riding through it

For the past few years, I have been using a text called The Elements (and Pleasures) of Difficulty in my composition class. The approach advocated by the authors is one that embraces, rather than avoids, difficulty: in reading, in writing, in thinking, and in “human relationships.” The key to overcoming difficulty, they posit, is to reflect on why something is difficult; this reflection takes place in a one-page journal known as the “difficulty paper,” in which writers reflect on the challenges of a text, and begin to hypothesize why the text is challenging. It is in understanding the difficulty that we are able to move past it, and, ultimately, to achieve a deeper understanding.

Recently, I made the switch from pedal clips to clipless pedals on my mountain bike. As my husband Bryan will attest, I can be somewhat stubborn when it comes to adapting to new technology. Sure, I love the technical fabric of my workout clothes, a definite improvement over cotton, but when it comes to new ways of doing things—using blogs in my classroom, for example—I often hear the voice of my late father-in-law: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Bryan has been trying to get me to switch to clipless pedals for years, but while I have found them intriguing, in an, "Oh, what an interesting concept" sort of way, I haven’t quite embraced the idea of adopting them for my own bike. I turned 40 in March; why try to learn a new trick? After all, I have ridden miles and miles of mountain trails in pedal clips, and each spring, after winter's biking hiatus, I have to re-earn my confidence. Why add another level of challenge?

My first couple of clipless rides served to reaffirm my rigid resistance. I was off the bike more than I was on, and spent most of each ride in my head. If a climb looked difficult, I was off the bike. Didn’t want to take the risk. What if I found myself needing to clip out halfway up the hill? Would I be able to? Better just to push the bike (not fun, by the way!). Slightly technical? Better to just walk through. And damn these pedals!

I decided I’d give the pedals until the first day of June. Bryan and I are both registered for the Vermont 50 mountain bike race, a 50-mile off-road race that takes place in September, and I was beginning to get worried about my inability, or unwillingness, to ride the more technical routes. How could I train if I was pushing my bike half the time? I did, however, want to give the pedals a fair chance. I read online forums, talked to friends, searched for the right approach. I wasn’t surprised by my findings: Half of the riders who wrote in could hardly remember life before clipless pedals. Half of them would never consider making the switch. And some tried and gave up.

In the midst of my pedal soul-searching, I was grading student portfolios. A number of students, in their end-of-the-year evaluations, commented on the empowering effect of the “difficulty” approach to writing. I thought about how often I tell my students to “write through it.” Reflect on the challenge, consider why the obstacle is tripping you up, and look for a strategy to move past it. The textbook includes a strategy known as the triple-entry notebook: when confronted with a difficult text, record your impressions (what stands out or gives you pause), your questions (why am I struggling? What might some of the factors include?) and resolutions (how did I overcome the difficulty?). I began to apply this method to my biking.

Impressions
I was experiencing something like pedal anxiety. Instead of seeing the trail, I was seeing myself going over my handlebars, or over a cliff (I don’t ride near any cliffs), or under my bike.

My ankles were hurting from the turning motion of clipping out. This also brought on a bit of tendonitis.

My quads were more tired than usual, which was affecting my ability to climb hills. This made me even more likely to push, rather than pedal, my bike.

My new bike felt less stable than my old one, and I found myself fish-tailing. This, too, had me off the bike.

Questions
Could some of the pedal-anxiety actually be early season lack of confidence? The first couple of rides of the season are always a little discouraging, and I generally dismount more than I would in, say, August.

Were there other types of pedals, ones that allow a rider to clip out in different directions? Or could the pedals be adjusted?

Could the burning quads have something to do with the position of the seat? Would adjusting the seat help the bike’s instability?

Resolutions
More riding = less anxiety.
Found cleats that are compatible with my pedals; these allow for an easier clip-out.

Had Bryan do an “ergonomic evaluation.” He moved the seat back about ½ an inch. Noticed the change in comfort level immediately. Noticed the more even distribution of weight on my next trail ride.

The Pleasures of Difficulty
In the end, it really doesn’t matter which pedals I choose, but I was jubilant after today’s successful ride, if only because I could feel myself overcoming the Pedal Obstacle. I had been somewhat skeptical as to how much a slight re-positioning of my seat could affect my ride, but as it turns out, Bryan knew what he was talking about when he made that suggestion. No fish-tailing, no sore quads (well, no unreasonably sore quads), no tendonitis. I didn’t make it up every hill, but I didn’t bail out at the bottom, either. I was in the saddle for most of the ride, and was beaming as I exited the trail.

During one of the more painful climbs, I thought about falling, but not in a panicked way. Instead, I questioned why I was so afraid of falling (because you’re 40 and might break a hip!). When I was in college, I used to show up to class with bruises and scrapes acquired from a mountain bike ride. At twenty-three, I was proud of my trail badges. At forty, my fear of falling inhibits my technical ability, which, in turn, dampens the fun factor. No, I don’t want to come home from every ride with bruised and bloodied shins, but I don’t want to tremble at each log, either.

The jury’s still out on the pedals, but if I opt out, it won’t be because I’m a mountain-bike Luddite.

what to do, what to do

Eating maple syrup and craving moose stew.

For years, I've been looking ahead to 40, thinking of it as an excuse--or an opportunity--to make a return trip to Alaska for one of two butt-kicking races: either the Equinox Marathon, which takes place in Fairbanks in September, or the Lost Lake Run, a 17-mile trail run just south of Anchorage. This race is run in August, which makes it more appealing, as I will still be on summer break and won't have to find coverage for my classes.

One of my New Year's Resolutions this year is To Act. I've spent enough time looking at thresholds that need repair, a barn that needs de-cluttering, and stories that need finishing. But I'm not sure if a trip to Alaska constitutes action or caprice. Or whether it matters if it's one or the other.

Last month, round trip airfare was in the 400's. I almost pulled the trigger (or pressed the button, as it were). I did not. Now we are into the 500's, and with oil prices rising, I don't see fares going down any time soon.

If I were to go, I would have child care (Mom) and places to stay (friends, campground).

And 40 has arrived.

What to do, what to do.

not your mother's ridge run

Date: Saturday, March 5
Time: 7:00am (ish)
Duration: 3hrs, 45 minutes
Course: Roaring Brook Falls (Cheshire) to Naugatuck State Forest/Brooksvale
Park; back to Roaring Brook and over toward Mixville Park; back to
Roaring Brook again. (Total distance: ??)
Temp: 45-ish?
Conditions: Variable; mostly sloppy
Runners: Mirela, Tricia


I haven’t been very diligent about updating the blog (though Anne has been pretty good). It’s not for lack of interest, to be sure, nor lack of training (well, not really); just lack of time. I just can’t get my priorities straight: the job keeps getting in the way of my athletic and creative endeavors. Go figure.

On Tuesday, I ran for 3 hours, starting from my house in Cheshire. I ran alongside Alexa for about a mile (she was on her bicycle), dropped her off at her home daycare, and continued another mile-plus to Brooksvale Park. The trail conditions were fair in the beginning: slippery packed powder and some ice. By the last hour, however, I was sinking in with every step, and swearing out loud every third. It was a most frustrating finish, and a run that would have taken two hours under normal circumstances took just under three.

Saturday’s run was much more pleasant, and not only because I had company for almost all of it. I was excited to explore the blue trail along the ridge behind Cheshire, which traverses Mount Sanford and Bethany Mountain. Mirela and I met at Roaring Brook Falls, and this time, unlike Tuesday, I remembered my Yaktrax (in which, incidentally, Bryan had tied a knot the night before, the rubber having broken on my last Sleeping
Giant run. In defense of Yaktrax, I’ve had mine for 8 years, so they really don’t owe me anything.). The run is flat for about the first 1/8 mile, and then climbs a steep, steep hill up to the falls, which really are quite stunning, and a very well-kept secret, too.

“At least it’s pretty much a ridge run once we get to the top,” I told Mirela. I should have known not to expect any such thing from the blue trail. Behind the ridge that is visible from the east side of Cheshire is another hidden ridge. And another. And another. And, as we discovered, the ridge isn’t quite a ridge, but a series of hills (or “mountains,” according to the Connecticut Walk Book).

On the south-facing sections, the conditions were borderline luxurious. Our feet touched actual, snow-less ground, which was glorious. In other sections, ice prevailed, and at one point, we found ourselves having to stop and think about how to get down the slope without injury. We hugged a lot of trees and spent some time sliding on our butts, and Mirela sustained a pretty nasty abrasion to her shin. It was probably fortunate that our planned family ski outing to Mohawk was cancelled today (due to rain), because I’m not sure she could have gotten a ski boot over that bump!
At Naugatuck State Forest, where the trail meets the YMCA camp at the back side of Brooksvale Park, we took the forest road to the blue/red-dot spur trail. Frustration reigned again (it was in this very same spot that I let a loud F-bomb drop on Tuesday), as the snow was soft on the surface and hard against our shins. We looped back up to the blue trail, and headed back in the direction from which we had started.

We were surprised to find, when we returned to the Falls, that we had only been running for 2 hours and 20 minutes. So, we went north, toward Prospect. Lo and behold: more hills! My quads were feeling the burn, my feet were soggy and cold, and I was hungry. I had the last of my meager provisions, a packet of Chocolate Outrage Gu, and felt slightly rejuvenated. After about 30 minutes, we turned back, and I accompanied Mirela to her car, determined to have company for as long as possible.

3 hours 23 minutes. I had my mind set on doing 4 hours, so I said good-bye to Mirela and turned back to the trail once again. Rather than subjecting myself to the torture of the steep ascent up the red trail that leads back to the Falls, I followed some snow-shoe tracks down an unmarked trail, a trail that also headed in the direction of the ridge. The ascent was somewhat gentle for the first 10th of a mile or so, and then it turned sharply upward. Though I usually relish the opportunity to squeeze in one final hill, this time my legs pleaded with me to please find another option. So, I took a right, and the trail climbed more gradually.

After fifteen minutes, hunger began to overshadow the desire to reach my time goal, and I turned back toward the trailhead. Total time was 3 hours and 43 minutes: respectable, but not close enough to call it four.

I went home, shed my sopping wet socks, and had an omelette stuffed with cheddar, mushrooms, spinach, and scallions, which really hit the spot. Later, Mirela and her family came over for homemade pizza and beverages, and we finished the evening off with a sinfully yummy carrot cake that they were sweet enough to bring.

I was sore, but envious that Mirela was planning to do it all over again with Anne (who is likely tanned and relaxed after a week in Florida) in the morning. Since I had volunteered to sub at Sunday School, I had to content myself with only one looonnggg run this weekend, but I’m looking forward to enjoying the second run vicariously.

A tale of two runs

The thought of 18 solo miles on the roads was very unappealing until I heard from Fran at the eleventh hour (ok 7:30pm) wondering if anyone was running in the morning! I was thrilled and quickly gave her my best spin hoping it would be her best offer!! Turns out it was her best offer and lucky for me, her only one!

Twelve hours later we set off for a 9 mile loop around Middletown. The roads were quiet and clear and the conversation and pace was nice and relaxed. I was feeling a bit tired though, I think from my busy week and maybe a little stress about my upcoming vacation.

After loop one, I walked with Fran for a bit, brought my dog out to see her, drank water, ate fig newtons…anything to procrastinate the second loop that I would do without her. Fran suggested that I completely change clothes. More procrastination…great idea!

Fifteen minutes after finishing loop one I had a whole new outfit on and iPod buds in my ears. It felt like I was just starting a new run! I also realized the hills were harder on the first loop, so that gave me a boost, though I did feel a little bad running the harder direction with Fran. But, she’s tough, so I didn’t dwell on that.

With a few miles to go I was completely exhausted. My legs were sore, my breathing was labored and I was starving and thirsty. My energy level was low. I definitely need to figure out the eating thing better. A couple of favorite songs later and I was home. 18. Done. I couldn't help compare the soreness I felt from the roads, versus trails. Trails are nice....

Off to Key West tomorrow for some R&R. Nice to have this run in the bank as my runs on vacation tend to be easy strolls with many stops to take in the scenery, and sometimes to figure out where I am!

I’m wishing Tricia and Mirela good luck on their 3 hour trail run tomorrow, and Fran on the second run of her weekend, with Karen. Not too many people can jump back into longer runs after an entire month off due to injury like Fran can. Ok…pretty sure Tricia could too!

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!

Winter biathlon

I wasn't in Norway, but I felt like I was. The trees were still ice covered. Mounds of snow everywhere. Gray and cold. When I reached the top of one hill, I could see across to the Powder Ridge "ridge" and the variations of gray and white where so awesome that I had to stop and shoot. The problem was my heart rate. It was so high from the hill, that I could hardly point the camera. I exhaled, held steady, and shot it. I could not help but think of my favorite Olympic sporting event, the Winter Biathlon.

The biathlete races full speed on skis and then must stop and fire a rifle at a target. If they miss the target on any of their tries, they must take a penalty lap equivalent to the number of times they missed the target. It's brutal and fascinating! I realize they are in top physical condition, but still, their heart rates have to be through the roof. I can't imagine how they steady themselves to fire at the target. In the end, my hilly 13 mile solo run was made a little easier as I fantasized about being a Nordic biathlete even if just for a few minutes as I crested the hill and fired my camera.

roadrunner blues

I'm a lover of winter. Usually, I complain about the lack of snow in Connecticut, and hoard the pleasure of each snowfall by spending as much time as possible in the fluffy stuff. The reason I have never invested in a pair of running snowshoes is because, prior to this year, there has not been a winter during which the trails were rendered un-runable by more traditional methods (trail shoes and a pair of Yaktrax). Sure, there was some post-holing once in a while, but in general, a snowy path simply meant a colder, more intense workout.

Today, though, I’m saying “Uncle.” While the roof-raking, ice-chopping and shoveling have added some variety to the cross-training routine (not to mention an excuse to use my long-neglected ice axe), I am missing the trail. Our Tuesday trail runs have been snowed out for at least three weeks. My snowshoes are too clunky for running. I’m losing sleep because I can feel the roof getting heavier and heavier.

Consequently, I have neglected the blog. I just haven’t been inspired by my workouts.

One exception: our second annual winter ascent of Mt. Monadnock in New Hampshire. This year, there were seven of us (Anne, Mirela, Joshi, Steffi, Lisa, Fran and this writer), and though we packed a lot of gear (snowshoes, crampons, mountaineering boots, ice axe), the conditions were such that all we really had to do was hike. We took the Spellman-Pumpelly route, which is a bit dicey in certain spots, but appealing because it is more technical and therefore less travelled. Last year, the exposed section was a blanket of ice, and crampons were mandatory. This year, though the footing was a somewhat uncertain at times, we managed to ascend in just boots.

The descent was quick and slippery: we were able to slide down a good portion of the trail on our bottoms (those of us who opted for rain pants had an especially fast ride).

We capped the “cross training” trip off with a trip to the People’s Pint in Greenfield (see photo, below).

Since then, I’ve been back on the road. Today, I managed a hilly 13 miles from my house, and though I had to stop every couple of minutes to let cars pass (yes, the roads are that narrow), I was elated to be out in the sunshine after days of being cooped up with the kids. The glare was a little intense for my generic sunglasses, but the trees glistened and sparkled. The most picturesque portion of the run was Blue Hills Orchards in Wallingford (I snapped two photos on my phone, but don’t have the equipment to upload them to my p.c.). I love this section in every season, but rarely do I have the opportunity to see the hills covered in so much powder.

Heading back toward home, I stopped by the DeDominicis Trail on Old Lane Road (one of our favorites) to investigate the conditions. The trailhead was completely blocked by about 6-feet of ice-encrusted snow, and the trail itself was untrodden. For two or three steps, it almost seemed as though the ice would hold my weight, and I was almost giddy. I considered running home, grabbing my Yaktrax, and coming right back. But before the idea had even registered, I sank, and my shins crashed up against shards of ice. Sigh. Back to the roads.