A River Runs Through It--and so do I

My last run before I hit the mid-century mark almost became a swim. Friday evening we had a torrential downpour and high winds and rain showers were forecast for Saturday. The winds arrived late and the showers gave way to sunny skies as I made my way down to Meigs Trail in the Smokies.

The trail head is at the famous Sinks approached in a drive up along the Little River--which it definitely wasn't this day. It was swollen and angry.This gave me a bit of angst because my 12 mile route was amongst many of the tributaries that fed this river.

The Meigs Creek Trail climbed quickly away from Little River but the roar of it followed me a long way. Cresting a ridge, the trail dropped just as quickly down to Meigs Creek which it follows for 2+ miles before the final ascent to Meigs Mountain.

"Follows along" is probably a misnomer. The trail meanders liberally through the creek. And creek itself was an inappropriate label this day, as well, given the prior night's deluge. Arriving at my first crossing, I stripped off my shoes and socks, removed the liners, found a sturdy stick and forded the swift water to the other side where I reversed the process after dumping water from my waterproof shoes (heretofore to be known as well-sealed vessels for storing water). Feet somewhat dry, I continued my run up the trail where 30 yards later--it crossed the creek again! I repeated the process with still fairly dry feet and socks and resumed my run. To reach another creek crossing 50 yards later.


Having learned my lesson, I plunged on through and continued this process for the next 17 crossings to come. Correct. Seventeen more.


Upper Meigs Falls was running wildly as I trudged and sloshed past to ford the swift creek feeding it just yards later.

Reaching Bukhorn Gap at the 3.3 mile mark and 45 minutes later (slow going with half the trail being a swim) I finally dropped the wet socks, contemplated dry ones, but decided to save those for the last descent just in case. A wise choice (I think) though still I earned a blister from running sock naked with wet feet.

The route from Upper Buckhork was largely 3+ miles of contour trail affording ample views of the ridge above me and Curry He and Curry She Mountains. At 3000 feet, the trees were just budding and a few early wildflowers had emerged.

Nearing Curry She Mountain lay the remains of a long deserted and now reclaimed village. Amongst it lay Polly Hatcher and her infant child who passed away in 1909 at the age of 43.

Near this ancient settlement, I connected to Curry Mountain Trail, itself an old wagon road, which dropped quickly back towards the roaring Little River.

I finished up the loop with a two mile run along the road back to The Sink where I had left the car. Total mileage was close to 12miles and running time was 1:54:22.

A Tale of Two Sprints

Saturday, I competed in my first duathlon as part of my 50th year of "leave no race behind" strategy. This was a 5K road/trail run + 18K road ride + 3K road/trail run. It was also my first "short" race and a bit brutal pace wise.I arrived early where I quickly concluded that volunteers outnumbered participants by 2:1. Not bad, though, as said volunteers became audience members that cheered us like rock stars. Fresh off my new read of "Born to Run" I spent a considerable portion of my warm-up running barefoot to dial-in my stride. I'm a natural non-heel foot runner so the barefoot thing isn't hard. I enjoyed it simply for the odd stares I received. Then again that's my modus operandi isn't it?

As the race start time approached the obvious tri-guys made themselves visible and moved up front while us old guys sized each other up, offered self-deprecating humor as evidence that we were beyond all that, and settled into a "just bit back of the front" to demonstrate our ingrain and learned humility. Funny thing was, the group of us who did this, wound up placing first, second, and third in our age group.

With a 3-2-1 we shot out of the start line and it was obvious that the pace was going to be faster than I was planning. I had 90 minutes in mind, assuming just under 8 min runs and a decent bike pace. At mile 1 on the foot race, I was at 6:45 with my two old-dude companions sandwiching me in-between. As the course went to trail and began a steep climb I surged ahead and used my trail running skills to keep the distance on the descent but got bested on the last mile of flat by my nearest competitors and still same old dudes.

I hit the transition area 3 miles later just under 20 minutes and flew out the gate on my bike winded but still comfortable. The 18K course ahead was a series of rolling but none-to-steep hills that afforded a good tempo and fast ride. By mile 6, I had reeled in one competitor and overtook the next by mile 7 where I opened it up and really pushed my effort level to 8+. At mile 9, I reached for a Gu that I had only grabbed at the last minute and squeezed it down. I was in danger of bonking and I knew it. By mile 9, the water ran out and my calves began to cramp, still I kept it dialed in and pushed it all the way back to the transition. As I reached the cross-over area, I was spent but heard I was now in 6th overall and wanted to maintain that or better. But, I was badly dried out and there was no water or fuel to be had.

The last 2 miles of running sucked. I was able to snatch some water from a volunteer but the problem I was now under-fueled and in a hydration and nutrient hole. My two old dude competitors caught me and it was all I could do to hold on. One placed just 10 seconds ahead--I nearly caught him as my finish line surge energy kicked in. But, as I told him later as we chatted up our race, I was proud to see him kick-ass on his old-school bike, thus proving that it usually boils down to rider not equipment. The 48 year old school teacher can only afford a second-hand steel tube vintage 70's bike but he still took me and my flashy gear apart in the end. A big salute to that.

Old guys rule again, however, as I eeked out a 1:20:04 time (10 under plan) at 9th overall and 3rd in my age group (my last visit to this age group given my birthday next weekend). Lesson learned on the sprints...don't under estimate the fuel and give until you puke.

All in all a lot of fun and much satisfaction.

Green Tunnels Return

Spring is sprung. Running in nekked woods will now have to be replaced by running nekked in the woods.

Our proximity to Great Smokies National Park is fabulous. I'm slowly carving out a sampling of the 900 trail miles the park has to offer. By the time I'm 105 I expect to have completely run all of it's trails. In the meantime, I'm trying to prioritize a few of the choicer one's to knock off this year.

I have to admit, I miss the winter runs but am happy to have the warmth of early morning runs return. Likewise, trying to work in the bike rides means trading off some running time. What to do!?