It is the the last run of 2017. As is our routine, the Early Air Running Club has come together for our long Saturday run at 6:00 am. This New Year's Eve Morning is cold, but not terrible. By general consensus, this group reserves the word "terrible" to describe running in single digit temperatures, or worse, with some sort of wind and precipitation. This morning, however, is clear and moonlit with a temperature hovering around 20 degrees and a mild wind.
As I stand among the other runners in the parking lot of a local gym, I'm thinking about how I'm already a little cold and how the first mile or so will continue to be a little chilly. I know I'll warm up quickly. I also know that some mental discipline will be required to push through the minor panic that occurs when my cardiovascular system freaks out a little trying to accommodate this sudden, higher rate of exertion. I know the minor aches and pains will appear then fade once I acclimate to the morning activity and my breathing and heart rate settle into a familiar, sustainable rhythm. Of course my body ignores this intellectual knowledge. There is no avoiding the discomfort of the first few "warm up miles" and I'm anxious to get started and get beyond them.
At 6:05 the grace period we allow for late comers expires. With unspoken, herd like instinct, we all turn toward the road, begin to walk and then break into an easy jog as a chorus of Garmin watches sound their chimes, indicating that the official data recording has begun. The affable chit/chat, typical of a group of friends enjoying a shared pastime, begins. The words are only half heard as we each focus on avoiding the ice patches in this parking lot that have taken the feet out from under more than one inattentive runner.
My hands are cold in my heavy gloves, my legs feel stiff and there just doesn't seem to be quite enough oxygen in the air, but I know this is all temporary. I allow myself to be distracted by conversation as our gaggle migrates down the hill past the hotels and restaurant that share the parking lot. Two by two, we make the hard left turn out of the parking lot. Ahead lies a long, dark road, with regularly spaced street lights illuminating the way.
After the first mile or so of a long run our group naturally fractures into a smaller subgroups based on speed and distance goals for the morning. Today we'll eventually separate into three groups. A few of the faster guys are the first to break away. Today they are planning on a distance of around 10 miles at a pace that only wish I could maintain for more than a couple of miles. They begin to increase their speed around the two mile mark. As is our custom, we shout out encouragement (and maybe an occasional teasing taunt) to the mostly younger men accelerating away.
The rest of the group remains together for a few more miles and will split into two smaller groups later with distances targets of 8 and 15 miles respectively. The details of who is running how far with whom were all figured out in the parking lot before we started. We do our best to ensure there are at least two people in every group who are reasonably well matched for that day's speed and distance. Today I'll be running two other guys who are much faster than I am but, fortunately for me, who are focused on distance rather than speed for this particular workout.
So, for now, the balance of the group continues on with our regular, steady pace. Our route takes us along mostly quiet streets on rolling hills and past dark homes and businesses. The pace is comfortable and it allows for easy conversation. As usual, the range of topics varies widely from the philosophical to the absurd and are often driven by the common interests of the people running together at that moment. I think the tight knit nature of our running group is a result of spending these hours each week trying to avoid boredom by discussing every imaginable topic, exchanging advice, arguing political positions or maybe even providing the occasional compassionate, confidential ear. The conversation is never forced, and sometimes there are periods of silence as we leave each other to our private thoughts. For me, these thoughts usually revolve around post-processing events of the week, punctuated with an occasional "system" check on my running form, assessments of any current aches and, for good measure, a self-reminder that the planned run is well within my capabilities.
Around 4 mile, there is a fork in the road. We pause for just a moment to exchange words of encouragement and some post-run rendezvous plans. Three of us turn left to head north as the rest of the group turn right for the route that heads more or less back to the gym.
Our longer route this morning includes a few miles through a local county park. It is one of my favorite segments. The park is reasonably flat and is not open to traffic this early in the morning. It has the added benefits of allowing for easy ways to extend our planned distance a little if we choose to and, maybe more importantly, provides access to open, heated restrooms even at this early hour of the morning. A quick pit stop, drink and quad-stretch at mile five or so seems to work pretty well for some long runs.
The half mile or so of road that approaches the park isn't particularly busy early in the morning but it is high-speed and under construction. We have to pay close attention, making it one of the more stressful portions of the run. I feel a little sense of relief as we arrive at the park and I pass through the main gates and relax a little.
The park is quiet and shrouded in darkness. My eyes take a moment to adjust. We are continuing to run north and the morning light is just barely hinting of a new day over the hills beyond the river to our right. The road at the park entrance is a wide, paved. It has enough of a slight down hill grade that I notice and appreciate the minor change in effort. This morning there is a fine layer of snow blown across the road, not quite covering the surface with a delicate white carpet. The grass to our right is also covered in white, almost glowing in the predawn moonlight.
It is quiet. Only the rhythm of our footfalls and breathing break the silence of the morning. The park is asleep. We three interlopers are trying to pass through making as small a disturbance as possible. One of my running partners whispers a challenge to me to capture the beauty of this scene in a blog entry. Accepting the challenge, I look around and try to absorb into my memory as much of the scene as I can.
We are the first to move through the snow-covered access road today. There is something special about being first that I can't quite put my finger on. The snow is the dry, dusty, blowy kind not the heavy, slushy sticky kind. With each step, the snow seems to sense impending doom and scatters in all directions to avoid getting squashed as my running shoe meets the ground and absorbs the weight of my body. I see that the ponds are not frozen and the water is calm and mirror-still. I can just make out reflections of the trees by the light of the moon in the cloudless morning sky. The air is cool, probably cold, but the exertion of the run keeps me warm. My jacket is half unzipped and my heavy gloves are already in my pockets for the remainder of the run and I'm wearing my thinner pair.
As we make our way deeper into the park the light from the restroom buildings on our right becomes more obvious. The lighted windows show brightly among the trees and pavilions casting long shadows and giving the surrounding area a sinister feel. The road bends to the right and we circle around to the opposite side of the outbuildings. We discuss whether there is any need to stop. It's an irrelevant discussion because I know we'll stop. After just a couple minutes we’re back on our way.
My legs resist the first few steps. They have tightened up in the cold after just this short break. I press on anyway, the blood begins to flow and the muscles quickly loosen up. It takes only a minute to return to the comfortable, pre-rest-stop rhythm of footfalls and breathing. We make a left turn onto a path that takes us toward the river and then we make a right and head south putting the Chenango River about 5 feet or so to our left. The river is high and the speed of the current shows in the early twilight. I can only think how cold that water must be. We continue southward looping back to the park entrance. Now it is a moderate up hill to exit; its the price you pay for the earlier downhill.
On exiting the park we turn East and run into the early sunrise. This begins the next segment of today’s run. It will include a significant hill climb to a castle and we’ll be rewarded one of the best views of the valley. The last segment will start with a long downhill into a city that is waking up, along busier city streets and back to the gym. We'll arrive a little sore but satisfied with the morning’s workout.
As I stand among the other runners in the parking lot of a local gym, I'm thinking about how I'm already a little cold and how the first mile or so will continue to be a little chilly. I know I'll warm up quickly. I also know that some mental discipline will be required to push through the minor panic that occurs when my cardiovascular system freaks out a little trying to accommodate this sudden, higher rate of exertion. I know the minor aches and pains will appear then fade once I acclimate to the morning activity and my breathing and heart rate settle into a familiar, sustainable rhythm. Of course my body ignores this intellectual knowledge. There is no avoiding the discomfort of the first few "warm up miles" and I'm anxious to get started and get beyond them.
At 6:05 the grace period we allow for late comers expires. With unspoken, herd like instinct, we all turn toward the road, begin to walk and then break into an easy jog as a chorus of Garmin watches sound their chimes, indicating that the official data recording has begun. The affable chit/chat, typical of a group of friends enjoying a shared pastime, begins. The words are only half heard as we each focus on avoiding the ice patches in this parking lot that have taken the feet out from under more than one inattentive runner.
My hands are cold in my heavy gloves, my legs feel stiff and there just doesn't seem to be quite enough oxygen in the air, but I know this is all temporary. I allow myself to be distracted by conversation as our gaggle migrates down the hill past the hotels and restaurant that share the parking lot. Two by two, we make the hard left turn out of the parking lot. Ahead lies a long, dark road, with regularly spaced street lights illuminating the way.
After the first mile or so of a long run our group naturally fractures into a smaller subgroups based on speed and distance goals for the morning. Today we'll eventually separate into three groups. A few of the faster guys are the first to break away. Today they are planning on a distance of around 10 miles at a pace that only wish I could maintain for more than a couple of miles. They begin to increase their speed around the two mile mark. As is our custom, we shout out encouragement (and maybe an occasional teasing taunt) to the mostly younger men accelerating away.
The rest of the group remains together for a few more miles and will split into two smaller groups later with distances targets of 8 and 15 miles respectively. The details of who is running how far with whom were all figured out in the parking lot before we started. We do our best to ensure there are at least two people in every group who are reasonably well matched for that day's speed and distance. Today I'll be running two other guys who are much faster than I am but, fortunately for me, who are focused on distance rather than speed for this particular workout.
So, for now, the balance of the group continues on with our regular, steady pace. Our route takes us along mostly quiet streets on rolling hills and past dark homes and businesses. The pace is comfortable and it allows for easy conversation. As usual, the range of topics varies widely from the philosophical to the absurd and are often driven by the common interests of the people running together at that moment. I think the tight knit nature of our running group is a result of spending these hours each week trying to avoid boredom by discussing every imaginable topic, exchanging advice, arguing political positions or maybe even providing the occasional compassionate, confidential ear. The conversation is never forced, and sometimes there are periods of silence as we leave each other to our private thoughts. For me, these thoughts usually revolve around post-processing events of the week, punctuated with an occasional "system" check on my running form, assessments of any current aches and, for good measure, a self-reminder that the planned run is well within my capabilities.
Around 4 mile, there is a fork in the road. We pause for just a moment to exchange words of encouragement and some post-run rendezvous plans. Three of us turn left to head north as the rest of the group turn right for the route that heads more or less back to the gym.
Our longer route this morning includes a few miles through a local county park. It is one of my favorite segments. The park is reasonably flat and is not open to traffic this early in the morning. It has the added benefits of allowing for easy ways to extend our planned distance a little if we choose to and, maybe more importantly, provides access to open, heated restrooms even at this early hour of the morning. A quick pit stop, drink and quad-stretch at mile five or so seems to work pretty well for some long runs.
The half mile or so of road that approaches the park isn't particularly busy early in the morning but it is high-speed and under construction. We have to pay close attention, making it one of the more stressful portions of the run. I feel a little sense of relief as we arrive at the park and I pass through the main gates and relax a little.
The park is quiet and shrouded in darkness. My eyes take a moment to adjust. We are continuing to run north and the morning light is just barely hinting of a new day over the hills beyond the river to our right. The road at the park entrance is a wide, paved. It has enough of a slight down hill grade that I notice and appreciate the minor change in effort. This morning there is a fine layer of snow blown across the road, not quite covering the surface with a delicate white carpet. The grass to our right is also covered in white, almost glowing in the predawn moonlight.
It is quiet. Only the rhythm of our footfalls and breathing break the silence of the morning. The park is asleep. We three interlopers are trying to pass through making as small a disturbance as possible. One of my running partners whispers a challenge to me to capture the beauty of this scene in a blog entry. Accepting the challenge, I look around and try to absorb into my memory as much of the scene as I can.
We are the first to move through the snow-covered access road today. There is something special about being first that I can't quite put my finger on. The snow is the dry, dusty, blowy kind not the heavy, slushy sticky kind. With each step, the snow seems to sense impending doom and scatters in all directions to avoid getting squashed as my running shoe meets the ground and absorbs the weight of my body. I see that the ponds are not frozen and the water is calm and mirror-still. I can just make out reflections of the trees by the light of the moon in the cloudless morning sky. The air is cool, probably cold, but the exertion of the run keeps me warm. My jacket is half unzipped and my heavy gloves are already in my pockets for the remainder of the run and I'm wearing my thinner pair.
As we make our way deeper into the park the light from the restroom buildings on our right becomes more obvious. The lighted windows show brightly among the trees and pavilions casting long shadows and giving the surrounding area a sinister feel. The road bends to the right and we circle around to the opposite side of the outbuildings. We discuss whether there is any need to stop. It's an irrelevant discussion because I know we'll stop. After just a couple minutes we’re back on our way.
My legs resist the first few steps. They have tightened up in the cold after just this short break. I press on anyway, the blood begins to flow and the muscles quickly loosen up. It takes only a minute to return to the comfortable, pre-rest-stop rhythm of footfalls and breathing. We make a left turn onto a path that takes us toward the river and then we make a right and head south putting the Chenango River about 5 feet or so to our left. The river is high and the speed of the current shows in the early twilight. I can only think how cold that water must be. We continue southward looping back to the park entrance. Now it is a moderate up hill to exit; its the price you pay for the earlier downhill.
On exiting the park we turn East and run into the early sunrise. This begins the next segment of today’s run. It will include a significant hill climb to a castle and we’ll be rewarded one of the best views of the valley. The last segment will start with a long downhill into a city that is waking up, along busier city streets and back to the gym. We'll arrive a little sore but satisfied with the morning’s workout.
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