Embracing the Urban

After two full years, and a little more, trying to avoid the fact, I have this week decided to embrace that I am now an urban trail runner.

I cut my teeth running on trails in Duluth, Minnesota; Waterville, Maine: and Boulder, Colorado. Running trails in those smaller towns is easy. Duluth has literally hundreds of miles of trails in the city limits. Waterville is a town of 16,000 people, full of wilderness and trails to explore, and not too far from some of the best trails in New England. And Boulder is, well, Boulder. The trails their just begged you to run on them. They were steep, challenging, rocky, and majestic.

The trails around the Twin Cities, while respectable, tend to be a little more quirky and a little less continuous. Most days, the "trail" I run on is a path down the middle of Summit Avenue. It's only a trail in the sense that it is not paved.

My go-to weekend trails are the Mississippi River Gorge and Battle Creek Park.

The trails on the gorge are single track, very often technical, and periodically terrifying. They also tend to end with little or no warning. If you're lucky, they don't dead-end, and you can get back up to the bike path to continue on your run. The first time I ran these was in the dead of the coldest winter in recent memory, which made it easier and harder at the same time (easier because I could just run on the river if necessary, harder because, well, snow).

Battle Creek Park has a lot of double track, which is groomed for cross country skiing in the winter, and single track, which is maintained for mountain bikes. You can get more elevation gain there than you can just about anywhere else in the Cities, but the trails loop in small circles and it is easy to get disoriented. There are great views of the river and the St Paul skyline (such as it is) to be had from certain points in the run, but as anywhere in the Cities, it's hard to gain more than 125 feet at any one time.

Trails in the city: usually compact, often fairly arbitrary, generally quirky.

But they're fun. And you never know what you might see on them. So I'm going to start featuring some of the more interesting sights I see on my daily urban trails. Hopefully they will at least interest, and possibly even amuse.

My first selections come from this past Saturday:

Sometimes (yearly in this case) you run into a race. The guy in first seemed to be wondering if anybody was going to go with him. 

Luckily found a heron. It didn't catch anything while I was watching.

And geese.

A Reaction to Prince from a Minnesotan

I went for a run Friday.

This, by itself, is nothing unusual. In fact it would be far more unusual were I to not go for a run on a Friday. But of course it was an unusual Friday.

I had "Purple Rain" stuck in my head.

This is no surprise either: Prince had died the day before. Along with several thousand others, my fiancee and I had gone down to First Ave for The Current's impromptu tribute concert featuring local artists performing covers of their favorite Prince songs. Basically, it was the "Purple Rain" album plus a couple other tracks.

I noticed a lot of purple flowers. In fact, I was literally running through fields of purple flowers.

This is not unusual either. It's spring in the Twin Cities, and many, many spring flowers just so happen to be purple. This is true from the flowers planted in gardens to the ones that spring up of their own accord in lawns and parkland.

I will admit to being surprised, in fact stunned, by how much Prince's unexpected death affected me. Neither my parents nor my siblings were Prince fans. Sometimes we thought of him as a bit of a joke (particularly during his Symbol phase, though we did not know the why of it at the time).

But I do remember the first time I really, truly, heard Prince. My friend's sister, truthfully my friend herself, as she was only a year older, put on "Seven" and walked into the room singing it along with the CD. I was floored. I'd never heard anything quite like it.

It wasn't until I had left Minnesota for a decade or so and subsequently moved back that I really appreciated Prince. Living in the Cities, you always had this sense that Prince might just magically appear wherever you happened to be. You had this sense because it happened. He'd show up at Record Store Day, or at a club, or a show. He threw regular concerts at Paisley Park.

We always had plans to go to one of those, but it had not worked out so far.

When it comes down to it, that's the essence of why Prince's death had such an effect on us: Prince was unabashedly, proudly Minnesotan. In a state that is so often considered "flyover country," where the celebrities we produce so often flee, Prince came back and lived here. He supported the community in more ways than I probably know. He made donations, anonymously or semi-anonymously, to local organizations. He debuted his music on The Current, and was a member of the station himself.

He was present.

And in Minnesota, that means something.

So as I ran through the purple flowers, I thought "thank you, Prince. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the community. But most of all, thank you for being a Minnesotan."

We will miss you.

Trail Mix 25k

I signed up for this race when I realized that, unfortunately, I had missed the window to sign up for the Zumbro 17 and it had filled up.  I had heard the Trail Mix was a good, fast race. With the strength work I've been doing due to "Training for the New Alpinism" and our Parkour process, I found my pace increasing in my workouts and was curious what I could do for a 25k.

This was not any sort of goal race for me, so I trained straight through it. Tuesday, I ran a hill workout and did Parkour. Wednesday, I ran 7 miles, did a strength workout, and went to Parkour. I ran shorter the next couple days in the lead up to the race, but still wasn't exactly rested by the time race day arrived. A 50 hour workweek and a difficult week in other ways didn't help anything.

I did, though, have a plan for the race itself. I figured I could run around 7:40 pace for the first 12.5k lap, then speed up gradually through the second lap and see if I couldn't finish in under two hours. I chose 7:40 because that's about what I've been running on my easy runs down Summit lately. I knew this was going to be a difficult run for me, because I hadn't done many long runs to this point, and I hadn't even run the full distance yet (something I like to do before a run this short).

The race itself went pretty well.

After the initial blast off the start line, I quickly settled in to a slightly faster pace than I had anticipated. I fell in with a couple high-schoolers out for a long run, and talked for a few miles until they fell off the pace. 3.5 miles in, I hit the second aid station, having run 7:33 pace for the first section.

The second aid station was also the high point of the lap, and I took up with a group of runners at a slightly faster pace (7:20 or so) for this section. I still felt really strong and smooth, so I decided to go with it. It started to get hot by this point (I'd already taken my shirt off in the first 3 miles), and I was dousing myself in water at each aid station once I'd had a little (flat) coke and water.

I ran by the half-way aid station at a little over 58 minutes.

As you recall, my plan was to up the pace a little bit the second half of the race, but I started faster than I planned. I opted to try and push the pace just a bit, but not as much as I had originally planned, then hit it hard from the second aid station. For the first 3.5 miles of the second lap, I managed exactly 1 second per mile faster than the first time through this section.

I attempted to go hard from the second aid station again, managing the low-7s and high-6s for a short while. But once I got to about 12 miles, I started to really feel the training earlier in the week and the fact that I'd been running pretty hard for an hour and a half. At that point, it became a matter of just maintaining speed and trying not to fall off too much.

I pulled in to the finish in 1:56:23, for a significant PR and a slight negative split (or so the pace on my watch said).

All told, I'm pretty happy with it. For a start of the season test, off a relatively hard week of training, it went remarkably well. I made my goal of negative splits for each lap (again, barely), and I PRed in the 25k by something like 20 minutes.

I wish I'd had a little more time to hang out after the race, as I met some interesting other runners there that I would have liked to chat with more. But the day was just beginning, so I was off and on my way within 10 minutes of finishing.

Between that, and testing for Parkour the next day (yesterday as I write this), I'm beat.

Epic Phone Fail

Last week, G and I decided to take a last-minute trip up the Shore to get a relaxing weekend in.  The family was busy, so we opted to stay in a lodge/resort a little north of Two Harbors and really treat ourselves for once. With the forecast calling for highs in the 50s-60s, I figured it would be a good weekend to get a few miles in on the Superior Hiking Trail.

Despite warnings of ice and deep snow over the ridge, I figured I'd be all right with some screws in my shoes. I always had been before. So Saturday morning, I packed up my water, phone, and a couple snacks in my UD AK Race Vest, drove the mile or so up the road to Gooseberry (start of the Superior 100), and took off up the trail.

I realized early on that this was not going to be a fast run, and that there was no avoiding picking my way around the ice patches that covered the trail. But it was a gorgeous blue-bird day in March in Minnesota, I was getting warm in my long sleeves and capris, and there was no way I was going to turn around even if my pace was hovering around the 12 minute mile area.

A mile or so in, I reached an area where the meltwater had completely covered the trail, which was cambered sideways towards the river, and had frozen the night before.

I grabbed on to a small tree on the uphill side of the trail, planning to pick my way from tree to tree across the short stretch of ice. But the second tree was just inches out of my reach. I decided to go for it, only to have the second tree move, landing my flat on my back.

That second "tree" was actually a tree branch that had improbably fallen at a straight vertical angle, flush to the ice. When I grabbed for it, it swung out of the way, leaving me sliding down the ice on my back before I knew what was happening. It was one of those "wait, the sky's not supposed to be there" moments of utter confusion.

Picking myself up, and checking my elbow to be sure there wasn't any significant injury, I continued up the trail to the Upper Falls.

The Falls were beautiful, but the light wasn't right for a picture.

Which, as it turns out, I would not have been able to take any way. Another mile up the road, I opened my pack to take out my phone, planning to take a picture of the Lake, and it crunched, audibly.

The screen on my 3-week-old phone was, in a word, powdered.

That sucked the joy and the wind out of my run. I opted to head back down to the main falls area and finish the run, which ended up being about 3 miles.

The rest of the day was fantastic: we walked the breakwater in Two Harbors, got a massage, toured Castle Danger Brewery, and ended out with a fire, which we somehow managed to light in the middle of a two-inch deep puddle.

The phone itself was a complete loss, but Apple replaced it for 40% of the cost of a new phone, which is better than it could be.

Still, it set the record for my most expensive run ever.

An Average, Everyday Run

This morning, while getting ready to go out for yet another base mileage run, I realized something: while I often write about my big runs, the long runs and the races, I have never written about an average, everyday base run unless something extraordinary happens. These runs make up probably three-quarters of my daily runs, but I have never written about one from start to finish, with all the little quirks and nuances that go with them. On thinking of this, I realized that this would fit my general goal for the year of practicing mindfulness, being present and aware in the moment. So I set out this morning with the goal of doing just that.

The irony, of course, is that by focusing so much on what I might write in this post I was probably more distracted and less mindful on this run that usual. I hope it was worth it.



Today was like many days, running-wise. I had a little more trouble waking up than usual. My training has again kicked up (it seems like that's always the case), and I have stayed up later than usual several times in the last week. After my normal morning rituals of meditation, writing, and catching up on the morning work details, my thoughts turn to my run.

With the additional mileage, the strength workouts, and the addition of Parkour to my workout routine, I am carrying some residual fatigue this morning. I've already run a hill workout and a longer base miles run this week, and my legs can feel it, so I leave the length of this run open-ended. It's about 30 degrees out and gloomy, chilly but not too cold, and typical for March in Minnesota. Almost two decades of running has my clothing dialed in. Tights, wool socks, a single, light layer on top, gloves, a thin hat, and the most recent addition: arm warmers. I have had one too many runs where my arms end up numb to leave these behind any more.

The ritual begins: start the GPS on my watch, grab the key, tie the shoes. Head out the back door and out the gate onto the streets.

From my house, the first mile or so of my run is always on sidewalks. Wherever I live, this is always the case. I use these minutes as a warm up, though they are actually one of the fastest-paced portions of my run. However tired my legs may be, within 5 minutes or so they start to loosen up as I take a route I've run half a thousand times before. Turn on to Summit, where the houses are massive. Past the Governor's mansion ("Does he actually live there?" I wonder for the hundredth time), and, finally, on to the path.

The ice patch in the lilacs. 

The "path" is in reality the strip of grass and trees that runs down the center of Summit. It's my bread-and-butter route, and the first section is my favorite: dual rows of lilac trees, a bane of mine when they bloom, but now bare, line the way, occasionally forcing me to duck a branch as I run between them. In the winter, cardinals use this as a roosting spot, and the flash of their red feathers lends a spark of color in an otherwise drab winter world.

Today, the path between the trees is icy, and I have to pick my way down the trail. I could wear my winter shoes, which have sheet metal screws in their soles for traction, but I know from yesterday that this is the only section of ice on the run. That, and a winter's worth of running has worn the screws to the point of irrelevance.

Only one cardinal today.

On down the center of Summit, and up a shallow hill beneath some evergreen trees. The stoplights on this road come exactly every half mile, a fact I use to my advantage when I am doing interval workouts, but today is an irritant. My pace, which sits between 7:20 and 7:40 on the pavement, has dropped to around 8 minutes per mile, a comfortable, natural pace that I can sustain for hours.

I check worriedly for my house key.  It feel out of my pocket a few months ago, on a cold, rainy run on this same route. Ever since then, I have been somewhat paranoid. Whew, it's there. But my drawstring has come untied. Fix that, without breaking stride. Continue running.

Summit is one of the most popular running routes in the Cities, and I can count on one hand the runs that I have not seen another runner. I wonder, though, why so many run on the sidewalks when this strip in the center is so much more pleasant. This is especially pronounced in the winter, where I will often find my footprints from the day before undisturbed in the snow. Today, though, the first runner I see (older, wearing a yellow windbreaker and flannel pajama pants) comes towards me on the same center path.

"Morning."

And on we go.

I have had people ask me, more than a few times, "do you run with music?"

It seems a silly question to me. I presume they are asking "do you run while listening to music, on headphones?" The answer to that is unequivocally "No." But why should that mean I don't run with music. I always have a song going through my head when I run. Today, it's "Bouncin Round the Room," by Phish. It's a song I haven't listened to since college, and I have no clue where it came from today. But there it is: the never-ending round running through my head.

Another stoplight, and then it's on with my run. The path takes a downhill slant, past the college where my parents and my brother went to school. Where my parents got married. Where I almost went. Not for the first time, I wonder if I made the right decision.

I decide to turn around at the next stoplight. No matter if my run is an out-and-back, I always make a tiny loop when I turn around. Sometimes it's around a tree, others a post. Even a man-hole cover will suffice if there's no other landmark. Here, there's a young evergreen that provides a nice looping point to head back up the hill.

Going back the other way, I see differently than I do on the way out. I notice different things. The hill seems a lot steeper on the way back up, though it would not even qualify as a hill in Colorado. I run in a slightly different track, just to mix things up.

I pass my favorite tree. I only really notice it on the way back. It's a big evergreen, with conveniently-large, and sparse, branches poking out at all angles. Some days, I'll stop and do a mini strength workout. I'll do pull-ups on one branch, rows on another, or if I'm ambitious, I'll scramble up as high as I can go. In this tree, I can make it 25 feet or so before the branches start to taper to questionable thickness. Today, though, I already have a strength workout planned for later, so I keep running.

Back towards the lilacs, I decide to skip the ice, and run between the trees and the street.  It's off-camber, but preferable to slipping and possible injury. At yet another stoplight, I jump, grab a crossbar, and do pull-ups until the light turns green. I never used to do this, but it has recently become a ritual for me. It gets some odd looks, but I get a lot of those.

On the sidewalks again, I turn off Summit sooner than I need to. I don't know why I started doing this. I probably just did so one day, to avoid an obstruction on the sidewalk, and I got stuck. I simply jog over one block and back onto the same heading.

In the last mile, I decide to throw in some surges. Form intervals. For 15-30 seconds, I drop the pace to a near-sprint, stretching out my legs and covering ground. These are not to get a workout, just to work on my running efficiency and keep the spring in my legs. Three to four of those, and I'm almost home.

I have a rock stuck in the treads of my shoe. Every other step is accompanied by a small, sharp grating sound. I last a half-block before I have to stop and dig it out. Stubborn little thing requires a stick to pry it out of there. But I am back.

Stop the GPS, walk through the gate, and move on with the day.





And, that's an average, every day run. Stylistically, that's a lot like how my mind works during a run. Sometimes, it goes on long, abstract ramblings. Other times, it's short at to the point.

I hope you enjoyed it, or at least found it interesting.

Transitions

I saw this poor crow on Summit one morning. I wonder how
he ended up sitting so perfectly. 

It seems fitting, somehow, talking about transitions on February 29th.

The last two months have been a transition period for me.

First, it has literally been the transition period of my training. I have been using the training log from "Training for the New Alpinism." While not specifically running-oriented, there are a number of aspects I like about it. First, it breaks everything down into sections (Transition, Base, Specific, and Peak).  There is an annual training plan involved, but it is flexible enough that I feel that I can adapt it to whatever situation comes up in my training.

The transition period has been one of general strength and general fitness. I have gotten noticeably stronger, and trimmer, since starting the transition period. I don't think that I have lost weight, but I certainly have lost the (admittedly limited) fat around my waist. I have not upped my running volume as much as I had originally planned, only reaching 30 or so miles per week, but I have increased it by about 50% over the coasting training I had been doing up until January. And this is with a hiatus at the beginning of February when I pulled my groin (apparently).

The second transition has been into Parkour again. For the month of January, we went once a week, for an hour or so. Into February, we entered a new class level, and started going twice a week, and occasionally for longer periods of time. Now, with the class schedule changing a little, it looks like we might push that up again to three times per week, depending on how we feel. Again, I fully believe that Parkour makes me a better, or at least more injury-proof, trail runner. It increases my strength and agility, and at the same time gives me more options to get around any obstacles that may come up.

I may have to do some obstacle races this year.

Moving on into base training, it's time to focus more on time on my feet, and getting 1-2 specific workouts in each week. I think Fartlek runs and LT runs are again going to be my staples. And I will certainly be throwing some hill workouts into the mix.

More to come, certainly. I hope to have more pictures, and maybe a video or two, in the coming months.

An Update

Last Ice Beard of the season (probably)

I have been quite awful about keeping up with this blog lately. Not surprisingly, this has coincided with a bit of a reduction in my running, due to several factors.

The primary motivating factor happened several weeks ago now. I recently started in on Parkour training again, in addition to my running and climbing (climbing has fallen off lately, but that's ok). After a few weeks of this, I got a sudden, sharp pain in my groin that would not go away. Knowing my family history, I assumed it was a hernia and stopped running.

Sure enough, I went to the doctor, and he found a (small) hernia. He said it was tiny, and didn't necessarily need any surgery, or even a reduction in my current workout routine. Nonetheless, running was pretty uncomfortable for a week or so, and I dropped off considerably for a while.

I made an appointment with a surgeon, to see what the benefits and drawbacks of getting surgery immediately (read: in the off-season) might be. Lo and behold, at the appointment, the surgeon found no sign of a hernia at all! I was feeling better, and so tried to get back into running a full schedule again.

Pike Island Skiing. Snow's gone now. 

I have also now upped my Parkour workouts from once a week to twice a week. While these are not running-specific workouts, I think over all they considerably help me in my trail running. They certainly boost my overall power, with the jumping and vaulting involved. I also think the increase my resistance to injury. There are so many different forces coming from so many different angles that my legs adapt to more situations. Hopefully this will translate into running.

Even if it doesn't, I enjoy Parkour too much to quit.

Did I mention I also do two strength workouts a week?

With all of that, my running workouts have suffered a bit, both in distance and in intensity. But now my body seems to be adjusting to the increased workload, and I'm hoping that in the next few weeks I can begin to up my running time again. At the very least, I need to start getting in a longish run on Saturday morning, and a fartlek or similar sometime during the week.

As is this snow.