
Ran about 7.7 miles at 7:00 pace on trails and sand roads near Solon Springs. Tired. These sandy runs are hard work, but fun. The horseflies are also a bother. 200+ mile summer, seems so meager.
30 years later:
I smile with a touch of embarrassment at phrases in my log such as "about 7.7 miles". How could I believe my estimates to be accurate to the tenth of a mile? Pure hubris. Forgive me, I was young.
There were some tricks we tried in those days to deal with the clouds of biting flies that would dive bomb you while you ran. The best was to soak a handkerchief in a ziploc bag with insect repellent, then drape it from the top of your head down the nape of your neck, holding it on with a baseball-style cap. Of course, you had to wear a shirt, and sunglasses usually kept the flies out of your eyes. They still managed to bite me, on my arms, cheeks, and even legs. Annoying.
But even the flies couldn't stop me from enjoying a long (for me in those days) run in the north woods of Wisconsin, all by myself. I remember another run up in that area a couple of years later. It was evening, and the skies were just starting to move into dusk. I was in a zone, running hard on narrow singletrack trails just above the edge of a swamp. As I tore around a sharp bend, there in front of me was the biggest buck deer I had ever seen. Memory is a tricky thing prone to exaggeration, but in this case I'm convinced that thing stood nearly 7 feet tall if you counted it's antlers. What made the encounter hilarious was our reaction. That's right, "our" reaction. It was basically identical. Both the deer and I leapt straight into the air, eyes wide with shock, and emptied our lungs in nearly identical screams of fear. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Both of us had our feet moving before we hit the ground, like in the cartoons, so that when we touched down we both bolted at full speed in opposite directions (thankfully). After I'd run about half a mile, I was completely anaerobic and wheezing for air, so I had to stop. Once I'd recovered my breath, I think I laughed myself back into the anaerobic zone again. Those images are etched forever in my memory. When I'm old and senile I'll probably bore my children with that story over and over, it will be one of the last ones I'll forget.
Ran about 7.7 miles at 7:00 pace on trails and sand roads near Solon Springs. Tired. These sandy runs are hard work, but fun. The horseflies are also a bother. 200+ mile summer, seems so meager.
30 years later:
I smile with a touch of embarrassment at phrases in my log such as "about 7.7 miles". How could I believe my estimates to be accurate to the tenth of a mile? Pure hubris. Forgive me, I was young.
There were some tricks we tried in those days to deal with the clouds of biting flies that would dive bomb you while you ran. The best was to soak a handkerchief in a ziploc bag with insect repellent, then drape it from the top of your head down the nape of your neck, holding it on with a baseball-style cap. Of course, you had to wear a shirt, and sunglasses usually kept the flies out of your eyes. They still managed to bite me, on my arms, cheeks, and even legs. Annoying.
But even the flies couldn't stop me from enjoying a long (for me in those days) run in the north woods of Wisconsin, all by myself. I remember another run up in that area a couple of years later. It was evening, and the skies were just starting to move into dusk. I was in a zone, running hard on narrow singletrack trails just above the edge of a swamp. As I tore around a sharp bend, there in front of me was the biggest buck deer I had ever seen. Memory is a tricky thing prone to exaggeration, but in this case I'm convinced that thing stood nearly 7 feet tall if you counted it's antlers. What made the encounter hilarious was our reaction. That's right, "our" reaction. It was basically identical. Both the deer and I leapt straight into the air, eyes wide with shock, and emptied our lungs in nearly identical screams of fear. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Both of us had our feet moving before we hit the ground, like in the cartoons, so that when we touched down we both bolted at full speed in opposite directions (thankfully). After I'd run about half a mile, I was completely anaerobic and wheezing for air, so I had to stop. Once I'd recovered my breath, I think I laughed myself back into the anaerobic zone again. Those images are etched forever in my memory. When I'm old and senile I'll probably bore my children with that story over and over, it will be one of the last ones I'll forget.
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