still more fun than the road

Workout: 2.5 hours; trail (Brooksvale Park)
Time: 9:30am
Temp: 22 degrees at start; 27 degrees at finish
Conditions: wildly inconsistent!

We are a little over 9 weeks away from the Traprock 50k, and still the trails are covered in ice, snow, post-holes, sinkholes, fallen trees, and ruts left by snow-shoers who made their tracks before the most recent wintry mix.

For the second week in a row, I set out to do my long run on Thursday, rather than on the weekend, to free up some time for family, work, and house obligations. On the plus side: I can sleep an extra hour or so on Saturday morning. On the minus side: Thursday long runs are lonely long runs. The group runs on the weekend.

Last week, running on the trail was out of the question. This week, the trail is still questionable, but the question is, is it any less treacherous than the road?

If my Tuesday morning run with Pete is any indication, I would have to say “no.” In our 65-minute tour of Cheshire’s south end, Pete and I battled patches of ice, narrow sidewalks, irate morning commuters, blaring car horns, and ankle-deep puddles. This morning, I was utterly desperate for the solitude of the trail, and so I headed over to Brooksvale Park, my expectations low but my spirits cheerful at the idea of being in the woods.

I was giddy to find that the main trail, beginning from the parking lot behind the Veteran’s Memorial Building, was runnable. Not just “runnable” (step, step, slip, sink, step), but runnable (step, step, step, step, step, leap with glee). To be fair, the runability of the trail was due in large part to the efforts of an adventurous snow-shoer, who laid the tracks that became my path (a path that took me to previously unexplored areas of the park—an amazing feat, considering that I have been running there for ten years). Yaktrax were a necessary accessory, as the packed snow was slippery in spots, especially by the stream.

Ah, the stream. The stream-crossing is part of our regular loop, and where we cross depends on the season, and on how much precipitation we have had. Most of the time, it’s no trouble at all to skip across the rocks and escape with nothing more serious than a wet toe. Sometimes, when the water is deeper, we go a little further west, and use a fallen tree as our “rope.” Today the stream was rushing, so I opted for the tree. Wish I’d brought the camera, and someone to take a video. What usually takes about thirty seconds took at least four minutes. The tree was icy, and the rocks were covered with a slick layer as well. I clung to the trunk and slowly made my way across. When I got to the bank on the other side and began to scramble up, I sank into the snow, and back into the water. I tried again, and slipped on an icy branch. On the third attempt, a little more wary, I managed to find a foothold and lift myself up on to the snow, which was also covered in a layer of ice. I dug in with my Yaktrax, brushed the snow from my tights, and continued on.

The snowshoe tracks, I noticed, had ended at the stream. It was clear that my guide had turned back. The fun run was over. The footing seemed stable at first, but this was short-lived. Step-step-sink. Step-sink. Sink. Sink. Step. Crash. Trip. Step. Step. Step.

I was determined at this point to spend all of my 2.5 hours on the trail, conditions be damned. I told myself, not unreasonably, that even if step-sink isn’t the same as “running,” this wintry workout would better prepare me for a race like the Traprock.

Ninety minutes to go. . . .

I had to keep sipping from my hydration pack to keep the water from freezing. When I reached the bridge, and the road that leads to the YMCA camp, the footing was actually quite solid. This inspired me to head for the Blue Trail in Naugatuck State Forest. I was going to run to the top of Mount Sanford, and then continue on the ridge!

My excitement dissipated within minutes of reaching the Blue Trail. Sink. Sink. Crash. Swear. Admit defeat. Turn back, with one last glance at Sanford.

A frustrating run to the Pipeline Trail. There, I could see the ghost of snowshoe tracks. Could these be the same ones left by Anne, Fran and me three weeks ago? In any case, the Pipeline Trail was fairly frozen, which meant I could run without sinking (and swearing).

The White Trail brought more adventurous footing, and I slogged through the final leg of the run, much of which is still a blur. My shins are a little bruised, my back aches from the slipping and sinking, but it was still an uplifting respite from the wretched road. Tomorrow: Sleeping Giant!