Adventures of a Mud Puppy

My quest to find running events that allow me to be as slow as I like continued this weekend with the Seaton Soaker Trail Race. This race is part of the Ontario Ultra and Trail Race Series (Outrace), and offers 15, 25, and 50k distances. I chose the middle option. The shortest wouldn’t have satisfied me, and the longest would have killed me.

Photo: Seaton Soaker Trail Race

The course follows the Seaton Hiking Trail, a forested, mostly single-lane path with moderate hills that winds along Duffins Creek in Ajax, just east of Toronto. About 3 km from the end there is a shallow river crossing, which is useful to wash the excess mud off the lower body. This can be a revitalizing sensation, as the water temperature in spring is anything but tepid.

I ran this race last year on a warm sunny day in May. Unless you live in Honolulu though, not all days in May are warm and sunny, and this past Saturday was one of the other kind. It was on the cool side, and I would describe the precipitation as an ambitious Scotch mist. The rain wasn’t really an issue weather-wise, but the trails, already quite muddy from spring runoff, were especially challenging.

Meaning slippery. This year's event wasn’t so much a soaker as it was a slider. A lot of the time I was either schmucking my way through ankle-deep mud or clinging to a tree branch to keep from slipping down a hill. I would have felt more stable dancing the Nutcracker on a hockey rink.

The precariousness of balance reminded me of my friend Pam’s description of a gravel-road bike race called Barry-Roubaix.

As always, I appreciated the volunteers because among other things they smiled dutifully at my lame attempts at humour as I passed, even though they must have been soaked and chilled to the bone. I continue to believe that it is easier to be a runner than a volunteer, but more noble to be the latter.

Yes, that's me under there.

I managed to stay more or less upright for the first half of the day, but heading back into the forest after the turnaround at 12.5k, I finally lost it and went down. My landing was soft and sloppy, like one of those slow motion films of a duck landing on the water, legs outstretched in front, wings flapping away. Naturally, the first thing I did was to look around and see if anyone else had seen me. But this is one of the advantages of being at the back of the pack: there are few people nearby.

By the end of the morning I was covered in mud and getting weary of losing my footing every two minutes, but I still finished smiling, with lots of energy to spare. I sprinted up the final hill to the finish line, ready (if not even remotely able) to do it all again.

It is a lovely thing to be running through a forest. The surface – when it is not as slick as quicksilver – is soft and yielding to the feet. The air is still and quiet. I believe that the nearness of the trees and other features makes it seem as if I am moving a lot faster than I am. Frankly, it is more fun than counting lampposts or stoplights along a city street.

Of course, I rarely see much of the scenery moving past me; I am too busy trying not to trip over anything. My eyes are always fixed on the path underneath my feet.  A trail race course could traverse a nudist resort and I probably wouldn’t notice.

Running trails is a full-body workout, every step requires a different landing, and my arms seem to be constantly flapping about in different directions to help me keep my balance. No elliptical trainer bends and twists my aging body so effectively.

I marvel at the people who can really move over a course like this (and there were many of them). Although I don’t aspire to any finish results above the bottom page, I would like to become a bit more efficient and confident in my trail running (and maybe fall a bit less).

OMG Spring!

Around the Bay Road Race, Hamilton Ontario. April 3, 2016

The attraction and the caution of an outdoor athletic event is that is outdoors. The guys who created the Around the Bay 30k Race back in 1894 originally held it on Boxing Day; later it was moved to the end of March. So all who participate in it know to expect anything in the way of weather. Last year I remember being frozen to the brisket from a bitter wind as I ran the final 3 kilometres. This year promised something similar, with temperatures not expected to get above freezing all day.

As I stood waiting to start the race, swathed in tights, warmup pants, layers of shirt, windproof jacket, gloves, and toque, I recalled that the last time I had run this distance was in Death Valley. That day the temperature reached 100 degrees Fahrenheit and I drank mega-quantities of liquid and put ice in my hat to keep cool and hydrated against the sun. I never stop marvelling that we possess bodies that can operate in such extremes.

Running from the start through the portlands of Hamilton down to Lake Ontario, I actually felt overdressed and overwarm as the wind was at our backs and the morning sun was in our faces. But I was philosophical.

This is nothing, I thought. I was plenty hotter than this in Death Valley.

The second 10 kilometres of the race takes runners along the shore of the lake, in the shadow of the Burlington Bay Skyway. Somehow this is never as picturesque as it sounds, and I always find this section a bit of a slog – heroic and cheery aid station volunteers notwithstanding. When the road turns away from the lake and begins to wind gently upward through the neighbourhoods of Burlington at 17k, I find a sense of relief from boredom.

It was along this section that I noticed this year a phenomenon that is certainly going to be more a part of road racing in years to come. Social media is invading the loneliness of the long distance runner.

Whereas I have always found a certain solitary peace and focus by running, the younger racers are making text messages and tweets part of the experience. I trotted past dozens of young girls shuffling along the road, eyes fixed on the tiny screens of their phones, thumbs at work like little pistons.

“OMG hills!!!! B glad u R not me LOL.”

Which way to the South Pole?

I started to stiffen up at around 25k, which I had expected. Along with the distance, the pavement was taking a toll on knees and quads after a winter of bouncy running on my treadmill. It probably didn’t help my glacial pace that I was wrapped in as much polar clothing as the Amundsen expedition.

The last stretch back into town was not as breezy as I had been expecting, and the Grim Reaper posing for selfies with the runners at 28k did not seem as grim as he had last year. The temperature indeed stayed south of freezing but the sun stayed mostly out for the duration and it was a sparkling day to be running. It was an outdoor event at the end of winter. Shorts and tank top definitely optional.

I felt that generally I ran a more evenly paced race this year. It was also more evenly slower. Even though there were a number of guys my age still out on the course as I trotted into the gloom of FirstOntario Centre and across the line, I think I could have picked it up just a bit the whole way. I was fully 25 minutes slower than I was when I  first ran the race 25 years ago. Symmetrical deterioration?

Still, it was only the first event of the year. OMG. Give urself a break.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running for 90 Minutes

I am currently trying to get myself in shape for my first running event of 2016, the venerable Around the Bay Road Race. It’s a 30k run through the streets of Hamilton Ontario, and it takes place either at the end of winter or the beginning of spring, depending on the weather that day. Last year it was a cold, sunny day with a bitter wind, so I was glad I was bundled up. Other years it has been almost balmy.

The Old Man and the Bay

Until recently our winter here was very sparse snow-wise, but I still do most of my off-season running on the treadmill. That way I can watch TV and stop and fill my water bottle when I want to. The atmosphere is more Family Guy than Chariots of Fire, but at least I get the workout done.

One of my favourite Sunday workouts at this time of year is my 90-minute run. Although the long run of the week is supposed to be long-slow-distance with no thought to speed, I do try to keep an even pace. I have found that my run divides itself into three roughly even sections; each has its own characteristics, challenges, rewards.

The first thirty minutes of my long run are always the hardest. Each system in my body protests the transition from stillness to motion and my mind is overwhelmed by how far I have to go before I am finished. When I’m outdoors I really don’t take a lot of time to notice my surroundings in this first half hour. I am too busy trying to remember how to run.

My thoughts during this first third of my run are mostly status checks of my body. Although I haven’t had as many injuries as some of my friends, I am aware that I should expect different things from my physical self at 64 than I did at 34. It is only as I approach the half-hour mark that I come to accept – as if for the first time – that I am a runner.

The second 30 minutes of my run are always the easiest. I credit myself with the distance I have travelled so far and my mind is less preoccupied with how far I have yet to go. My muscles are warm and fluid and strong and my stride lengthens. If I started my run out of breath and feeling lazy, that mood leaves me and is replaced by a calm rhythm.

It’s funny how I can never really forget that I’m running. I rarely drift off into a daydream and wake up to discover that I’ve covered another couple of kilometres while dozing. Running is likely the most present thing I do. I am always aware of my arms swinging, of my feet hitting the ground, of my breath filling my chest, of my legs pivoting forward in turns to catch me just in time to stop me from falling. I find myself surprised and grateful every time they do.

The final half hour is when I start to feel like a distance runner. Because I have suffered through my share of injuries over the past 30 years (most of them in the past 10), I am always relieved and energized when all my moving parts have worked together through thousands and thousands of repetitions to carry me this far. Nothing about me ever feels as perfect as it does at this time.

I tell myself I am picking up the pace, even though I know that I’m really just working harder to keep up the pace I started at.  By the end I usually feel the way I wanted to feel: ready for more. I am grateful to have run and finished, not because I finished, but because I ran.

Ninety minutes is less than half of what it will take me to run around Hamilton Bay in a few weeks. But it translates into a good distance for me: more than a 10k and less than a half marathon. A useful workout that doesn’t leave me too wrecked to do anything else for days. I like the synergy of the three sections; none would exist without the other, and together they dare me and test me. And then they recreate me.