Train,Race,Recover,Repeat

Gut Check Tine

2009-02-08T23:33:00.001-05:00

Snowfall. For the kids, it means sledding, possible school cancellations, and snowball fights. For me, winter’s offering usually invokes a primal urge that takes every ounce of motivation to overcome. What is this primal urge I mention? C’mon dummies, everyone knows that we are mammals and one of our main goals is to stay warm and cozy. Come on, admit it, what is the first thing most of us want to do when the alarm clocks starts screaming and we know that there is fresh snow on the ground? You know, the kind of snow that needs to be shoveled or snowblowed. The kind of snow that if left alone, will form into a glacier and be there until mid June. If you are anything like me, you don’t want to disturb your nice cozy cocoon of warmth. Most of us want to stay in bed. I’m with ya brothers and sisters. For nine months out of the year, I’m usually out of bed and headed to the gym at the crack of 5:00am. I rarely miss a day. I live in Northeast, and the long spring and summer days make it hard not to attack the days ‘early and often’. By the way, the saying ‘early and often’ is local folklore and relates to a well known Boston politician who was encouraging his constituents to vote ‘early and often’. Ah, Boston politics, not quite Chicago politics, but close.

I just can’t wrap my head around it, why do I lose motivation to get out of bed once it snows? Tough Question. It isn’t the cold, I love the cold, I would rather run when it’s cold outside. Cold air can just aggravate you, heat and humidity can kill you. Cold crisp mornings and the vibrant autumn colors always seem to recharge my batteries. Virtually all of my memorable rides and runs have taken place in October and November. Although I start to scale back the intensity of my workouts once the race season is winding down in September, I usually cruise into October and November in peak shape. I look forward to and enjoy the ‘fun’ rides and runs with friends. And then BAM, the snow hits and I turn into a whiney little newbie afraid to get my feet wet. Have you seen the video of our Hash Run? I’m not afraid to get my feet wet, or have decaying leaves stuffed down my back, or drink whiskey, or wear a dress in public. But that is another story more appropriate for the leggy Dr. Melfey’s couch.

I can think of no better way to spend a nice Fall morning than heading out at first light for a run. The crisp air lets me know in a hurry that summer is over and I’m going to earn my workout that day, there are no freebies in the Fall. If I’m running in the right direction, the rising sun can provide enough facial warmth to make me wonder if I’m overdressed, but as soon as I turn to the north, I soon realize I could have used another layer. With each breath, my legs feel stronger, and soon there are drops of sweat flying off my body. The changing colors of the maple and oak leaves provide a perfect backdrop as the warm sun makes the roofs of the houses steam as if they were afire. “Enjoy the day” I repeat to myself over and over as I know the cold and snow will soon take over. The winter days eventually get so cold that I will actually drive my ‘coffin’ to run errands around town instead of riding my bike. A cyclist’s four wheeled vehicle that sits in the driveway is commonly referred to as a ‘coffin’.

I wonder what would happen if once winter arrives, I just gave up. It wouldn’t take much for me to become a sloth glued to the television. I have nice comfortable couches and a nice TV. I wonder if I took the winter off, no running, swimming, lifting, or cycling, how long it would take to permanently impart my ‘butt print’ on a couch? Don’t laugh; I have this conversation with myself every year.

Does anyone remember that scene from Animal House, when Clorette has passed out, and Larry’s evil conscience and good conscious have quite the discussion? Yes, good, that is the kind of conversation I have with myself every year. So far, good conscious has won the arm wrestling match.

Here is a sample of a typical internal conversation that takes place each December:

Good Conscious- Remember Spring comes early, you can’t miss any workouts.
Evil Conscious- Screw it, what will happen if you skip a few workouts
Good Conscious- That is how it starts, you miss one, then a few more, and so on and so on…….and eventually you’ll feel like crap.
Evil Conscious- You need a break, you work hard year round, take some time to yourself and relax
Good Conscious- Relax, that is what you do after a workout, there is plenty of time in the day to do both.
Evil Conscious- Why ruin a nice pizza, a few beers, and a plate of buffalo wings by getting up early and working out the next morning.
Good Conscious- You need to workout so all the chicks will think you are hot. (I know, do I have to say it?)
Evil Conscious- I can’t argue with that. Get going you slug.

So there you have it. Winter is in full swing. There is at least 2 feet of snow on the ground. Although I’m still not able to run, I have been banging out the miles on my mountain bike and in the pool. When the snow if right, I hit the trails for a 10 mile loop. My ten mile loop takes double to triple the energy and effort to complete when there is snow on the ground. Think riding your bike in beach sand. Ugh, Ugh, Ugh, then throw in some hills. Get it? Good. I am still hitting the gym nearly everyday, Am I in peak shape? Nah, far from it. Am I buff? Nah, far from it. Did I ‘give in’ to my Evil Conscious? Nah, no way. Does my couch have a permanent butt print dent? No way. Am I going to be ready for race season? You bet your a$$ I will.

Synergy

2009-01-06T23:07:00.002-05:00

Synergy

“A dynamic state in which combined action is favored over the sum of individual component actions”

Woke up to 9 inches of the freshest, lightest powder the Northeast has ever seen. Shoveled the driveway as fast as I could. Mounted my new 29 x 2.5 tires on the singlespeed. Float is good. Wife took both children to visit their grandparents. Beautiful day, sunny, 28 degrees, slightly windy. Hit the road. Entered the woods, My Woods, to complete the loop, My Loop. Soft, fluffy, easy. Floated downhill the first ¼ mile. Giggling like a schoolgirl. Warm, too warm. Overdressed? We’ll see. Not a sound. Complete Silence. Snow covered trees buzzing by. Racing the shadows, the sun pacing me. Snow flying up from my front wheel. Who needs fenders. Effortless for now. Rolling over logs, sticks, rocks, suspension still locked out. Starting to warm up. Passed ‘My Spot’ where earlier last year I was glued to the ground checking out leaves. Glanced up, no leaves today, different view, no time. Crossed the small stream, stopped on the other side to listen to the rushing water. My hearing came back.. Back on my bike, dead silence again. No wind in the woods. Continued on, started climbing. Warmed up, started to sweat. Blood pumping. Bike and body in perfect harmony. Efficient, working, moving. Definitely over dressed. Opened the zipper to jacket. Heat rises, fogged glasses. Sweat dripping on toptube. Sun is still ahead of me. No animal tracks, no humans, a soft sea of white powder. Climbing, descending, floating, smiling, grunting. Falling, laughing. Wishing I had someone to share the moment with. Knowing I could never describe this experience. Attempting to jump blow downs from the ice storm. Having success, failing, sliding to the ground. White everywhere. Sensory deprivation. Playing a guessing game, when will I fall next? Stopped at the top of a hill. Savoring the views, the day. Feeling lucky. Alive. Warm. Looked up at the sky, the mix of cold air and warm sunlight was invigorating. Up the next hill, heart pumping, legs pumping, bursts of moist air being forced out of my lungs. Energy delivery in process, glycogen being used, electrolytes being burned, calories being spent, muscles heating up, everything working. Lactic acid being converted and buffered. Oxygen in, Carbon Dioxide out. Simple equation. Thinking about my 100 mile mountain bike race in Georgia this Fall. Are my competitors out on a day like today. Store this memory. I may need it someday when I need to go to my ‘Happy Place’ Sounds. What is that? Cross country skiers coming my way. I stop. We chat about the beautiful day and weather like we are residents sitting around the nursing home making small talk. The words aren’t spoken, but we know. We know we are lucky and privileged to be where we are. We are experiencing what it means to be alive. We smile, and before we part ways, we tell each other to enjoy the day, and mean it but it is overkill. We have, we are, and we will. We are part of the club. Our own club, the only members. We could have met in the summer in the same spot, it wouldn’t have been the same. Back on the bike, cold after stopping, have to heat up the engine again. Jump on Half Moon Trail, ride the familiar, now unfamiliar terrain. Crack a smile when I pass the site of the mud pit where my running club members threw mud at me during our Hash Run. Wonder where my red dress is. Warm again. Damn sun is still ahead of me. Still beating me. Laughing at me, dodging between trees, staying close enough, but far enough away. Arrive at the intersection of a main road. The noise!!!! Cars whizzing by. Trucks downshifting. Noise, too loud. Get away, cross the road. Race towards the Rail Trail. Quiet again. Enter neighborhood, enter a field and climb short hill. Big decent to the Rail Trail. Weight back, looking forward. Am I on the trail? Off the trail? Who cares. Warp speed downhill. Floating. Rooster tails from both tires. Giggling again. In control, totally out of control. Wide open, blazing a trail in an open field. Alive. Stop at bottom, look back up. A single 5 inch trench cut into the virgin powder. Sun glistening. No camera. Wouldn’t do it justice anyway. Laugh at the thought that most will have no idea what made that track. People don’t ride bikes in the snow. hahaha My secret. Rail Trail, 1 ½ miles to my house. Unplowed. Deep. Soft. Cross country ski tracks. Someone beat me to it. Deer tracks. Turkey tracks. Deer walk in straight lines, turkeys zig zag. Flat, pumping, quiet, speed, smiles, and sweat. Arrive home. Getting the look from the neighbors. I’m used to ‘The Look’. They don’t understand. Elated but sad. Epic day that will never be forgotten, but also never duplicated. That’s OK, the next one may be better. It may be horrible. No worries. Never know if you don’t get out there. Drive. Passion. Surprises. Life.

The Buckle

2008-12-19T01:16:00.002-05:00

“Does it hurt when you cough?’ asked the Pediatrician to my 4 year old son. “It hurts, but Daddy gives me the buckle and then I go to sleep” responded my son.

The glare was directed right at me. “Oh $hit” was my first thought.

The day was supposed to be a glorious day. I had the day off from work, the weather was in the mid 50’s, and I was scheduled to test my ‘healed’ ankle on a nice flat 1 mile run. My alarm clock went off at 8:30am. Looking back, I think I was more excited at the prospect of sleeping until 8:30am than going out for my first run since early November. Granted, this run was totally against Doctor’s Orders, but I have rested my ankle, gone through aggressive treatments, and felt it was ready for a test. My Physician made me promise him that I wouldn’t run until the first week of February. I remember springing out of bed that morning, having my regular pre-exercise breakfast of a half a bagel, an egg white omelet, and two Hammer Gels.

I was almost ready to get dressed for my run, when my 4 year old son came out of his room looking like zombie on Halloween. He was crying, his color was awful, he had bags under his eyes (he gets that from his mother, hahaha), and he was holding his left ear. Being a Firefighter and an EMT, the signs were obvious; he was sick and had an ear infection. You may ask how I knew he had an ear infection by just looking at him. I didn’t even have to look at him to know he had an ear infection. I didn’t need my years of ‘On The Job’ clinical experience to solve this mystery. I knew my son had an ear infection because he slept until 8:50am. There is not a 4 year old alive, who isn’t sick, who sleeps until 8:50am. I’m not a conspiracy theorist type of guy, but I’m positive that all those OB/GYN pregnancy ultrasound tests somehow program children to wake somewhere between 5:00-6:00am. Or maybe kids just know that there are cartoons on TV early in the morning. I dunno.

Anyway, I lost the Rock-Paper-Scissor game with my wife and I had to take my son to the Pediatrician. I should have thrown Paper, I always throw Paper. I wish I could say I was focused on my son’s health, but to be honest, all I could think about on the way to the doctor’s office was when I could squeeze my run in. Here is how it went in my head: “Ok, the appointment is at 10:30, the doctor can’t get too far behind that early in the morning can he, we will get in there on time, he will check out his ears, prescribe some antibiotics, and we will be on our way before 11:15am, I can pick up the meds on the way home and be I will be ready to run by 12:00pm”

Well, it didn’t go quite that smooth. We were seen at 10:30am, but I didn’t count on a 40 minute wait for a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia, or the Department of Social Services investigation…………….Yes, the Department of Social Services is the Massachusetts equivalent of a Child Protection Services Department.

My son’s Pediatrician, Dr. J., who referred to by my wife as “McDreamy” is about 6’3 and 230 pounds. He is a young doctor probably in his late 30’s. I can tell when either of my boys have appointments, because my wife is always dressed very nicely, her hair done, and she has applied her makeup by 7:00am. It laugh to myself when I attend appointments with my wife and children, I look around the waiting room and it is so easy to identify the Moms who have appointments with Dr. J., they are dressed like they are headed out for a hot date on Saturday night.

Anyway, back to the story. While Dr. J. was cruising through his physical exam, my son started to cough. Dr. J. asked him to open his mouth, and say “Ahhhhh”, which my son did. He then asked my son if it hurt when he coughed, and my son responded, “It hurts, but Daddy gives me the buckle and then I go to sleep”. I thought to myself “Oh no, what do I do?” Dr. J. is the most unassuming person you could ever meet. He is father to small children himself, he is great with his patients, my kids (and wife) look forward to his appointments, he laughs, he interacts with the kids, and he is silly when he needs to be, but this was the first time I saw the look of shock on his face. He looked directly at me and in a stern voice, said two words, “Please explain”. All I could think of was that stupid Bill Cosby show ‘Kids Say The Darndest Things’.

The first words out of my mouth were, “Look, I’m not even wearing a belt”. Great, now he thinks I’m trying to hide the evidence. I then explained that when my son was very young, his favorite baby food was Gerber’s Blueberry Buckle. It actually tasted pretty good. Gerber somehow found a way to squeeze Blueberry Cobbler into a 3 ounce glass jar. I explained that my wife and I would refer to this Gerber Baby Food as 'The Buckle', such as, “Would you like some buckle”. My son absolutely loved Blueberry Buckle, and soon any food or liquid he saw was referred to as 'The Buckle’. Not that there are that many bluish/purple foods out there, but soon blueberry yogurt and blueberry pie became know as 'The Buckle’.

I attempted to explain that my son’s genius mother figured out that if she called grape flavored cough medicine, ibuprofen, or acetaminophen ‘The Buckle’, my son would drink it down. I tried to explain that it was all about selling the horribly tasting medicine as something he loved.

Did he buy it? If he didn’t buy my explanation, I started thinking about what my prison sentence would look like. I remember wondering if they let you run in prison. Dr. J. slowly looked toward my son and asked, “Is what Daddy said true?” I clearly remember thinking to myself that this is do or die time. I couldn’t believe the fate of my life was hinging upon the response of a 4 year old child. What was he going to say? I was praying that he wouldn’t tell Dr. J. that I shave my legs, remember kids say the darndest things. Was he going to tell Dr. J. that when my wife was working last Saturday, I let my two boys watch at least 7 hours of TV?

My son looked at Dr. J. and responded “I like to drink The Buckle from the medicine cup when I’m sick”. Ding Ding Ding, Correct Answer!!!!! The lights started flashing, ticker tape started falling from the ceiling. You my boy, are the winner of the $100,000 Pyramid Game. I was so relieved. Dr. J. looked at me with a sly smile and said, “I knew the story the entire time, your son said the same thing at his four year check-up last month with your wife. I wanted to play a little game with you.”

To close the loop on this story, I made it home by 1:00pm after picking up the prescribed medications at the pharmacy. My son was diagnosed with pneumonia and an ear infection. I was able to get out for my run later that afternoon. I felt great for the first 200 yards and was laughing at my Orthopedic Physician’s advice to not start running again until February. I guess I only had enough endorphins to carry me 200 yards because my ankle really started to hurt before I reached the end of my street. I slowly limped home feeling defeated. I opened the door to my house and immediately went to the medicine cabinet for a shot of ‘The Buckle’.

See you out there in February.

My New Position

2008-12-09T01:59:00.005-05:00

Usually I hate to talk about religion or politics; it seems to take time away from talking about running or riding. I readily admit that I have no idea how to ‘fix’ our Nation’s financial crisis, that is if we believe the hype the media is selling us about this financial crisis. I have zero knowledge about how compound interest works or what the overnight lending rate is. I don’t know what will solve the The Big Three’s issues. Should I buy a Ford LTD Country Squire Station wagon or should Congress give them 35 billion dollars? Does Ford still make an LTD? There were great backseat in the old LTD’s; you baby boomers know what I’m talking about, wink, wink.

What I do know about is cycling. I am the proud owner of 7 bicycles. I have a road bike, a tri bike, full suspension and a front suspension 26” mountain bikes, a single speed 29’er, my old circa 1982 Hutch Pro BMX bike, and a sweet fixed gear commuter. My bikes are cool. They are a reflection of my personality. On a day I want to go fast, I pull out my tri bike and go for an ego ride. On a day I want to kick it old school and enjoy a single gear, I’ll opt for the single speed. If my kids want to cruise the local rail trail, I’ll pull out one of the mountain bikes in case I need to bunny hop some road kill and show my son how cool dad is. I have personalized my bikes with little ‘trail finds’ that I have gathered along my travels. One day I was out in the middle of nowhere (in Groton), at least 6 miles from the nearest dirt or tar road, and I looked down and saw something shiny. It was an old “Custom Cab” name plate from a 1960 Ford Custom Cab Pick-Up Truck. Of course I now have it zip-tied to my handlebars of my 29’er. I treat my bikes with care and they generally take care of me in return. Nothing makes me happier than going on Mud Run and nothing makes my wife more upset than me walking into my kitchen with muddy cycling shoes. When cleaning my bikes after a ride, I always make sure to leave one little piece of dirt or road grime somewhere on the frame to remind me that bikes are made to be ridden, not made to shine in showrooms.

The great thing about cycling is that there is a bike dedicated for virtually every type of riding. I am sure the day will come when my old bones won’t be able to take the abuse of downhill assaults, or being in the aero position of a tri bike for hours on end. When that time comes, I may have to buy a bike that looks like this:

What the hell is going on here? Is this the President-Elect? Somebody get Obama a Velcro strap for those jeans. What is up with that fender? Do you think Obama rides in the rain often? All that is missing from this picture is pink handlebar tassels blowing in the breeze and a big basket. Obama needs to ‘Man Up’. A man of his stature can’t be seen riding a bike like this. Dukakis looked better riding in the tank. You can’t tell me that people didn’t laugh at him on that bike. He could have at least clipped a baseball card in the spokes.

With all the Cabinet appointments being announced, I am anxiously sitting by the phone awaiting his call. I emailed the President-Elect and offered my services. I offered to become his ‘Secretary of Manly Toys’. I am perfect for this position. I have virtually every grown up toy and gadget that has ever been made for swimming, cycling, lifting, and running. Instead of submitting a resume, I just forwarded pictures of all my cool stuff.

Here is a list of pictures I emailed the President-Elect:
My GPS devices, my running GPS and my hiking GPS
My Headlamps
My Heart rate Monitor
My Yaktrax
My Snowshoes
My Snowboard
My Bikes
My 30 pairs of sneakers
My three Ipods
My technical running and cycling gear
My Smoker- Yum Yum , smoked meats
My wetsuit and tri-suit
My titanium bottle opener made from recycled bike parts

I better stop now or my wife will kill me

What pictures I didn’t send the President-Elect (hey everybody has some skeletons)
My home waxing kit
My red dress
My high school yearbook photo showing me with an afro and horrible moustache

My first duty as ‘Secretary of Manly Toys’ would be to advise the President-Elect to give that damn bike to Hillary. I would also recommend he put a bigger seat on first (sorry, I know I’m an idiot, but it was just way too easy to throw that in there). I would recommend that if he ever decided to go riding where somebody may snap a picture, then he should get a bike that looks like this:

That’s what I’m talking about!!!!!!! What you are looking at here is a $4500 full suspension carbon fiber custom made machine. Not only will this bike make you the coolest person on Pennsylvania Avenue, but it will keep people like me from making fun of you. There is only one thing wrong with this picture. What is it you ask? Any guesses? OK, I’ll give it to you. How the hell does Georgie get away for 3+ hour rides? How do I know that by just looking at the picture? Well, Georgie not only has a Presidential water bottle in the cage holder, he is holding a camelback. In my book, a bottle and a camelback means only one thing, an epic 3+ hour ride. How does Georgie find the time to get out for such long rides when the country is in the shape that it is? I have a hard time getting out for two hour rides and I am only the Commander In Chief of my wife and two kids. OK, definitely not the Commander In Chief of my wife and my oldest son, but I still have a pretty strong rule over my three year old. I would also recommend that the President-Elect run tubeless and clipless like Georgie in the picture above.

Do you think I have a chance? If he calls, I must serve my country, it will be my duty. Oh yea, getting to ride every day, that mid six figure salary, and getting to play with every ‘Manly Toy’ to hit the market wouldn’t affect my decision. It was nice knowing all of you. Look for me Inauguration Day; I’ll be the guy on the full suspension Trek, you know the one with the Presidential Seal on the top tube.

Time

2008-12-06T22:45:00.001-05:00

Where does it come from and where does it go? Holy $hit, my last post was on November 4, 2008. What happened? I’ve had such a busy month that I totally lost track of time. In less than a month, I was a Co-Lunatic who planned a Hash Run for my running club, I ripped a tendon off my ankle during said Hash Run, I was bit by a dog, and I was the Race Director for the 4th Annual Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race. Whooo!!!!!

Where to start? Let me start by telling you I am still married. My wife is the best. I still don’t know how I was able to pull off the whole staying married thing while involved in all these activities. My youngest son yelled out to my wife one day when I arrived home from work "Mommy, you have a delivery". Should I be nervous that my wife is seeing the FedEx triathlete? I hope not, but it would make for an interesting blog entry. I was either at work, on the phone, or at my computer for the entire month. She is going to kill me when she finds out Mr. RunRunLive himself signed me up for more 2009 road race planning.

I’m not going to talk at length about the Hash Run other to say that yes, I did wear my red dress, yes I did drink way too much, and yes I did break my ankle no more than ¼ mile into the run………………..not necessarily in that order, well kind of in the order. Instead of boring you with the narrative version, here are two links to view the video. The Bastages at YouTube made me limit the video to under 10 minutes, so YouTube has the shorter version. RuncastTV has an awesome version.

http://www.runcast.tv/video/davehash_0001-1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_r_F7vU2XY

Quick story about the broken ankle. I was no more than ¼ mile into the Hash Run when I rolled my ankle on a leaf covered jagged rock. I live in New England and run year round, I have navigated scarier trails at night with a dim headlamp and dimmer friends (sorry guys). I have rolled my ankle hundreds of times running off road, but this time I wasn’t able to ‘catch’ the ankle and unweight it, before I heard a pop. Decision time. Do I stop, turn back, immediately ice my ankle like a responsible adult and wait for the gang to get back or do I continue on, knowing that there are 5 bottles of The Knot Irish Whiskey on the course? I figured I got all dressed up for the occasion, why not continue on, soak my ankle in a few mud pits, and self medicate with Irish Whiskey. I know I’m an idiot. The pain really wasn’t that bad after the 3rd shot, and after the 6th shot, I felt like a Kenyon sprinting onto Boylston Street during the Boston Marathon. Ok, maybe I felt like a short, drunk, smiling, white Kenyon, wearing a red dress while running through mud pits, having flour thrown at him while eating endangered ants. When all was said and done, my all too familiar Orthopedic Physician, who is also a runner and cyclist, DEMANDED that I not run until at least February and not ride a bike until January. Which I translated to mean, you can start riding your bike in early December and you can start running as soon as you feel you are able to. Who is with me?

Although I don’t have a dog, I love dogs, and most dogs like me. I’ve certainly had my share of run-ins with dogs while running and riding, but until November 25, 2008, I’ve never been bitten. I was on a mission to deliver apples to a friend’s house. My friend’s daughter was going to make a few trays apple crisp for our Thanksgiving Day race. While standing on the front porch handing over the goods, I saw her dog running towards us. My first thought when I saw the dog was to bend down and attempt to pat the fur ball, but this dog was running a little too fast. This story would be a lot better if I said the dog was one of Michael Vick’s pit bulls or a big Rotweiller, but unfortunately, this dog was a little Australian cattle herding dog, kind of like a dingo, but smaller. Before the dog reached me, it jumped through the air and latched on to my hand. I pulled my hand away and the dog was still hanging from my fingers. What was a dog lover to do? I’m not proud of this, but I did drop an F-bomb in front of my friend’s daughter while the dog was tearing flesh from my fingers, and then I gave the dog a perfectly executed drop-kick off my hand. I never knew dogs could fly. The dog landed on the walkway, gave me a look like, “OK, we’re even, but you’re bleeding” and ran back in the home. A quick visit to the local emergency room brought more pain than the dog bite. The nurse made me scrub the wounds with an SOS pad, just kidding; it was more like a soft bristle sponge brush. This really hurt. I asked if I could get a numbing agent for the pain, and I was greeted with “You didn’t get the numbing agent yet?” I guess someone was supposed to numb my fingers before the scrubbing began. Oh well, must have been my penance for something I got away with during the Hash Run. When nurse Forgot The Meds returned she informed me they now needed to flush the wounds. Ouch. This hurt worse than the scrubbing. I asked one more time, “Hey can I get something for the pain?” The nurse didn’t say a word and immediately ran out of the room. I have a way with the ladies. She returned a few minutes later with another nurse who proceeded to stick me 5 times with a numbing agent. She apologized for not numbing my hand for the second time. With my hand finally numb, scrubbed, and flushed, I was told that it is not recommended to stitch dog bite wounds. The risk of infection is too high. They explained that if there was an infection, they want the ‘puss’ to drain. They said that after 10 days when I completed two rounds of antibiotics, I could come back to the Emergency Room and they could cut out whatever was starting to scab, scrub and flush the wound, and then stitch three spots. My response was, “Yea right, that was quite the sales pitch, but I’m never going to be a George Costanza Hand Model, I think I’ll live with the scars, thank you.” Almost two weeks later, my fingers are still numb from the pain, obviously not the medications.

OK, on to some safe activities, the 4th Annual Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race. I love being a Race Director, although I don’t like the amount of time it takes me away from running, cycling, or the gym (or if my wife Leann is reading this, I don’t like the time it keeps me away from my family). As any race Director should tell you, planning a race is a labor of love. I am very lucky to have three amazing people who help out tremendously and make the process very enjoyable. This year we had over 430 runners share their morning with us. Things seemed to go smoothly. We had plenty of volunteers, plenty of refreshments, we started on time, and nobody died. I can say that as a team, we are finally figuring out this whole Race Directing Thingy. We had a strong SQRR Club presence at the race. One of our newest members broke the female course record!!!!!! It is nice to get new young, fast runners to join our club; it takes the pressure off us old coots. Although we had plenty of our old coots turn in some great times. The Squannacook River Runners placed 15 of our runners in the Top 50 overall. Not too shabby for a tawdry little running club. Tons of familiar faces, tons of kids, tons of families, and tons of smiles, just what a Race Director wants to see on race day.

What next? The 2009 Groton Road Race planning is in full swing. No rest for the wicked, or injured. I’ve stepped up and accepted an Assistant Race Director potion. What is an Assistant Race Director position you ask? Well there are two definitions, the first being that the ARD is an ‘internship’ that grooms the individual into a future Race Director. This is usually the definition the Race Director subscribes to. The second definition is that the ARD handles everything the Race Director either doesn’t want, or doesn’t have time, to do. Most Race Directors somehow merge the two definitions. Hahahaha I will keep you posted on which definition Chris subscribes to.

Goals for the winter months:
Get healthy
Add 10 pounds of muscle
Avoid the injury bug
Get in as much snowshoeing as possible
Somehow cram 6 months of training into four months so I am race ready in the spring
Oh yea, let my back, leg, and chest hair grow in, Northeast winters can be brutal
Spend some time with my family (I just redeemed myself)

I’m back!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shopping List

2008-11-04T02:24:00.000-05:00

I have a big day coming up. A day that required a visit to my local running store, the local package store, my neighborhood supermarket, the town hardware store, and a women’s clothing store. Oh yea, for those of you that live outside of Massachusetts, a package store is an establishment that sells alcoholic beverages, also known in some parts of the Greater Boston Area as the ‘Packie’. A few of you may be scratching your heads trying to figure out what I am up to and how many laws I intend on breaking.

I got myself into this mess. Since I’ve been married I’ve never once made a shopping list. I always felt confident I could easily remember 8-12 items, who needs a list? I mean, how hard can it be to remember a few items, the supermarket is only 1 mile from my house and I have a great memory. I could easily recite my training log from June of 2008. But inevitably, whenever I enter my local supermarket the smell of cookies being baked somehow magically erases at least 5 items I vowed not to forget. And once I make my way to the bakery and sneak a few bites of these warm cookies, I then forgot a few more of my items, leaving me to wander aimlessly around the store filling my cart with organic carrots and chocolate soy milk when I should be buying eggs and bread. But I digress. When I said it was my fault, it was my fault; I mean I did leave my shopping list on the kitchen counter.

My wife is great; she doesn’t care if I leave my underwear on the floor next to the hamper. She knows I have horrible aim. I always leave my sweaty socks on the floor in front of the washing machine and somehow these smelly socks always end up being washed and somehow placed in my dresser draw. I could leave any of my bikes in the porch for a few days and not hear a peep from my wife. But leave something on the kitchen counter, and bang, I will hear about it. Well this day is so important to me that I didn’t want to forget an item so I crafted a list. Here is what was on my list: Wool Socks, 40lbs of Flour, Chalk Paint, 2 bottles of The Knot Irish Whiskey, and a Red Dress. It took my wife less than five seconds to give me ‘The Look’ after reading my list. She then came out with the gem, “What the hell are you doing and do I want to know?” OK. for all you Harriers out there…………What am I doing?.....................Yes, you guessed it, I am participating in my first Hash Run.

In a nutshell, Hash Runs usually occur in the woods or out of sight from the general public, by a group of friends looking to have some fun. It generally involves drinking and eating before, during, and after the run. There is running, singing, exchanging of clothes, and tons of surprises. Here is a brief history from the Hash House Harriers website: 'Hashing began in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, in 1938, when a casual group of British colonial officers and expatriates began meeting on Monday evenings to run, in a fashion patterned after the traditional British paper chase, to rid themselves of the excesses of the previous weekend. After meeting for some months, they were informed by the Registrar of Societies that as a 'group,' they would require a Constitution and an official name. A.S. Gispert suggested the name 'Hash House Harriers' in homage to the Selangor Club Annex, where the men were billeted, so named the 'Hash House' for its notoriously monotonous food. The final word, 'Harriers,' refers to the role of those in the chase, where the 'hare' was given a head start to blaze a trail and mark his path with shreds of paper, and then pursued by a shouting pack of 'harriers.' Apart from the excitement of chasing the hare and finding the 'true' path, harriers reaching the end of the trail would be rewarded with beer.'

For those of you who met me, you must have figured out that I am VERY good for the economy. I have virtually every gadget, and every piece of specialized gear and clothing needed for running, swimming, cycling, hiking, snowshoeing, skiing, and weightlifting. I have my own dresser that specifically houses my athletic gear and wear. It is the biggest dresser in my bedroom and it is stuffed to the gills. I have my own running sock drawer (running socks only, my dress socks and daily socks are in my other dresser), a running shorts drawer, a running tops drawer, a running pants drawer, a performance underwear draw (don’t ask), a gear draw (GPS, Ipod, FuelBelt, Yaktrax, reflective vests, etc..), a swim-wear drawer, a weightlifting gear drawer, a running winter hat and gloves drawer, and a Tri-wear drawer. I know I have issues.

It has been years since I found an activity or sport that I didn’t already have all the needed gear and equipment for. I was very excited to go shopping for the following needed items. Ok, here is a breakdown of my shopping list:
Gore Tex Socks- I am sure there will be some running through rivers and streams
Flour- To mark the course
Chalk Paint- To mark the course after we run out of flour
The Knot- To drink during the ‘water stops’
The Red Dress- Ok, here is where I may loose a few of you, I am wearing the Red Dress

Please keep reading, I am not a cross dresser, not that there is anything wrong with that. ‘Newbie’s’ or first time Hash Run participants are encouraged to wear a red dress to their first run, and I am not going to be the ‘Newbie’ to piss off the Hash Run Gods on this matter. I checked my wife’s closet; I didn’t see any red dresses. We have been married for over ten years, and the ‘Lady in Red’, somehow turned into the ‘Lady in Jeans and a Sweater’.

I had a plan, I would hit the package store first and pick up The Knot, I would then go to the supermarket and get the flour (and cookies), then off to the hardware store for the chalk paint, then off to the running store for a pair of Gore tex socks, and finally to the Mall for a Red Dress. The first four stops were executed flawlessly, but I had a few issues at the fifth stop.

I entered the first women’s clothing store I came across at the local Mall. My plan was to look like the cool husband strolling into a store to buy his wife a sexy red dress for their anniversary. I figured I could pick out a dress by myself, hold it up and gauge if it would fit me, bring it to the register and then ask for a gift receipt. Like the Guinness guys say, Brilliant!!!!!!

Wrong, I wasn’t more than 20 feet inside the store when a hot, blonde, I’m guessing 21-24 year old, salesperson came up to me to ask if she could help me. The only words I could muster were “Yes please” I played it cool, because I am cool. After at least 10 uncomfortable seconds of staring at her, I finally informed her I needed a red dress for my wife. I fully expected her to take mercy on my and point me to the red dress section of the store. Instead, she said “Follow Me” and like Pavlov’s dog, I did. Kind of like when runners find 5k’s too short, well this walk to the red dress section was too short as well, if you know what I mean. Would it have been inappropriate to ask her to slow down so I could enjoy the view for a few more seconds? I said thank you and informed her I would check out the dresses. She told me she would stay with me and help me pick out a dress. She also mentioned she could answer any questions I had. Believe me, I had some questions. Now normally, I wouldn’t mind a hot blond salesperson staying with me to answer questions, but I didn’t need ‘Commission Woman’ near me while I picked out my Hash Run dress. She asked me what size dress my wife wore and I froze. With quivering lips, I responded “I think a 30 waist”. Damn, wrong answer. I couldn’t keep this going; I was buckling already, there was no way I was going to pull off this caper, so I came clean. I said, “I’m sorry I lied to you, the dress isn’t for my wife, it is for me”. I fully expected the hot young salesperson to start laughing at me, but no “Commission Woman” must have sensed easy cash.

I explained to her that I was a runner and I had this thing called a Hash Run coming up where the men wear red dresses while running in the woods. You guessed it; she had a very puzzled look on her face. I needed a new approach. I decided I needed to prove to her that I was a runner so I pulled up my pant legs, showed her my legs and said “See look at my legs, they are shaved, I’m really a runner.” Damn, what the hell am I doing, I must be an idiot, oh yea, I am and idiot. I am not as smooth as I was in college, man, times have changed. The shaved legs demonstration definitely didn’t work and she started to look at me weird. I then blurted out, “I’m married, look at my wedding ring”. As I was holding my hand up, I then realized I wasn’t wearing my ring because I just got off an overtime shift at the Fire Station and I never wear my ring at work, way too dangerous. Great, things are really working out just as I had planned I finally said, “I need a dress that I can run in and preferably a dress that wicks moisture”. She started to laugh and surely figured out that one, I had no game, and two, I was too stupid to be a cross dresser.

Yes, Mercedes (not her real name, but I figured if I threw in a stripper name a few of you knuckleheads would get a kick out of it) did help me pick out the perfect red dress. I bought a sweet mid calf length, poly synthetic fabric (wicking), red dress. No, I didn’t try the dress on in the dressing room, but yes, I do need a drawer for my new Hash Run gear.

Presidential Fitness

2008-10-26T22:55:00.000-04:00

Thinking back, The Presidential Physical Fitness patch may have been the first award I ever earned. From what little I remember about the first few years of elementary school, I remember not being too interested in the three R’s but being very interested in Gym, Lunch, and Recess. I remember my gym teacher, Mr. Maxwell, informing the class we had a test, and if we passed this test then President Gerald Ford would send us a letter and a patch for our book bag. Yes, back then we had book bags, not backpacks. I had an awesome Bobby Orr book bag, I was cool back then too. I thought Mr. Maxwell was the coolest teacher ever because he liked to play games with kids, he wore sweatpants every day and he had a mustache. Gee, thinking back, Mr. Maxwell’s picture in my elementary school yearbook looks eerily familiar to the current mugshots of most Level II & III Sexual Offenders. Just kidding, it was the early 1970’s and gym teachers wore sweatpants, had big hair, and sported mustaches………..and those were the male gym teachers.

I don’t remember all of the events involved in the Presidential Physical Fitness Challenge, but I do remember running around the school track, doing push-ups, sit-ups and hanging from a bar for some ungodly amount of time, I think it was called the flex arm hang. I can’t remember my scores or times, but I do remember eventually getting a letter and patch from President Ford. I may have been getting a C- in math, but I was ‘The Man’ in gym class. I still have the patch, and my mother probably has the letter in scrapbook somewhere in her attic. I’m not sure where the Bobby Orr book bag ended up, I bet someone (maybe my mother) is selling it on Ebay.

I was so excited early last week when my son informed me that he had a “President Test” coming up. Being a first grader, I fooled with him and asked why the President was coming to his school to take a test. He responded, “No Dad, the President doesn’t take a test, it is a gym test that I take”. Oh, Ok, now I was with him. I joked with my wife that George W. Bush was probably relieved as well, because I’d bet he’d have a hard time passing a first grade test. As with most busy little guys, I didn’t have too much time for follow-up questions, he was out the door putting on his bike helmet and begging to go for a ride. We went for a ride around the neighborhood, purposely jumping off every curb, skidding on every sand patch, and generally showing off for the ladies. I know, we are both idiots, he can’t help it, it’s genetics.

My son arrived home on Friday and announced to me that he didn’t pass the “President Test”. He didn’t seem depressed, he ran in the house like he usually does, threw off his backpack and wanted to play. Wait a minute, no playing, I need more information. I had tons of questions. I immediately morphed into Psycho Sports Dad and bombarded him with insightful questions such as “Why didn’t you pass the test?” and “What happened?”. He looked at me and calmly said what a father never wants to hear from a future runner, he said “I walked”. I returned with the gem, “You walked, what do you mean you walked”. My six year old son looked directly at me and calmly said, “I didn’t feel like running Dad” and ran off to build Lego structures. Ouch, an arrow to the heart. My wife tried to console me by mentioning that he is only 6 years old and maybe he didn’t want to run. My wife is the best. She always ‘gets it’. Again, that genetic thing

Well there it is. There goes his scholarship to Oregon. He will never run at Hayward Field, and he will never break a 4 minute mile. Psycho Sports Dad eventually calmed down. It actually took a kiss, a hug, and a “I love you Dad” for me to realized that in the grand scheme of things, a Presidential Fitness patch isn’t important. Having a son who is happy doing the things he does is important. If he was happy running (and walking) around the track, then so be it. Not everybody has a six year old Prefontaine in the making. I’m fine, I’m good, I’m content.

It is now Sunday evening, and my wife threw out her the usual Sunday night question, “What does your week look like?” I’m sure she was ready for my usual response, which typically goes, “Not sure, I haven’t looked at my schedule”. I know this drives her crazy and I have a great chuckle every Sunday night after I answer her. For some reason she never laughs. But tonight, I had a real answer for her, an answer she has been waiting over 10 years for, my response was “I am heading to the track Monday afternoon for some repeats”. Knowing that I haven’t run too much in the last month due to a lingering foot injury, she mentioned, “Do you think you maybe stay away from the track and speed workouts until you get a few more runs under your belt?” My response was, “I’m not running, your son is, he has another Presidential Physical Fitness Test next year“ You guessed it, I got “The Look”

P.S- I also told my son that if he could break a ten minute mile, I would buy him a Bobby Orr book bag.

Mad Libs

2008-10-19T21:23:00.003-04:00

What a great weekend. My two boys were with my parents for the weekend and my wife had a three day conference at Foxwoods Casino. The weather was amazing with blue skies and temperatures in the low 60’s. What was a workout maniac to do? Do I ride in the morning and run in the afternoon or run mid-day and hit the gym at night? Do I go crazy, sleep in each day, and then try to squeeze in a run, ride, and gym workout each afternoon? Ah, decisions. Well, I did have a few other commitments on the calendar, it wasn’t going to be all exercise, football on TV, and take out. On Saturday I had a Fire Department training and on Sunday I signed up to volunteer at my running club’s annual Groton Town Forest Trail Races.

Instead of boring you with my usual humorous play by play reenactment of my workouts (and mishaps); I’m going to give you, the reader, a chance to guess what I did and experienced this weekend. I’m going old school on this one. How many of you remember the crazy Mad-Lib books that you could order from the school sponsored Scholastic Book Club catalogs? They gave you a sentence such as “Jim and ________ went to the ______ together and did________.” It was up to you to be creative and fill in the answers. I still remember my week’s worth of after school detention in 5th grade after Ms. Nelson found my Mad Lib book. I guess she didn’t agree with me that Suzy and Matthew did such things in the school gymnasium. I know, I was an idiot in 5th grade as well. I am asking you to ‘cut’ the following paragraph, fill in the ‘blanks’, and email me back the completed story. There will be two winners. The first winner will be the person who most accurately reflects what happened to me this weekend and the other winner will be the person who is most creative ( PG 13 or mildly rated R only please, my parents read this blog). Please email all responses to alm91397@verizon.net For your efforts each winner will receive (free of charge) a limited edition, long sleeve, 2007 Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race T-shirt. In a few weeks I will post my actual weekend, the best guess at the actual weekend, and the most creative account of my weekend. OK, go wild!!!!!!!!

On Saturday morning, I woke up after an uninterupted night of_________ and made my way to the _______ for ____________ training. There is nothing like _______ out a _______window with nothing but___________ below you. At 3:00pm, the ___________ was over and I went ____________ to prep my ___________ for a __________. I eventually hit the _________ and found my way to the ________ which led to the top of __________. Once at the top, you could almost see___________. There were ten___________ looking at me trying to figure out what was between my __________. Like they never saw a _________ before. The ______ was starting to _________ so I headed _______. Once__________, I decided to order___________ and watch_________ on TV. I don’t remember falling ___________, but I do remember waking up with ___________ on my face. It was _________, and I figured I could squeeze in a _________ before the ___________. I took my _________ and ________with me and hit the ___________. The________ was just starting to_________ when I ___________ a _________ in the middle of the ____________. The _________ must have been out looking for some___________ before the long winter’s _________ and looked at me like I was _________. I was never so __________ in my life. I slowly _______ off my _________ and _________ backwards very slowly. I was soon out of _________ and ________ off quicker than ___________ doing ____________ repeats. Needless to say, I returned home still ___________. Time for more___________, this time I ordered _________ for __________. A quick check of the________ and it was time to leave for the _______________. Arrived at the __________ and found I was assigned to the _____________ table and the ___________ line. Before I took my ___________ at the __________, I decided to ___________ the ___________. The _________ on the trails made it very ___________; it was difficult to know where the ________ and ________ were. I had a _______ out there all alone. The _________ was a huge___________, the ________ were as ________ as they were __________ after the event. There were some very fast________ this year. Actually, there was a _________ record in the longer______. I made it ________ by ________ to meet my ________ pulling into the ___________ with the__________ in the backseat. She seemed _________. I told her the _________ was pretty ___________ and that I really__________ her and the __________. She just gave me ___________. Oh, well.

Superman!!!!!!!!!!

2008-10-17T02:20:00.006-04:00

Ring Ring Ring Ring. I glanced over at my nightstand and noticed it was 6:30am. Why was my alarm clock going off, it was the weekend? I was sure I didn’t set the alarm clock the night before. I fully intended on sleeping until at least 7:00am, which is the generally the time my three year old comes upstairs and starts jumping on the bed like a Romanian gymnast. So naturally, I leaned over and hit the snooze button (habit I guess). Ring Ring Ring Ring, what the %$#@, I just hit the snooze button. After hitting the snooze button again, I heard a voice from the pillow next to me, “It’s the phone genius”. I didn’t glance over but I’m sure I was getting “The Look” I picked up the phone and managed a very scruffy “What?” I just remember hearing one of my riding buddies yelling something like, “70 degrees, Foliage, Group Ride, Killer Single track, Hill Of Death, Eight of us, Get up, Get dressed, Be at my house, Half Hour, No excuses” Then he hung up. Huh? I thought to myself “Am I dreaming?” Then I heard that familiar voice again, “No you aren’t dreaming, you were just talking out loud, that was your dingbat friend, get out of bed, get ready, and get over there now”. I thought to myself again, “My wife is great” The familiar voice appeared once again, “Yes, your wife is great, you are talking out loud again, get up and get ready because if you don’t, he will keep calling and I’ll never get back to sleep”. Ok, I take that back, my wife is kind of great, but a little selfish too.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur, out of bed, dressed in my coolest Hammer Nutrition gear, camelback filled, three gels and a still frozen waffle for breakfast, brain bucket on, and out the door. I chose my hardtail that day, I was sure there would be plenty of climbing and my hardtail, which is a climbing machine, weighs in at just over 19.4lbs.
I arrived at the meeting place and the gang was already discussing the route. It was decided that this would be approximately a 3 hour ride with tons of climbing and scenery. Less than a 1/3 mile from my front door is a trail that connects to the sweetest network of single track in the area. In the past, I have gone on 7 hour epic mountain bike rides with my tires only hitting pavement to cross the occasional road.

The ride started off uneventful, lots of conversation about annoying wives, kids, and jobs. Note to Leann, I did not complain about you, the kids, or my job. Note to Kim, Kevin did complain about you. Thump, Thump, that was the sound of me throwing Kevin under the bus. Just as we were approaching the trailhead, one of the riders, while reaching for his water bottle, drifted a bit, rubbed tires with someone else, and went right over the bars. He got up quickly and announced he was Ok. After we stopped laughing, I thought to myself “Good, the big crash is out of the way, now all I have to worry about is a mechanical issue” I also remember thinking "I didn't say that out loud did I?" I know I’m an idiot. I don’t know about you, but I would rather experience a pinch flat any day of the week versus taking that all too familiar, over the handlebar ride. Let me explain our little inside joke: it seems whenever we ride at least one person takes a bad fall, one has a major mechanical issue, and one has to leave early. If all three occur, we call it the ‘Tripe Threat”. You never want to experience the “Triple Threat”. The guys are relentless.

The first trail provided us with an ample warm up. It was pretty flat, not too technical, and begged for speed. Being fruitcakes, we gave in and opened it up a bit. After a few miles, we encountered what we locals refer to as, “The Hill Of Death”. This climb is just over 1/2 mile, but is an absolutely lung and heart busting climb. Very, very steep to say the least. Granny gear central. We eventually made it to the top (FYI, I smoked the boys on the climb, just call me Lance) and stopped to take in the views of Mt. Wachusett, Mt. Watatic, and the Monadnock Range. The foliage was beautiful, there were deep reds, vibrant yellows, crisp orange tones, just incredible.

Now was the fun part, the decent. I have ridden this trail hundreds of times. It is very tight, but smooth for the first ¼ mile, very few roots or rocks, just sweet bench-cut single track. It gets tricky about half way down, when the trail takes a sharp right and follows the direct fall line of hill. I did remember that I was riding my hardtail and I had to be a little cautious on the downhill and ride ‘off the seat’ a bit. I also remembered that I would have to brake a little earlier before the sharp right hand turn. The trail was covered in freshly fallen yellow leaves. These leaves seemed to provide a very soft feel. I let the bike go, I was absolutely screaming down this hill. The leaves were crunching beneath the tires and I was giggling like a little kid.

All seemed right in the world even though I lost thousands in my 401K earlier that week. I noticed the right hand turn was coming up, so I started to apply the brakes and my back wheel immediately locked up. Oh no!!!!! Some may think skidding is cool. Skidding is cool when you’re 6 years old and you’re locking up the brakes of your Stingray in the sand at the end of your driveway. Skidding is not cool when you are screaming down a hill on top of wet leaves with trees inches from your handlebars. When you skid, you loose control. Wait a minute, I thought the leaves were dry, yes the top layers of leaves were dry, but the leaves closest to the ground were wet from the morning dew. I didn’t panic, I’ve been in this situation may times before; I let off the brakes, shifted my weight and reapplied the brakes. More skidding. Oh $%&@, now it is time to panic. The turn was fast approaching; I was skidding, then accelerating whenever I let off the brakes, then skidding, and so on.

Remember when I said the trail followed the fall line after the turn? Ok, good memory. For all you cross country runners out there, what do they place on trails that follow the fall line to limit erosion? Guesses? Ok, I will tell you, they place water dams. What is a water dam you ask. Well, a water dam is a log semi buried in ground and placed at a slight angle so when water is running down a trail, it hits the water dam and is directed off the trail. The first water dam is located right at the apex of the corner and is placed at a forty-five degree angle. This water dam had about 6 inches sticking out of the ground.

Ok, picture this, a knucklehead screaming down a trail of wet leaves, wearing spandex that is way too tight, contemplating if he should lay the bike down or go for it……….all the while having his life flash before his eyes. Ok, here is the payoff. I didn’t lay the bike down, I decided (hoped, prayed, thought, wished, etc...) I could make the turn. I entered the turn way too fast and too high. I attempted to lift my front tire over the water dam, but it was too damn difficult because my front brakes were applied. I figured the slower I am going to softer the crash would be, so I kept applying my brakes. I did get my front tire up, but not exactly over the log. When I lifted the tire up, of course it stopped rolling because the brakes were applied (MTB 101, Duh!!!!). My front tire landed on top of the angled log, which was wet and very slippery. Guess what happens when a locked up wheel hits an angled, wet log? You guessed it, wash out. Before I had time to react, my handlebars were touching the ground and I was doing my best flying Superman impression. I remember thinking, “Please don’t hit a tree, please don’t hit a tree” Well, I hit a tree. Actually, I performed a textbook flying left shoulder block. The problem was that this flying shoulder block was performed on a large oak tree. Spandex vs. Oak. The smart money goes on the Oak Tree.

From what I remember, it really didn’t hurt too much. After a quick inventory, I jumped to my feet to see if anyone saw that yard sale. Most of them saw everything, and were in disbelief that my shoulder was still attached to my body. They laughed, they busted my chops, and it was just what I expected. I checked my bike over and just a few battle scars. Note to everyone, battle scars on you bike look cool, battle scars on your forearms do not.

One of my buddies yelled out, “That could have been a triple threat”. As I was brushing off, and collecting what was left of my ego, I stated, “Not today boys, a flying shoulder block into an oak tree ain’t stoppin’ this kid”. Needless to say, I rode pretty cautiously and in the middle of the pack for the rest of the ride. Three hour rides rock!!!!!!

I woke up the next morning feeling a little sore. I really thought my shoulder would feel worse than it did. It was another beautiful Fall day, sunny and in the 60’s. I didn’t have work on Monday (Columbus Day) so I decided to go back to the scene of the crash and ride the trail again. I really wanted to see where things went bad. I climbed the “Hill of Death” and started my decent. On the decent, I rode as slow as I could, I was in total control. When I came to the right hand turn, I noticed something hanging on the tree that I shoulder blocked the day before. Attached to the tree, was a bright neon orange poster with a picture of me on it, which stated, “If You See This Man, Tell Him To Leave Me Alone”. My friends are the best.

My friend was filming with his helmet-cam, here is a link to the video of the crash. Enjoy!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJXU7EVXs2A

Labor of Love

2008-10-15T00:42:00.002-04:00

A few years ago, actually almost 5 years ago to the day, a fellow firefighter (who is a runner) and I were sitting around the firehouse discussing our Thanksgiving weekend plans. He mentioned that he usually gets up at the crack of 4:00am, packs his running bag, meets a few family members for breakfast, drives over an hour to a relatively small unnamed Northeast Massachusetts town, and competes in a 5 mile road race that has over 3000 runners. I asked him what it is like to run with so many people on such a short course. He responded, “I hate it, I don’t know why I go”. I responded with the obvious, “Why do you go?” I don’t remember his answer, but he start rambling about it not being true race, he described it more as an ‘event’ than footrace. He complained about the soccer moms who run 12 minute miles and stage in the 8 minute mile section. He explained the parking situation was horrible, the pack doesn’t thin at all, the majority of the people don’t break 9:00 minute miles, and the frozen pie each runner receives isn’t that good. He told me it was a long standing family tradition to run in this race on Thanksgiving Day so he felt the need to continue to do so. Just joking, I asked him that if I organized a Thanksgiving Day race, would he run with us. He responded he would.

I immediately envisioned a nice easy Thanksgiving Day 5K road race sponsored by our Fire Department. I had zero experience with organizing a road race and had zero expectations that anyone other than my buddy and I would show up at this fictitious race. And since I am way faster than my buddy, I knew I would beat him and come in first place. Hey, as my once single brother-in-law used to say, “A hit is a hit, keep up the average”. I’m still not sure if he was talking about road racing wins or “Last Call” stats at a local bar in Central Square. The analogy works, so I’m using it.

What turned out to be an innocent conversation about holiday plans, morphed into me and another firefighter (a fellow runner and my next door neighbor) feverishly researching what is involved with staging a road race. I recruited my neighbor not only because I am also faster than him, but because he is a computer whiz and agreed to handle all registration and on-line duties. Note to all future race directors, find a tech savvy individual and con this person into handling all registration duties, provide cash and candy if need be, it makes race director life so much easier. We ultimately ran the idea by our Fire Chief, the Police Chief, and the Board of Selectmen, who all loved the idea and gave us the OK. Before we knew it, we had a race planned. We had no idea what we were doing or how the race was going to turn out, but we had a USATF insurance waiver in hand, and had Active.com & Coolrunning.com up and running dammit!!!!!!

I won’t bore you with all the organization details such as the countless race committee meetings consisting of just the two of us sitting around a kitchen table trying to figure out what we should do and when should do them. We tackled such topics as signage, volunteers, refreshments, t-shirts, sponsors, advertisement, course marking, etc... Please feel free to contact my wife and ask her about the amount of time involved in planning a race. I warn you, only do so if you really want to see her infamous 'Look’. She is really a softy and 'The Look' isn't all that intimidating, but I let her think it scares me, hey, let her feel good about herself. Come to think of it, I would love to see what “The Look” looks like directed at another person. But I will tell you that on Thanksgiving Day in 2005, 179 local runners showed up at the Fire Station in Ayer, Massachusetts and ran in 3 inches of freshly falling snow. As I think back, I still can’t believe that we staged a road race. There were no major problems, the timing company showed up, the porta-potties were delivered in time, nobody got lost on the course or broke any bones while running (actually if somebody got hurt, one could consider that job security, I know I’m an idiot), and there was plenty of hot coffee and hot chocolate after the race.

The Ayer Fire Department has an established charitable contribution wing called The Combination Company #1. Its mission is to contribute to our local community in the form of civic, charitable, public safety, literary, and educational purposes. Proceeds from our race will enable the Ayer Fire Department to continue to fund an established long standing scholarship at Ayer High School, support local high school athletic programs, provide support and education for the local community in the areas of fire and public safety, sponsor Senior breakfasts and dinners, participate in Ayer’s Annual Safety Day, and offer ‘Camp Pete’, an annual full day safety camp each summer for over 80 children. ‘Camp Pete’ has always been, and will be, free of charge.

Our race has grown tremendously each year since its inception. Our largest growth area has been in runners under the age of eighteen. It has been rewarding to see a family theme emerge within our race. As we scan the registered runners each year, we note not only the many familiar names who have been with us since the start, but the many runners with the same last names. It brings a smile to our faces when we notice that many individuals run together in large family groups. I don’t want to discount the number of quality racers who run with us though because we do have more than our fare share of ultra fast ‘rabbits’, so defined as anyone who can run sub 5:15 miles. So maybe that 1st place overall finish I thought about is out of reach.

We continue to strive to stage the best race possible and appreciate our sponsors who choose to lend support to our race, our volunteers who choose to assist us with staging our race, and our participants who run in our race.

Go on, admit it, pretty good for a bunch of firefighting runners huh?

We are heading into the 4th year of the Ayer Fire Department Thanksgiving Day 5K Road Race and I am pleased to announce that I am still faster than my two co-workers. We are expecting over 400 runners this year. I’m proud of our race. By all means our race isn’t perfect, I think the course is a little short, but hey it’s a 5K, and if someone runs our course a few seconds faster than a certified USATF wheel-measured course, who cares? Take the PR and go have a second piece of pie later that day.

Is being a Race Director fun? Not really, most of the time you are so focused on completing tasks and working off the ‘punch list’ that you never get to enjoy the process. Why do I do it? Simple. I owe it to you runners out there. As a Race Director, I feel that I ‘m doing my part for this wonderful sport. Over the years, I have competed in so many amazing races and it is all because someone stepped up and said, “I want to organize a race”. Call it giving back; paying it forward, you pick the phrase. Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a self ‘pat on the back’ article, but I just want you to think about that favorite race you circle on your calendar every year. Did you ever stop to think about the planning that goes into your favorite race. Did you know that the Race Director usually starts the planning process for the next year’s race a few months after the current race?

Do me a favor, the next time you attend a race and have a positive experience, seek out the Race Director and thank him or her. You don’t realize how much that means to someone that puts family commitments and their personal time on hold to plan such an event. Actually, don’t seek them out on race day, send the Race Director an email when you get home. The Race Director will probably have ten things going on at once and when you introduce yourself, the Race Director will forget at least five of the things he or she was juggling at the time of your introduction :)

Manly?????

2008-10-06T23:43:00.001-04:00

Recently I had a conversation with a coworker at the Firehouse that really got me thinking about the definition of ‘Manly’. The conversation started with, “Dude you shave your legs”, and it ended with me attempting to explain to my buddy that there is a rule that all members of my triathlon team need to be ‘shaved down’ before all competitions. He asked if I had an upcoming race and I responded “No”. He asked why my legs were shaved and I just had to drop my head in defeat and walk away.

Thinking back, I really don’t remember this topic coming up when I was approached and asked to race for my current triathlon team. I specifically remember the Team Manager asking if I wanted to be a member of the team, receive a bunch of free gear, equipment, and swag, in exchange for promotional work and great race results. There was nothing about waxing my hairy back. I know I was overly excited about the prospect of receiving a top of the line race rig, but I think I would have remembered the chest hair shaving clause. I’m over 40 years old and Italian, which means I have more hair growing in places I don’t want, and less hair growing in the places I do want.

I remember the dreadful day fondly, it was the day I was to pick up my new bike and uniform. I drove to the team headquarters, nervously entered the building, and met my new teammates. They seemed like nice enough guys, mostly Type A competitive racers, tall, skinny, pretty serious looking. I sensed they were sizing me up as soon as I entered the building. After introductions and brief team meeting, we geared up and hit the road for a short training ride. The pace was mellow and the conversation flowed. One team member asked if “I let my winter coat grow?” I responded that I usually shave my head before big events but let my hair grow in between races. He then asked if I waxed. I responded that I used clippers to buzz my head and commented that it must hurt to wax your head. The entire group laughed. Did I miss something? He then responded “I meant do you wax your body?” Now it was my time to laugh, but nobody was laughing with me. For the remainder of the ride I was educated about the positive aspects of keeping your body free of body hair. The reasons provided included absolute gems like, it will make you swim faster, if you fall on the road your skin won’t tear from your body, you will feel faster, you will look faster, to you look cooler, and your wife will love the feeling. Huh? They didn’t know my wife. The only thing that kept going thru my mind was “How am I going to tell my wife about this”.

When I arrived home, my wife had ton of questions about the team. I don’t remember any of the questions she asked or if I even answered them. I do remember a long silent pause and then I informed her, “They want me to shave”. She responded with, “Good, I want you to shave too; it’s gross when you don’t shave on the weekends”. (Take note guys, it is ‘Manly’ to not shave on the weekends) There was another awkward silence and then I responded, “Not my face, they want me to shave my body”. In a classic Edith Bunker impersonation, my wife looked at me blankly, attempting to digest what I just said, and came out with a very long, slow, “Ooohhhh”. She asked if I wanted to do that. I looked over at my new $4000 full suspension race bike and responded with, “Get the shaving cream honey it is erotic shaving night!!!!!!” You guessed it; I got ‘The Look’.

After some quick internet research about how to shave for cycling events (note, there are some very inappropriate shaving websites out there, be careful. Yuck), I figured out I just had to shave my arms, armpits and legs. Only shave the exposed areas right? I love my wife, she is definitely the brains of the operation and when she told me to use a dull razor when shaving, I just laughed at her, everybody knows that a new razor shaves better than a dull one right?

I entered the shower the proud owner of a $4000 bike with a new razor (I can hear all the women screaming now, NOT A NEW RAZOR YOU FOOL!!!!!), and a can of shaving cream. I exited the shower 20 minutes later totally emasculated with smooth arms, pits, and legs. I was also down at least a pint and a half of blood. The shower floor looked like the scene from Psycho and my legs looked like someone took a weedwacker to them. Did I feel fast? No. I felt dizzy; I lost a lot of blood. Once all 16 band-aids were applied, I ran downstairs to show my wife my new race body. I expected to hear her say such things as “Wow, you look fast” and “Having those shaved arms and legs should save you at least three seconds on a twenty five mile bike ride”. I didn’t hear such comments, but was greeted with, “Won’t all those band-aids slow you down?” I was a beaten man.

I showed up for a swim practice a few days later showing off my freshly shaved arms, pits, and legs and received laughs again. I felt like the Little Leaguer on the first day of practice that put his glove on the wrong hand. What did I do wrong, most of my razor wounds were healing and were barely visible, did I miss a clump on leg hair on my hamstring? The guys were laughing because I had a hairy back and chest with shaved legs and arms. They said it is easier to shave or wax your entire body all at one time. I informed them that there are some parts of my body I can’t reach with a razor, and some places I do not want a razor to come close to.

Ok, I arrived home, entered the shower and somehow shaved my chest without loosing any more blood. When my wife got home, I informed her she had to shave my back. She responded she didn’t remember anything in our wedding vows about back shaving. She eventually agreed to shave my back for the sole reason that she could tell her friends and they could all laugh at me. Well, she did, and they did. But, I did tell them I have a $4000 bike? They didn’t care, most women don’t, it’s in their nature to laugh at males when we do something foolish. We never let them down; we certainly give them plenty of ammo.

OK, to make a long story short, I first shaved my arms, legs and pits on 4/18/2007. I first shaved my chest on 4/21/2007. My wife shaved my back on 4/21/2007. Since those horrible days, I have been forced to shave my arms, chest, legs, and pits approximately every three days. I have a wonderful neighbor (she works in a high priced fancy salon in Cambridge, Massachusetts) who waxes my back every month. Her husband, who is very understanding, laughs every time I attempt to explain that there is nothing inappropriate going on, it is purely business. Hahahaha

You may ask that why do I continue to shave and wax most of my body hair now that my race season is over. The answer is, if I could find a legal drug to take that would eliminate the itching, I would braid my chest hair. I’ve tried numerous times to grow back my body hair but the itching is totally unbearable after only 5 days. My mind won’t even allow me to think about what seven day stubble would feel like. I am cursed, and as Eddie Murphy once said, “You brought this $%#@ on yourself”. My wife won’t admit it, but I think she likes the shaved body feel. Ok, I’m an idiot. She just likes laughing at me. But I do get back at her. Not only can I leave the toilet seat up, I can now use all of her shaving cream. hahahaha

I like to think of myself as a ‘Manly’ man. I’m a pretty active guy. I work out almost every day, most days include two workouts. My workouts include off-road running, weight lifting, mountain biking, swimming, and plyometrics. I mean, I lift actual weights, and a lot of them, I don’t mess around with those Cybex machines with the belts, straps, and instructions. I have a cool job. I hang out with cool guys. I have tattoos. I have my own mug behind the bar of my local Irish Tavern. I like beer, Maxim Magazine, power tools, smoked meats, heavy metal, football, and girls in bikinis (only my wife, wink, wink). In my opinion, all of the above mentioned items fit into the definition of “Manly”. But I can’t seem to get those five words out of my head, you may be thinking to yourself, “Anthony don’t worry about your buddy questioning your manhood, you are Manly”. But those five words stay with me day after day, I just can’t get them out of my head. You may ask, are the five words, “Dude you shave your legs” Of course not, the five words are, I HAVE A $4000 BIKE.

Family

2008-09-28T23:19:00.005-04:00

September 27th, 2008, I’ve had this date circled on my calendar for more than three months. Each time I passed the refrigerator, Ok, each time I closed the refrigerator door after sneaking a goodie, I would look to see if this date was still circled. Why was I looking forward to September 27th? Did I have a big race scheduled? Did I have front row seats to the Red Sox vs. Yankees? Was the new model of Nike trail shoes being introduced? The answer was ‘no’ to all of the above. On September 27, 2008, my wife’s cousin was marrying his fiancé. Now you may be saying to yourself, “Has Anthony gone soft?” Well let me tell you, one; I haven’t gone soft, and two, read on for the explanation.

Now this wedding wasn’t going to be your ordinary, cookie-cutter wedding. This was going to be a wedding with two Italian families involved. My wife’s cousin is half Italian (the good half) and his fiancé is 100% Italian. Well she is technically Sicilian, but I don’t want to start a fight here. Her last name starts with a consonant, is loaded with virtually every vowel, and of course, her last name ends with a vowel. My wife laughs at me, but I knew it was going to be an incredible wedding the second I opened the invitation. My wife’s cousin’s wife’s last name is VERY Italian, actually Sicilian, and would a Sicilian throw a wedding for his only daughter, anything short of the wedding scene in the best movie of all time, The Godfather?

Enough background let me get on with the story. It was an evening wedding on the North Shore of Massachusetts. OK, insert North Shore/Big Hair/IROC/Italian joke here. For those of you not familiar with Massachusetts, the North Shore is not only home to one of the largest enclaves of 1st and 2nd generation Italian families, but some of the finest Italian food, cement contractors, and tuxedo rental shops that rent light blue and burnt rust ruffled tuxedos.

The wedding started promptly at 5:30pm. It was a beautiful ceremony, the groom looked handsome and his bride was beautiful. Other than a few jokes by the priest about threesomes and the groom looking like he wanted to unwrap the bride like a BB gun on Christmas morning, it was pretty uneventful. No time to explain the jokes, but I am sure the higher ups at the church will be keeping a closer tab on the wine. We were out the door and at the reception hall at 7:00pm. Now when I say reception hall, please do not envision your typical function hall at the VFW or American Legion Hall. I should not give the name of the function facility, but everything from the food, to the facility, to the service was amazing, so why not give a great place a plug. The reception location was Spinelli’s. The Irish folk out there must be scratching their heads right about now trying to figure out where Lynnfield is. “When did they rename Lynn?” hahaha

My wife and I drove to the wedding with two other family couples and my father-in-law. The gentlemen dropped the woman off at the front door and we proceeded to park. It was pouring rain that night, and we did not want the women to get too wet. Yea right, we wanted the women to go inside so we could walk around to the other side of the building were the function facility had a retail bakery. My brother-in-law and I bought 12 cannoli and a pound of amaretti (almond macaroon paste) cookies for the ride home. More about that later.

While the wedding party was busy smiling for pictures in the marble foyer, we met up with our wives in the Capri Room where guests were treated the most unbelievable Italian antipasto spread this side Palermo, Sicily. Somehow three plate full of cheeses, olives, roasted peppers, grilled eggplant, and focaccia disappeared. Unfortunately for my wife, I met a runner. That’s right, if you have read my earlier posts, you should be shouting out loud, “She lost you for at least an hour”. Now I have met this runner before, I just didn’t know he was a runner. He is engaged to my wife’s other cousin. He just started running earlier this year and already has a half marathon scheduled. He lives in Winthrop, Massachusetts and has been training with a few Merrimack Valley Striders. Great, training with MVS studs, I give him another two weeks and he’ll be faster than me. Hahaha.

Cocktail hour soon ended and the guests were ushered into the Tuscany Room. I had a smile from ear to ear and my wife kept asking how much I had to drink. I tried to explain to her that I was not drunk, I haven’t had a drink all night, why chance ruining the night ahead. I tried to explain that I was excited becasue I had just finish reading the menu and thought this could quite possibly be the best Italian Wedding Extravaganza ever. You guessed it; I got ‘The Look’. Here was the menu

Primo Course- Italian Escarole Wedding Soup
Primo (2) Course- Gemelli pasta in marinara sauce
Antipasto Course- . Caesar (get it, haha) Salad served in an edible tortilla bowl.
Secondo Course- Filet Mignon & Baked Stuffed shrimp served with contorni (veggies on the side)
Dolce Course- Wedding Cake, assorted Italian pastries
A bottle of Montepulciano and Chardonnay were also placed at each table.

I will not go into detail about how amazing each course was, please check my blog on The Food Network for the details. In short, the food was so good that if I thought it would’ve been appropriate, I would’ve licked each plate clean.

I would like to share some highlights:
There were amazing, heartfelt speeches by the best man (brother of the groom and all around great guy), the maid of honor (who’s speech had the alert single guys frothing), and the brother of the bride who delivered a wonderful speech about how when he sized up his future brother in-law, he immediately realized he was a good guy and was OK with his sister dating him. The older brother was just doing his Italian duty.
Having my family (technically my wife’s family, but I love them so much I call them ‘my family’) dancing between the two Primo courses. This party was starting early.
Now don’t take this the wrong way, but I must have kissed over 100 people that evening. Guys too. The Irish folk out there must really be scratching their heads now. By now you should realize I’m Italian. I’m proud to be Italian. We hug, we kiss, we laugh, and we show our emotions. When we see family members, we pull them in and give a big hug and kiss on the cheek to let them know we are happy to see, and be with them.
Realizing that when a DJ plays the Lou Monte’s, “Lazy Mary” at an Italian Wedding, he better turn up the volume if people want to hear the ‘artist’s words’. Everyone in the room, or at least the Italians, belted out the entire song.
Talking running with my brother in-law Anthony. Two runners at this wedding, awesome. Even the Irish folk know you get thrown out of the Italian Club if you don’t name one of your sons Anthony. Anthony and his wife will be running the BAA Half Marathon again this year. Now let me explain who Anthony is. Anthony is a great brother in-law, a jovial guy, and a legend at the dinner table. Anthony is quite familiar with receiving ‘The Look’ from his wife as well, is it the name? He not only holds the record for eating double cheeseburgers at now defunct Tastee greasy spoon in Cambridge, Massachusetts, (He woofed down seven double cheeseburgers at 2:00am one evening, the last one with bacon), he is famous for his “any leftovers in the fridge will make a great omelette’. He competes in the Clydesdale division. He is not fat, he is just big. When I say big, I mean solid. He played high school and college football. We're still not sure if he ‘played’ college football, but we know he practiced and has a photo of himself in uniform that until recently was proudly displayed in his downstairs bathroom, which is referred to as “Tony’s Throne”. I still have the coffee mug with his college football photo he gave me one Christmas. He is a 200+ lb eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and running machine. If you looked at him for the first time, you would never image he has two half marathons with very respectable times under his belt. He is the only person I know that trained for a half marathon and gained weight. He is type of guy you hope sits next to you on a long flight. You will still be laughing as you wait for your bags at the luggage carousel.

I will wrap this up soon, but I must share one last story from this wonderful evening. Every wedding I attend, I always make sure to seek out the bride and groom’s parents, introduce myself and thank them for inviting me to the wedding.. When I informed my Italian brother-in laws’ my about my intention to meet and thank the bride’s mother and father, on cue, they immediately broke into The Godfather script when Luca Brasi was practicing his speech before meeting Don Corleone at his daughter’s wedding. It went something like this, “Hey Anthony, you need to tell Mr. _ _ _ _ _ _ that you are honored and grateful that he has invited you to the wedding of his daughter and that you hope their first child be a masculine child”. After the wine came flying out of my nose and the entire table stopped laughing, I made my way across the room and introduced myself to the bride’s parents. Here is how it went:

Me: “Excuse me Mr.& Mrs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _, my name is Anthony Mavilia, I am married to your son in-law’s cousin. I want to thank you for inviting me and my wife to the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony, your daughter looks beautiful, and it has been wonderful to share this special night with your family.

Bride’s father: “Ah, Anthony, it is nice to meet you as well, thank you for sharing in this special day, I’m glad you are having such a nice time”. The bride’s father then said, “You are family now, come here”. He pulled me in and gave me a hug and kiss. I talked with him, his wife, and their son for a few moments and right before I left, his son leaned over and asked me, “Are you going to wish that his first grandson be a masculine child?” I could not contain my laughter. The three of them pulled me in for another hug and kiss and I was on my way back to my table to share my story.

What an amazing evening. Two great families, a beautiful ceremony, an amazing reception, and great conversation with new and old friends. And did I mention that there was running talk involved? Yeah!!!!!!!!!

Back to the cannoli, amaretti, and the long ride home. I was so stuffed when I left the reception that I was only able to eat two cannoli on the 1 ½ hour ride home. Sunday morning was going to come awfully early. Sunday mornings mean a 8:00am Group Run with the Squannacook River Runners. Although I was only able to force down two cannoli on the way home, the next morning before the group run, I woke up swinging. In honor of my brother in-law Anthony, I have two words for you “CANNOLI OMLETTE”.

What Did I Miss?

2008-09-19T00:27:00.006-04:00

I like running. Actually, let me rearticulate that, I really like running. So when an injury crept up on me earlier this summer, I was forced to modify my training routine and rediscovered what was really important in my life.

In early July, after a nice relaxing 45 minute nap in my local MRI tube, I was informed by my orthopedic physician that I needed to stop running for a few months. I’ve heard this speech before so I was somewhat prepared for it. I immediately accepted my fate and like any semi-demented runner, thought to myself, “I can accept this, I’ll just have to increase my training in other areas”. A few years ago, the same orthopedic physician (who is a runner), informed me that I, “Should not run for at least one year”. Well, that one year turned into 15 months of no running, but turned me into a cycling and swimming monster. A few months ago, when he broke the bad news to me once again, he immediately knew what I was going to ask next, and responded “If you ask when you can start running again, I am going to extend your down time by one month”. I got the picture.

Naturally my wife pretended to be sad that I wouldn’t be able to run for a few months. Now my wife loves me and I’m sure she doesn’t want to see me injured or in pain, but when I broke the news to her, she had very hard time trying to conceal her devious smile. My wife has a terrible poker face. My wife frequently admits that she loves it when I’m home. I’m lucky; most guys I know have wives who like when they’re out of the house and out of their hair. I take it as a compliment that my wife likes it when I am around, as long as I shower and shave occasionally. My wife gets extremely nervous when I head out for a 2+ hour run in the woods. I wonder if she thinks I’m going to find an undiscovered tribe in the woods of suburban Boston and take up residency. She didn’t have to say the words. After 10+ years of marriage, I knew exactly what she was thinking………."I have him for the entire summer”. It was as if she had an LCD screen for a forehead and horrible video loops of us shopping, picnicking, painting the bathroom, and planting flowers were endlessly playing. Like the one that had us shopping for new bed sheets at Bed Bath & Beyond while my running club was out, well, out running. I imagined another video that had us picking out curtains at Linen & Things on a Thursday evening, which is the night when my running club holds its weekly headlamp run. Another video had me planting flowers on Marathon Monday. The horror, how could she be smiling? I love spending time and shopping with my wife, she is an amazing and incredible human being. But I always made sure that spending time and the shopping thing didn't conflict with my running schedule.

Am I addicted to running? Yes. Do I love spending time with my family? Yes. Has the balance between the two loves of my life been out of whack? More often than not I hate to admit. Have I taken personal days at work so I could get in a few more long workouts before a big race? Yes. You get the idea.

One of the benefits of being on the sideline for a period of time is that you realize what you miss at home when you’re out on the trails banging out the miles. The first week of not being able to run seemed like a gift. I caught up with all my little unfinished projects around the house that always seemed to take a back seat to running.Before my injury, there were countless times that I would place my running ahead of my own family. Did I feel the shame in sneaking out the house in my running shoes while my boys were playing in their room? Not really, it was just something I did. In the past I frequently left two little boys with sad faces in the driveway holding their wiffleball bats and balls. All they wanted to do was to play Red Sox vs. Yankees in the backyard for a few minutes with Daddy, but my running always came first. How could I play wiffleball when I had to get my miles in, I had to check off the box on my training schedule. I thought I could play wiffleball anytime, there was no such thing as a wiffleball schedule. My running schedule said I had to run, and I did. Didn’t they know Daddy was training for the next big race? They should have, come on, they are 6 and 3 years old. Why couldn’t they understand how important it was to Daddy that he shaves a few seconds of his 20k time? Imagine that, blowing off my two boys for a run. Where were my priorities?

I had an epiphany that I will never forget during my second week of running inactivity. My oldest son came up to me and said, “Daddy, it’s awesome when you play with us every day”. Ouch!!!! Image that, a 6 year old pointing out to an adult how nice it is to spend time together. I felt like a schmuck. From that moment I vowed that I would never put anything, especially training, ahead of time with my family. In the future, I will strive for a balance. I know I can do it. I need to do it. I have to do it. I will do it.

I always thought that when my family came to a race with me, they were there to check out Daddy competing. Don’t get me wrong, I am sure my wife likes checking me out in my wetsuit or tri-suit (Hey-Now). I know, like I’ve stated before in other blog entries, I’m an idiot. I’m a guy, we like Maxim Magazine, beer, sports, fast cars, and fast women (not necessarily in that order). One of the greatest things after finishing a race has to be when my family finds me; I get a big group hug and plenty of kisses. Before my injury, I just assumed I received all those hugs and kisses because they were watching the clock and were impressed with my time. Ok, it would be a good time to throw in the idiot quote again, but I will spare you, way too obvious. Well, I finally realized they didn’t care about my time, my wife didn't like checking me out my tight tri-suit (well, maybe she does, she won’t admit it though), my family wouldn’t care if I finished first or last, they don’t care about the clock. I would get the same hugs and kisses if I DNF'd or finished first overall. It took an injury to realize that the people I love just want to be there and spend time with me. To quote the great Homer Simpson, “Dooh”.

I'm proud to announce that I recently completed my first run in over two months. It was a nice easy 5 mile off-road jaunt with my running club. Everything went fine, no post run pain. I'm on my way back. It is not too late to train for the incredible fall races offered here in the Northeast. And it is not too late for some great wiffleball games in the backyard.

So what did I do this summer? Hopefully if you ask my boys, they will tell you they had the coolest summer ever. I hope they would tell you about hanging out with Daddy everyday in the pool, about Daddy playing wiffleball with them, about our hikes and bike rides, about our adventure days, and ultimately I hope they would tell you that Daddy was there for them.

What else did I do this summer? Well if you happen to visit me at home and see my smiling wife, please ask her to see our new bed sheets, the fresh paint in the bathroom, the new curtains, and the lovely flowers around my house.

Race Report - Hampshire 100

2008-09-13T10:42:00.003-04:00

Race Report
2008 Hampshire 100, Sunday August 17, 2008 Greenfield, NH

Race weekend started innocently enough Saturday afternoon at Greenfield State Park. Race packet pick-up was scheduled for Saturday afternoon from 3:00 to 9:00pm. All racers were provided with a free campsite the night before the race. No hookups, but hey this is New Hampshire, deal with it.

I arrived at the check-in center around 4:30pm and promptly was welcomed to the Hampshire 100 by none other than the Race Director, Randi Whitney who was just returning after making sure the course was clear and well marked. I was informed that a homemade dinner of veggie and meat lasagna would soon be ready and available for a very small donation to a local charity. I was directed to the open camping field which was 100 feet from the start line and informed to ‘pick a spot’. There was a cool, almost bohemian laid back vibe in the air.

My tent on Saturday evening was my Toyota 4Runner. With the seats folded down, an air mattress, a few comforters, I was all set. I pulled to the back of the field away from the main road and started to ready my tent, meaning I cleaned out my truck. I soon made a fast friend with a great guy named Gerry who pulled in next to me. Gerry lives in Mashpee, Massachusetts. After talking for a few minutes, we soon realized we had a lot in common. We both enjoyed riding the single-track on Otis AFB, we both had small children, and we were both looking forward to a quiet night without spouses or kids.

Soon the dinner bell rang and Gerry and I made our way over to the Gazebo for dinner. Gerry snaked the last piece of meat lasagna, but I was more than happy with the veggie version. What a great homemade pre-race meal for only $4.00. It was starting to get dark and I informed Gerry I brought a few movies with me to watch on my kid’s portable dual screen DVD player. We decided upon the movie Old School starring Will Ferrell and Vince Vaughn. We soon had 10-12 people watching the movie with us, which was cool. It was pretty funny to look around and not see anyone eating popcorn or drinking out of mega 58 ounce jumbo jugs, but to see people with shaved legs sucking on Cliff Shots.

For me lights out was at 10:45pm, 5:15am was going to come very early. It was colder than it should have been for late August in New Hampshire, the temperature dropped to just above 40 degrees. Good thing I brought two comforters. The thoughtful and devious race director decided to set off a car alarm to ensure that everyone was up and ready for the mandatory rider meeting at 6:15am. I was up at 5:00am filling water bottles, packing my drop bags for the fuel stops along the course, and taping Hammer Gels to any open space along the top tube of my bike.

At 5:30am and only 54 degrees outside, I shuffled the 200 feet to the start line and enjoyed a breakfast of 4 Hammer Gels, 4 Endurolyte Capsules, 1 bagel with peanut butter, and 2 Power Crunch Bars. The rider meeting started promptly at 6:15am and the main themes were to stay on the course, be respectful to the over 60 miles of private land we were soon to ride over, up, and down on, and in Forest Gump style, "Don’t do anything stupid like getting yourself killed. " Gerry leaned over to me and said in a perfect Forest Gump impersonation, "I hope I don't let him down." Too funny. Immediately after the meeting, the organizers started staging the riders. There were 23 waves and each minute a new wave was started. The first wave of riders was promptly started at 6:45am. I was assigned to wave 13. My friend Gerry was assigned to wave 11. My wave started at exactly 6:58am. I remember feeling cold in my short sleeve shirt and wondering if I should have worn my arm warmers for the first few miles. I soon realized I wasn’t going to need arm warmers.

The first 5 miles were pretty flat and open and it was difficult to ‘stay back’. This section of the course consisted of an old railroad bed and class 5 & 6 dirt roads. It was wide open and screaming for speed, but I did not take the bait, I settled into a nice high cadence slowing warming up for the long day ahead. There wasn’t much passing at this point, people were still in packs of 3-6, nervously talking about what horrors we would soon face.

Somewhere around mile 6, we headed into some MTB specific single-track. I was excited that I caught up with my buddy Gerry. I had some trouble at first getting stuck behind some slower riders on the single-track, but figured out that if I just asked someone if I could pass, they would let me. It felt good to catch and pass some riders from earlier waves, but I decided to slow down to ensure that these same riders wouldn’t be passing me later in day. My goals at this point of the race were warm up and conserve energy. There were a few challenging hills before the first fuel stop at mile 10, but it was early in the race and everyone should have been strong at this point. I stopped quickly at Fuel Station #1 to refill one bottle and grab a few M&M’s.

What followed after mile 10 was pure MTB hell. We started an extended muddy technical climb that required concentration, balance, and power. All riders who made it to the top of the first sustained climb were entertained by a Fiddler!!!!!! Not sure of the tune being played, but it was a nice distraction. After that, there was more single-track, then some double track, and some dirt roads, some of it technical, most of it muddy…it’s fuzzy.

I finally made it to the Fuel Station #2 (18 mile mark) and I was in need of some restocking. To this point, I had sucked down almost 60 ounces of water, 1 bottle of Heed, 1 bottle of Perpertuem, 10 Endurolyte Capsules, and 5 Hammer Gels. I actually got off my bike and stretched for a minute while the wonderful volunteers refilled my Camelback and bottles.
From mile 18 to mile 25, the racers were entertained by mud bogs, horrendous climbs, ultra technical bench-cut single-track, and a 1 mile section under a set of power lines that was more hike-a-bike than ride-a-bike. It seemed to me at this stage of the race that the course was reaching up and attempting to slap the confidence out of the riders. The course seemed to be announcing that anyone can ride technical single-track for a few hours, but wanted to know how many of us could stay on track for 8+ hours?

The mud bogs were starting to take a toll on my legs by mile 27. Now when I say mud bogs, I do not mean nice 2-3 inch patches of mud you can go flying through, these were 1-2 foot deep sections of tire sucking mud with no bailout points. Most of the mud bogs encountered were an average of 15 feet in length. At this point in the race, the racers were completely spread out, occasionally if you crested a peak, you could look ahead or behind and see a sole competitor somewhere on the course, but for the most part, we were all alone fighting our own demons. The temperature was slowly creeping up as the morning wore on, at first I thought I was sweating so much because of all the climbing, but I heard a volunteer yell at one of the crossings that is was now over 81 degrees and we should all adjust our fluid intake.

I soon made it to Fuel Station #3 which was a drop station for our self packed bags. I ditched my bike, quickly found my bag and stuffed my pockets with more Hammer Gels, Hammer Bars, and Endurolytes. The volunteers once again refilled my Camelback and bottles and I was on the trails again. Shortly after Fuel Station #3 the real climbing started. This climb was a couple of miles long and just when you started to get tired, it got steeper. This climb was also exposed to the blazing sun. I finally gave in to the climb and hike-a-bike part duex started, I joined a conga line of hikers and we huffed it the final 600 meters to the top. At the top there was no rest for the weary, only the agony of a long technical decent awaited. This decent was long, narrow, and rocky. There wasn’t one section of this downhill you could relax; at least different muscles were now being battered.

We were actually rewarded at the bottom of the downhill with a pancake flat 3 mile section. The only problem was that this section was a sandy dirt road, which meant a higher gear and higher cadence was needed. I remember this section fondly because my legs started to cramp. I remember screaming out loud that "I'm not even at the half way point yet". I didn’t panic, but I did stop and reference my fluid/bodymass/exertion chart. I realized that up to this point in the race, I did not have to make a ‘pit-stop’ and I was probably dehydrated. While on the side of the road, I sucked down 24 ounces of electrolyte replacement and broke open 3 Endurolytes and sublingually ingested them (Hammer Nutrition Tech Tip). Within two minutes my cramping was gone and I was back on the road. I was soon climbing again and feeling OK. I ended up catching an older gentleman at the top of the climb and I asked him if he wanted me to lead the way down (like I knew where we were going). He said he knew the course and I could follow him. I was surprised at our speed; it was so nice to finally ride with someone and was a lot less boring than riding alone. We were just about at the bottom of the huge decent when the gentlemen starting doing cartwheels right in front of me. It looked like he wasn’t able to clear a washout and went over the bars headfirst. I immediately jumped of my bike to help and after a quick trauma assessment, determined that his racing day was over. He probably had a broken ankle and broken tib/fib. He also complained of hip pain. I looked around for log to splint his leg with and soon found one. I asked if he had any spare tubes, and he did. So right there on the side of the trail, I splinted his entire left leg with a log and three inner tubes. By the way, I did use his inner tubes (inside joke, I did not want to get DQ’d for lending equipment to others).
In total I spent 26 minutes with this injured racer. I wondered to myself if I could apply for EMS credits. The man did not complain of back or neck pain and wanted me to ride on. The next manned intersection was only 1 mile away and I raced there to inform the course marshal that medical attention was needed.

I will not continue to bore you with sentence after sentence about how steep, rocky, muddy, and technical the course was, but the rest of the course was steep, rocky, muddy and technical. My cramps eventually disappeared as did my power. I never bonked. I finally had to pit-stop at mile 45. I made it up the final 6 mile climb at mile 51 and somehow held on to make it back down Crotched Mountain. In the end, I somehow avoided the MTB version of the Death March.
Thinking back I did actually enjoy a few moments and sections of this course. It was difficult to do so during the race. The river crossing that I rode thru will always stay with me. I was riding in chest deep water cursing myself for not having a snorkel just in case the water got 6 inches deeper.

There was an absolutely epic 2 mile section of smooth, mud free single-track that has to rank up there as one of the best sections of trail I have ever had the privilege of riding. I eventually finished in just over 9 hours and 23 minutes. I was pleased with my first off-road endurance event and was stoked to find out that I placed 1st overall in my class and 1st overall in my age group.

Highlights:
1. Absolutely the most scenic course ever!!!!!!!
2. Great day mechanically, no equipment malfunctions or flats
3. Riding through a chest deep river (approx 60 feet).
4. Finishing 1st overall in my class and age division and bringing home a sweet set of wind chimes that are shaped like bicycle sprockets (quite possible the coolest award ever).
5. The volunteers (Saints) and well stocked Fuel Stops.

Lowlights
1. 84 degree day
2. Being on my bike for 9 hours 23 minutes.
3. Having to stop for 28 minutes to splint a competitor's leg with a log and spare inner tubes (Race Officials wanted to adjust my time, but I didn't care, the poor guy had a broken ankle, and leg, I needed a rest at that point also).
4. The 100's of mud pits being un-ride-able and many waist deep
5. My legs starting to cramp at mile 43. Way too early.
6. Ingesting over 300 ounces of water, 200 ounces of electrolyte replacement, 20 Fig Newtons, 40 Enduralyte capsules, 20 gels, and assorted other m&m's, cookies, all the while still losing 7 pounds of weight after the race.
7. Having to bargain with myself after mile 50 to take in nutrition...........Sample script “If I just have one more gel, I won't have to have another Fig Newton for 3 more miles”...the horror.

What did I take away from this experience?
1. Training in the Groton State Forest will not prepare you for the 8000+ feet of climbing in this race, no matter how much you train
2. As long as you ride for 9 ½ hours, you can eat and drink like a Viking and still lose almost 8 pounds.
3. That leaving for vacation immediately after the race and having to chase my little guys around StoryLand and through the Polar Caves in not the ideal way to recover.
4. Do not try to hop over logs or navigate a rock garden with completely zapped of power. Late in race, riding over a 8 inch log was a MAJOR challenge.

Fuel Intake:
300 ounces of water
180 ounces of Hammer Nutrition Heed Electrolyte Replacement
72 ounces of Hammer Nutrition Perpetuem Carbohydrate Mix
20 Hammer Gel Packs (Plain/Vanilla/Rasberry/Chocolate)
38 Hammer Nutrition Endurolyte Capsules
2 Hammer Nutrition Bars
10 Fig Newton 4-packs
4 Uncrustables PB&J sandwiches
10 Special Recipe Endurance Treats
countless other snacks such as M&M’s, cookies, and potato chips

What did I take away from this?
1. Try to enjoy the moment, even the painful ones. I realized the painful moments are crucial for our personal breakthroughs and accomplishments, without them, the accomplishments don’t seem that important. Weird concept. In the days following the race as my all over body pain started to decrease, I started to realize how much I enjoyed this race. During the race, especially after mile 51, my body, mind, and that little voice that pops up from time to time asking us. “Why are you doing this?” wanted out. Looking back, I wish I could have enjoyed each moment…….ah, maybe I was better off to want out and grind on in spite of pain.
2. Another checkmark on the long list of Life Accomplishments
3. Realizing how much I LOVE running
4. Realizing I need to research the process of nominating someone for Sainthood. There was a homeowner at one of the road crossings offering to wash down riders and their bikes with a simple, but effective garden hose, soon after having to push our bikes through an approximately 40 foot long 3 foot deep mud pit and climb 400 feet in 1 mile. This MVV (Most Valuable Volunteer) was also offering to fill any empty water bottles.

The Payoff:
The sense of satisfaction? Nah.
The sense of accomplishment? Nah
Coming in 1st Place and bringing home the coolest set of wind chimes ever created? Nah
Finishing my first off-road endurance event and wanting to sign up ASAP for the next one? Nah

The Ultimate Payoff has been hanging my ‘award’ in front of my house and whenever my neighbors hear the sweet, relaxing, harmonious sounds of my wind chimes they know that “I’m The Man”. A few neighbors have yelled over and asked that I turn off the fan pointed at the wind chimes

Respectfully Submitted,
Anthony Mavilia- Jamis Bikes, Hammer Nutrition

How do you do it?

2008-09-08T00:15:00.004-04:00

You’re in great shape, how do you do it?

I am confronted with answering this question occasionally at social events, and I’m never sure what the correct response should be. Don’t get me wrong, being a recent card carrying member to the Masters Division, I consider this question a compliment. The left and right side of my brain have a virtual arm wrestling match as to how to frame my answer. Here is what usually goes through my mind before I start spouting off. Does the person asking want my workout schedule? Is this Cougar hitting on me? ( I know, I’m an idiot) Do they want diet tips? Are they truly interested in what I have to say? How much do I say? Is the person just being nice or are they looking for a little bit of motivation to grab onto and run with?

I’m never sure, but after this internal George Costanza scenario comes to an end, I usually just say, “I’m pretty active and I sort of watch what I eat”. The standard response is usually, “Oh, ok”. Occasionally, I receive THE follow-up question of all follow-up questions. This is the question every active person wants to hear because it gives us a free pass to open the floodgates, “What does your workout schedule look like?” This is usually the time my wife leaves my side because she knows she just lost me for a least an hour, possibly two hours if the person also wants to know about my diet. Some people rate a dinner party’s success on the atmosphere, the food, the wine, the company, or the conversation……..not my wife, to her a dinner party is a success if she doesn’t loose me for a few hours while I ‘talk shop’ in an isolated corner with another runner, swimmer, or cyclist.

I think every one of us is in shape. Loosely, my definition of ‘In Shape’ is having your body ready for the activities you generally participate in. Depending on the time of year, my 10K time can vary by as much as 12 minutes, but be it winter, spring, summer, or fall, I'm always in shape enough to run a 10K. If you subscribe to the theroy that every person is able to do something, then you should accept my definition that if somebody is able to do something more than once, they would be considered ‘In Shape”. I feel the 55 year old gentleman who lives down the street from me who weighs close to three bills is ‘In Shape’. I watch him fire up his John Deere tractor weekly, he never forgets to fill both cup holders with Busch Light, and he eats up the better part of the afternoon cutting his ½ acre lot. He trains for lawn mowing, he participates in lawn mowing, I guess the recovery depends on how much he consumes while mowing, and he certainly repeats his lawn mowing weekly.

Fitness level, now that is a different story. What runner can admit to not assessing his or her fitness level daily at some point in their running career? Runners seem to constantly be asking themselves things such as, “Where is my fitness level"and "Am I ready for this race?” If I’m able avoid a major injury, over the course of a year, my weight fluctuates no more than a pound or two in either direction, but my fitness level differs greatly depending on the season. Does my fitness level ever measure up to Lance Armstrong’s fitness level? Hell no. But as compared to Busch Light Mower Man, I am Lance Armstrong.

I have also formulated a definition for ‘Fitness Level’ as well. To me, fitness level relates to having the capacity, and ability, to meet or exceed your expectations on race day. Of course, that is if you have committed yourself to train adequately and appropriately for the event. Again, we have established that Mr. Busch Light Mover Man is ‘In-Shape’ to mow his lawn, but it can be argued that his ‘Fitness Level’ is lacking because his body, after all the cheap beer intake, is unable to demonstrate the ability to cut his lawn in straight lines. What this gentleman needs is some Straight Line Mower Repeats on the inside grass portion of a 400m oval.

As the years and miles add up, I’m not as concerned about my fitness level as much as I once was. I feel that if you are committed and put in the time, effort, and training, the results will be there. When I look back in old marathon training logs and I see little notes questioning my fitness level on a certain date because I ran the same 8 mile loop one minute faster two weeks prior, it is difficult not to laugh. Have I matured that much in a short period of time, or have I just come to a time and place in my life where things like that don’t matter much any more? Ultimately, is my fitness level higher than the average Joe Forty Year Old who’s only exercise is pushing and pulling the reclining lever on his La-Z-Boy? Hell Yeah. Will I ever know what it feels like to run a five minute mile? Hell No. Do I care? Hell No. Am I having fun? Hell Yeah.

If given the chance, will I sneak away from my wife for hours and talk with you in the corner at a social event about running, biking, cycling, racing, and nutrition? Only if you have a can of Busch Light for me too.

Admit One- My Forest, My Life, My Experience

2008-09-05T22:06:00.011-04:00

Hello out there!!!!!!!!!!

I was recently approached by a good friend, Chris Russell and asked if I had ever considered creating a blog. I responded that the thought had never crossed my mind, but I took the bait and asked, “Is is hard?”. His response was, “To set it up or come up with material that people may find informative and interesting?”. I quickly found out that for someone like myself, it was a little tricky because I have no idea what a hyperlink or HTML Text is. It will remain to be seen if I can continuously come up with interesting and informative entries.

Let me start off by saying most of my entries will be brief. My posts will hopefully focus on a single topic and will contain a few supporting statements. I do hope they provoke laughter, thought, and comments. I am sure the bulk of the entries will focus on training, racing, the recovery process and how it all relates to balancing my professional, family and 'recreational’ life.My profile provided a brief summary of who I am, but as time goes on and my entries add up, I am sure most of you will have a clearer picture of what makes me tick. As I listed in my profile, I am an active individual, I am truly grateful to have a wonderfully supportive wife who is tolerates my activities (or she just likes it when I am out of the house).

I live in the Northeast and I am so pumped that Fall is right around the corner. Now Fall may mean different things to different people around the world, but to us active folk from the Northeast who pronounce Harvard, “Hahvid”, it means prime mountain biking and running season. The trails we run and ride on in the Spring are nothing more than mud bogs littered with downed trees and broken branches. The Summer somehow takes care of these trails. The trails mysteriously dry up and logs and branches are somehow moved to the edge of the trails. The trails in the summer are super fast and dialed. Then enter the Fall. The Fall is a season in the Northeast when the forests attempt to take back what is rightfully theirs. In a scene straight out of a low budget Independent Film Channel movie, the forest attempts to scare its visitors with showers of gold, yellow, and red leaves. These leaves cover all that is sweet in the forest, the trails!!!!! My riding buddies ask why I never take the lead when we ride in the Fall, and I respond that I would rather have them find, and fall, on the slippery moss covered roots under the leaves. They don’t find it quite as funny as I do. A 15 mile mountain bike ride on familiar trails in the Summer can turn into a 20 mile ride on the same exact trails in the Fall. One must really scan the forest floor to stay on the trail when it is covered with leaves.

I like to think that I am very aware when I run and ride in the forest, but I would like to share an experience while riding solo on my favorite trail that some of you may find enlightening but I am sure will scare the &%$# out of my wife. Let me start by saying that I rarely leave my house with my Ipod when I run or ride, I would rather listen to the crackling sound of leaves being crushed by rubber than the latest Metallica song.

I left my house early in the morning last October for a quick 10 mile ride. This 10 mile loop is ‘My Loop”, it is one that I have helped cut, clear, and mark, one that I have provided trail maintenance on, and one that I have either run or ridden on hundreds of times. I know where every rock and root is located and where the muddy sections will be after a rainfall. On this day everything started out perfectly. I left my house at 8:00am and I was at the trail head at 8:05am. The sun was still very low in the sky and it provided great light for my ride. I was no more than one mile into my ride when I hit the speed section of the trail. There is a 150 yard flat, hard packed section of trail that begs for speed. I dropped it down a few gears and started to hammer along when that familiar sound caught my attention. It was the sound of crunching leaves under rubber. Impressed with my speed, I decided to look behind me to see if there was a high flying multicolored rooster tail of red, yellow, and gold leaves. I felt like a little kid with a baseball card 'clothes-pinned' to my frame making the coolest flapping sound when rubbed against the spokes. Well, I turned around to see what was happening behind me, and I guess I should have been paying attention to what was in front of me because while I was admiring my rooster tail of leaves, I was soon lying flat on my back after a few cartwheels. While looking back, I drifted off the trail and my crank hit a rock which immediately sent me airborne. After a quick trauma assessment, I figured out I wasn’t hurt and soon realized that I was lying in a comfortable bed of dried leaves. I made no attempt to get up; I just lied there and enjoyed looking up at the forest canopy. There were squirrels doing the branch to branch dance, and there were a few birds trying to figure out what that weird figure with the obnoxious spandex clothing was doing in the leaves looking up at them. I soon noticed that I was in the middle of a leave ‘snow storm’. There were leaves falling all around me. I started playing a game called, “I bet I can guess where this falling leave will setle”. Sir Issac Newton has nothing on this guy. After a few minutes of watching the leaves falling towards the forest floor, I was getting pretty good at predicting where a falling leave would eventually end up. I actually was soon able to figure out which leave would land either close to, or on me.

But all good things must come to an end. A very nice woman walking her dog approached me and found me lying on the ground staring up at the trees with my bike close by on the side of the trail. She ran up to me, informed me she was a nurse, and frantically asked if I was OK. I responded I was. She asked what happened. I informed her I crashed. She asked if I had been there long. I informed her I had been there for about 30 minutes. She asked what I was doing and I responded that I was mountain biking but now I am looking at leaves. She asked if I had blacked out and I responded no, but added that I almost fell asleep a few times. I tried to explain that I was in a beautiful location, I was comfortable, and I was enjoying the view. She explained that speaking as a nurse, it was her professional opinion that my mental status was ‘altered’. I responded with, “Yes, most of my friends would agree with you”. I informed her I was a firefighter and an EMT in the area and I was aware of the signs and symptoms of Altered Mental Status. I went on to tell her that I started out riding and was now perfectly content watching the falling leaves. I invited her to join me, but she respectfully declined. She wanted to call an ambulance, but I somehow talked her out of it while still lying on the ground. I finally convinced her that I was fine and she agreed to continue on her walk without calling 9-1-1, but said she was looping back in 10 minutes and if I was still on the ground she would call 9-1-1. I thanked her for her concern and she was on her way. Why is it that most grown ups seem to take such pleasure in ruining or spoiling some one's good time? Did Darwin ever comment on this phenomenon? After 9 ½ minutes ( I stayed there as long as I could before Nurse Ratched returned), I jumped back on my bike and finished my loop. The rest of the ride was uneventful.

Whenever I ride or run My Loop, I always stop at the spot where I crashed and look up. If it is Summer, I think to myself what it will look like in the Fall. If it Fall, the view never looks quite like it did on the day I hung out and studied that section of forest's canopy. I attempt to explain the location and the significance to others when we run or bike by the location, but most don’t get it.

The forest is a wonderful place, it is full of surprises and undiscovered experiences. I didn’t intend on being a ‘leaf peeper’ that morning, but that is what I became for a short time. As runners and outdoor enthusiasts, do we spend too much time looking down in front of us? Do we see the big picture and really enjoy where we are? I know I do. Sometimes it is fun to look up when you are running or riding and trust your reflexes to carry you safely over unsteady terrain, give it a try. Next time you are out in the forest, look up, you never know what is up there.