Pool Gnirps

POOL GNIRPS: REVERSE IS WORSE- THE SEARCH FOR THE SILENT “G” SPOT.

I worry about runs that no one documents, especially the really long ones.  In this particular Bimbledom world of ours, I come from the fearful perspective of “if no one writes about it, it did not happen”.  So at the risk of being a bit late, I offer this brief report of our Spring Loop on September 8, 2013.  For the purpose of grabbing your attention I offer a provocative yet humble title.

This was my second Spring Loop this year, and since it occurred in the summer, and was done in reverse, it did not disappoint at kicking my butt every moment, like all of the other Spring Loops I’ve done in the past.  Forrest and Spuds, who recently did a night version of this run, kindly goaded me into accompanying them on this self-abusing adventure.

So at a reasonable hour of 7:15am-ish, after placing aid at the AT/Magic transition, we headed out onto the blue trail toward what I thought would we be a nice downhill section of Mohawk Mountain. Right at the start we see these three guys who are hiking just after leaving their campsite. We say a quick “hey” to each other, and head down Mohawk Mountain.  Nope.  I am wrong, of course.  This first section of trail was surprisingly technical, with some very brief “but-it’s-too-damn-early-for-this-stuff” baby climbs for less than a mile.  Man, I am out of shape.  What am I doing out here?  I re-adjust my attitude.  Then the easy “big down” off of Mohawk comes, thru Cathedral Pines, and onto the bit of road that is home to Forrest’s bench.  Lost already?  Only those who have traveled these hallowed paths and reverently whispered their given designations will know of these places by name.  The rest of you will just have to follow along as best as you can, much like my running, sucking wind and trying to keep up with Spuds and Forrest.

Next come the horse field, the electric fence, and the very high grass that blocks your view of a very wet trail. Then Jones’s nose, in reverse, which is quite the technical challenging climb, and includes a consistent patch of stinging nettles that always gets me.  I am beat already, and we haven’t even gone a fraction of the way yet.  I try to collect hypotheses for my condition, but so much of my blood has evacuated my brain to attend to my screaming legs that ideas escape me.  Dudley town, where the ghosts roam, is passed without incident, except that Spuds is lead slightly and briefly astray by an “unknown” force.  We hit the pavement again, down (thank goodness!!) the super steep Dark Entry Road, and a quick run to the gas station/convenience store.  The village store that was once a stalwart to hikers and runners alike is now defunct, and empty. We happily refuel and restock our water supplies at this gas mart.  Forrest and I are amazed there are no pretzels offered on the shelves, just a lot of jerky.  Weird.

Now the long climb up Breadloaf Mountain, where there are no loaves of bread, but plenty of climbing.  Again, despite my best efforts, the guys pull away.  They are walking.  I am walking.  The distance between us continues to grow, until they are no longer in sight, then no longer in earshot.  Yes, I know Allstate!  These guys are actually talking to each other, even on this steep climb, but I am fighting off passing out.  Nevertheless, I keep pressing on, and try to channel my best Jerry Turk walk.  It’s not working very well, but I get to the top, where Spuds and Forrest wait so I don’t make the left turn instead of the correct right turn on the trail.  Many a hiker has made this mistake, and has never been heard from again.  Honest, just ask Ultra.  I think even a few Mohawks had ended up Iroquois because of this wrong turn.  Anyway, I am thankful for both their patience and direction.

Onward we go on this section of the AT, which is long, and difficult, and long, and technical, with Mr. Bimble’s famously worded “undulating hills” and mountain climbs.  The trek toward West Cornwall Road is particularly challenging, and then Forrest yelps out.  He is unusually last in our line, so I stop to investigate.  His ankle was greeted by a yellow-jacket hornet sting.  He, however, had quickly pulled out the stinger, and despite minor discomfort, plows ahead, but no longer is ever in the back of the pack.  A deftly thought-out strategy by Forrest that eludes me, until it is too late for me a bit later in the run.

We arrive at West Cornwall Road, typically a place where aid is given (if we were heading in the “normal” direction, but we are doing the reverse).  I frantically search for Suds, or Nadia, or anybody, for relief (or a ride home), but there are no familiar faces, and now we are challenged by yet another steep, technical climb. Winded at the top, we press on, me ever in the back of the pack, Spuds and Forrest alternating at the lead.

I am noticing that the often many more of the climbs ARE long, but not as technical this “reversed” way, and many of the descents are technical and abrupt. An idea begins to formulate about this but then it slips away, elusive and just on my mind’s periphery, replaced by what I believe is a hallucination- my long-dead grandmother running alongside of me.  Jerry has warned me of these side-effects of running long, and I have become more than tolerant of their occurrences.  In fact, I welcome the challenge and try to keep pace, only to fall behind her as well.    These long climbs and tough descents are really energy zapping, but I am happy it isn’t too hot, or buggy.  There is a nice breeze, presumably conjured up by a distant Iggy in an effort to comfort our journey.  Iggy is so intuitive of poor suffering runners.  Thank you Igs!

Finally we get spit out and off of the AT to the road, where we have our own little aid station.  Again we refuel and rehydrate.  We travel down the pavement to the entrance to the “Magical Part”, so often skipped, but not on this day.  Just then 3 hikers fall onto the road, beaten but alive.  It’s the SAME GUYS from this morning.  One guy recognizes us and asks about our journey, and another of the guys chats about how difficult there trek has been.  The third guy is way too tired to talk, and looks just about ready to die.  Forrest and Spuds are engaged in discussion with the two “living” guys.   In retrospect I am reminded of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine meets the Bizarro Jerry and his friends, and I find some common ground with the nearly dead guy.  We’re not speaking.  We are barely alive.

Across the railroad tracks, then across the busy road, then again we are faced with another very steep up, toward “the Magic”.  Uggh!  Like before, the guys move quickly up, leaving me gasping but I slowly step forwardly up. A brief stop at the top and then we press on, wary of the time, realizing that the remaining daylight is against us.  Just before we hit Dean’s Ravine, near Music Mountain Road, I get stung on the ankle by a yellow-jacket hornet. I am third in a line of three.  The theory goes that the first 2 runners upset a ground nest of hornets, and the third guy in line pays for it.  That’s probably what happen to Forrest, and that’s now what happened to me.  I am less successfully pulling out the stinger as I have by this time in the adventure lost the feeling in my aching extremities.  The sting reawakens all.  I hobble to the rushing water and plunge my foot in.  Very cold water helps, but the pulse of the sting does not easily ebb.  I get out, then back into the water again, several times, until it’s just time to move on.  Meanwhile Forrest samples the fresh spring water at the top of the trail while Spuds waits for me to catch up.  Forrest gushes about the spring water, and I complain about my aching body that is near breaking.

At this point I inform Spuds and Forrest that they should definitely push ahead and not wait for me, as I am slowing more and more (true) and that for sure I know the rest of the way very well to get back to the car (untrue).  They reluctantly agree, say I am doing well, and that I will catch them soon as they are just as tired.  Folks, pay attention here as this technique of “lying to a dying man” was not lost on me.  I graciously accepted their compliment, knowing full well then that I would likely never see them again.

I actually think there is only a bit more to go, and then of course I am reminded of every road crossing and uphill section that comes before the path I have so inaccurately carved out in my mind.  I start to second guess myself on possible alternative routes, with 2 rerouting signs, one of which I do not remember from the May Spring Loop.  I try texting Forrest for confirmation, but there is spotty cell service here.  I plod up the drawn-out up hills, and dance gingerly down the technical down hills.  It finally hits me that many of these up hills are just outside of my ability to run them.  They are mostly not technical at all, except for the one preceding the West Cornwall Road and Jones’s Nose.  Many of these gradual up hills are then followed by abrupt or more technical down hills.  I feel like on many of these, if I were going in the opposite (or “normal”) direction, I would benefit greatly by being able to safely run more aggressively down hill.  By doing the Spring Loop in reverse it is actually harder, at least for me.  GREAT!  The niggling problem about the Loop in my head has been solved, except I still have a ways to go, and turning around will NOT make things easier at this point on the trail.  I get a break-through text from Forrest about the location of a headlamp awaiting me, left dangling from a branch, in a location perfectly “un-miss-able”.  The light is fading fast, and yes, I am still wearing my trademark prescription shades, but I don’t have an alternative in my pack.  I pass by Downhill’s leech pond, gather in the headlamp aptly placed where I would otherwise by knocked out from running into it, get to Johnson’s Road after a brutal ankle-buster decline, and take in the spectacular sunset at a farm I never noticed on previous Spring Loops.  At the top of the last climb I am treated with a last gasp of the suns influence on a purple-dark blue sky.  Forrest’s headlamp saves me on the last bit heading down the technical mountain to the parking lot.

12 hours, 7 minutes.  My longest time moving forward, not just on the Loop, but ever!  And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Snobody

Post Run………

Ah yes, the elusive silent “G” spot was found.  At the diner!   😉