A Chef's Steel

I found myself in the midst of another "normal" running schedule this week - hills on Monday, an easy run on Wednesday, speed work on Thursday, and a long run on Saturday - and today was the appointed time for speed work.  I do believe in "appointed times," in schedules, as long as they are flexible enough to account for the unexpected.  I have found that the old saying, "Plan your run and run your plan" has always worked for me, and I notice that most of the serious runners in our group like Morris and Jim and Skip (when he has not been injured) all stick pretty much to a plan, often a combination of the tried and true and some interesting new workout.  (Morris is the champion of innovative training plans; you can see his little white paint marks on pavement all over town, marking new combinations of distance and speed and grade.)  Most of us who have been running for any length of time, after all, want to either get faster or run longer (or, as we age, to slow down the inevitable decline in both speed and distance). 

So after running nearly three easy miles, I attacked that short hill at the end of Sixth Street again in a series of ten fast uphill sprints as I have for some four weeks in a row now.  It is exhilarating to run fast, to see if you can hit the desired time goal exactly on target in the next item (or in this case to simply run fast and hard and not let up at all).  And it is satisfying to complete a series of intervals knowing you have given your best.  I often think that I am honing myself on the hard stone of discipline, making myself sharper and sharper with each stroke. 

I recently took my Chef's knife to Reeves Hardware to have it sharpened on their expensive knife sharpener (a bargain at $2.99 per knife).  This time, I learned how to keep it sharp by using a Chef's Steel, or a honing steel, like this one.  It's a piece of steel with longitudinal ridges that I never really learned how to use properly until I watched some videos on You Tube, and now I use it every time I use my knife.  (A sharp knife is a thing of beauty!)  I learned that a Chef's Steel does not actually sharpen a knife, if realigns an already-sharp blade.

"The naming ("honing" or "sharpening") is often a misnomer, because the traditional "honing steel" neither hones nor sharpens a blade. Instead, its function is to realign a curled edge rather than remove metal from the edge." -  Wikipedia

Now when I complete workouts on my speed days, I think of myself not as honing my fitness, but as keeping a sharp edge by re-aligning everything.  I am not taking away any material; I am simply keeping everything straight, removing all of the kinks in the never-ending process of learning how to improve. 

Absurdly Blessed

I stopped by Highlands Pharmacy yesterday, at the end of a long day, to pick up a prescription for Martha.  Our local pharmacy is a fine one, and it is nice to be on a first-name basis with the pharmacist and everybody else who works there, as it must be in small towns all across America, I suppose.

 
There would be a little delay, I was told, so I wandered down one aisle and then another, trying to find something of interest or amusement to pass the time.  There was a sign at the counter asking that only one person approach at a time because of the need for privacy, and it took me a minute or two to realize that half a dozen other customers were also waiting, all of us standing uneasily 15 or 20 feet from the counter (a distance deemed to be out of earshot), or idly scanning the items on shelves:  lipstick, reading glasses, aspirin.  One young man had plopped down in the only chair and was playing with his phone.  I found some amusement in a display for a product called The Bad Air Sponge, which it was claimed has been sold for 50 years.

Who were those characters on the label?  That guy relaxing in his odiferous easy chair looked like somebody from The Simpsons, and his clean-looking spouse looked like Samantha from Bewitched, or some other sitcom from the 60s.  And "All Purpose" - I love it!

But as the minutes passed by, I found that I had exhausted all of the amusement from this place; I realized that it was all profoundly depressing, this store largely visited by the sick, aisle after aisle of corn removers, bedpans, wart removers, potty chairs, laxatives, cold medicines, trusses for hernias, remedies for chigger bites.  It made me start to feel healthier and healthier, Highlands Roadrunner who had run a little over six miles of hills that morning and needed not one single thing in this pharmacy.  Just a strong desire to get the hell out of there and breath some fresh air and get some Purell on my hands!

My friend Jill came in and immediately asked me if someone was sick in my family.  "Just a little congestion," I assured her.  And than I asked her how she was. 

'I am," she smiled, "Absurdly Blessed."

"How wonderful!"  I said.  "I love that!  It sounds like the definition of Grace."

"Just another way of saying it," she smiled.

And I have carried that phrase around with me all week.

The Betz Lecture Series

It was Monday morning, and that meant Big Bearpen again.  Vicki met me at Founders Park, and while I was waiting for her Marty Boone stopped to use the restrooms.  "Are you running with us, too?" I asked her.

"No," she laughed.  "I'm going to take photos at the Mullen Lecture Series."  She was referring to a lecture scheduled in a few minutes at the Presbyterian Church, a series endowed by former Pastor Don Mullen.  The sun was shining, the air was clear and cool, and I could not think of anything I would want to do less than sit in a pew listening to a lecture.  Besides, a lecture sounded somehow sterner than a "talk" or a "speech," many of which I have enjoyed at Center for Life Enrichment programs over the years.  It seemed more forbidding than even a "sermon."

"I think I'll go run up on a mountaintop instead," I said, and Marty indicated with a laugh that this seemed like a good idea (and, I thought, might have wished she was going with us).

Lecture:

1.  An exposition of a given subject delivered before an audience or class, 

as for the purpose of instruction.

2.  An earnest admonition or reproof; a reprimand.

So this was the first lecture of the day in the Betz Lecture Series:  Big Bearpen. 

It had been a couple of weeks since I made this climb, and so I needed this particular kind of instruction today:  re-learning the lesson of how important it is for every runner to push himself upward from time to time, in a relentless climb, trusting and suffering, persevering one step at a time, absorbing this sweet winding upward lesson through the fragrance of rhododendron blooming, higher and higher, finally arriving at the very summit.  There seemed to be something almost Presybyterian in this, after all:  the sovereignty of God gleaming all around us, so clear that we could see Lake Keowee in South Carolina.

We eased back down the long unpaved road and then took a left on Lower Lake Road, climbing again (although not so steeply) to Horse Cove Road, and then stopping at the Nature Center.  Vicki had to go to work, so I left her there and turned with determination to the second lecture of the day:  Sunset Rocks.

Yes, one lecture was not enough this morning; I needed to beat myself up a little more, I needed to be reprimanded by the steep grade and the uneven rocks for having goofed off on far too many easy runs this past week.  There was nobody at all on the trail, just me, my shirt drenched in sweat, my legs aching.  Just me and my acceptance of this reproof.

So once again I found instruction in running, and particularly in listening to these hard lectures we all must endure from time to time. 

Daylilies

Our yard is suddenly exploding with little clusters of brilliant color now that the rain has ended.  The daylilies are blooming, along the back walk and along the road, literally appearing overnight.  They are like bursts of fireworks.

The older I become, the more I find myself enjoying flowers in a helpless kind of way.  I have always admired the subtle beauty of the roadside wildflowers, the trembling, shy introverts; but now I find myself falling for the blazing ornamentals, the showy extroverted flowers, that boldly seem to be saying in these first few days of summer, "I am alive!"  They are like mature women who march confidently into the room wearing bright red dresses and outrageous hats, demanding that you notice them.

Even these hydrangeas down the road, an extravagance of blue, calls out to me these days in the language that only summer days can speak.

It was a good day to stroll easily down our road taking photos, and then to put on my boots and climb to the top of Sunset as fast as I could, the trail filled with families and children and couples walking hand in hand on this Sunday morning.

Hard Days and Easy Days

One of the earliest things I learned about running schedules was to let your hard days be followed by easy days.  But this week was an exception, partly because of the overpowering need to run after two days off because of rain, and partly because I was not sure I would have time to run on Saturday because of other obligations.

So on Friday I ran another set of short hill sprints (see post of June 14), this time a total of ten of them.  My friend and long-time running partner Skip told me about this workout, which is supposed to wake up "dead legs" and perhaps energize a runner who may be in a rut.  It has been working very well!  They are so short (10 seconds or so) that they are over before you know it, and as I reported to him, I was "enjoying them (especially the part where I walk downhill)."  And they do seem to be making me a little faster and more eager to run hills on my other days.  But this week I ran them on Friday, and then showed up for my usual Saturday morning long slow distance run (the venerable LSD run) without any rest day.  It seemed as if every runner I found myself with - Anthony, Morris, Jim - was going WAY faster than I wanted to go, and my legs were still a little shaky after yesterday's workout, but I was determined not to be left behind.  So again and again I found myself pushing the pace, and five miles was all that I could complete.  My total mileage for the week was pitifully low.

Still, it was encouraging to run two hard days in a row and not only escape without injury but come away feeling pretty good after I had hydrated and eaten some lunch.  Perhaps every runner should break the hard/easy rule from time to time.

And now we have decided for sure to postpone that hike up Mt. Leconte until the Fall, when the air will be cool and dry and the vistas long and clear.  So I am back on the regular training program for now.

Rainy Days Continue

There are not many runners who have escaped a sudden unexpected rain shower, or even deliberately decided to run a race in the rain.  We have all been there:  spectators stand along the course under big umbrellas, shaking their heads in disbelief as soaked-to-the skin runners splash through puddles (because after awhile you just don't care about trying to keep your shoes dry).  If you have trained hard, perhaps even paid an expensive entry fee and are staying at a pricey hotel, you just accept whatever weather happens to come along on Race Day.   Some of us have even been known to take a perverse pleasure in racing under these conditions, insisting that it is a wonderful thing, this cooling, lubricating rain.  "It actually feels pretty nice out here!" we call our cheerfully.

But that is not the case with an all-day hike.  Hikes can be postponed to more optimal weather conditions, when a person might actually enjoy some sunshine and some expansive vistas instead of huddling under a clammy hooded emergency poncho as these unnamed hikers did one year coming down Mount LeConte.

And that is what we have done, once again.  An afternoon shower is one thing, an all-day slog is quite another.  Now Hurricane Cindy has materialized out of nowhere into the Gulf of Mexico and seems to be engulfing the entire Southeast in even more rain. 

Let's put those energy bars and trail snacks away for a better day. 

Father's Day

On Father's Day, the tradition in our family is that Dad can do anything he wants, which puts a bit of pressure on Dad.  But this year the day unfolded as perfectly as possible under the circumstances (sans daughter, who was elsewhere) when I decided to take a ramble in the Mini to Looking Glass Falls, the Cradle of Forestry, and Mount Pisgah.  Or wherever whim and road might take us.

Ramble:   

1.  to wander around in a leisurely, aimless manner:

2.  to take a course with many turns or windings, as a stream or path. 

Martha passed 30 or 40 cars parked along the road at Looking Glass Falls, and then slipped effortlessly into this space right by the falls itself, as if it had been reserved for us. 

Thunderclouds kept building into tall dark towers all around us, and looming over the Parkway in front of us, persuading us to stop to put the top up, but rain never materialized until the end of the day.  There are some beautiful trails to hike in the Cradle of Forestry, and we both realized that our hiking boots are as comfortable as any we have worn.  We are ready for LeConte.

This 1914 Climax locomotive, which was used for logging in this area, is a photographer's dream - suddenly stumbled-upon in the middle of the forest on a short stretch of track that goes nowhere.

We had packed a picnic lunch and, unable to find a table at the nearby Pink Beds Picnic Area, we drove up to the Parkway and discovered (or re-discovered) the Mount Pisgah Picnic Area, which I thought I had remembered from some distant al fresco occasion in a previous life, but found to be completely unfamiliar; a steep path climbed through the woods and suddenly opened into a breeze-swept field of grass where Dads had gathered to play games with their children.  A few sprinkles of rain dotted the tablecloth, and we packed up quickly.  But it never did rain very much at all, though we stopped to put the top up and let it down again a half-dozen times.

We found ourselves at Sapphire Mountain Brewing Company around dinnertime and were nearly alone on the outside deck which overlooks the greens and fairways of the golf course below us.  This was the place where, eight years ago, Martha organized a surprise 60th birthday party for me - a memorable celebration of a new decade which is now nearly complete.

And then suddenly the rain, which had obligingly held off all day, let loose in a downpour.  Is there anything more enjoyable than watching a heavy rain from a dry, secure shelter?  While eating pizza?

Or going on a ramble with no clear destination in mind with a companion as priceless as Martha and a convertible as enjoyable to drive as our little Mini? 

Change of Plan

I've been following the weather forecast for the Great Smoky Mountains for several days, and today we made a decision to reschedule our hike to Mt. LeConte.  The forecast was for moderately severe thunderstorms, and I have hiked this mountain in the rain so often in the past that I know how unpleasant and potentially dangerous that can be.  My little diary reminds me that in 1993 I hiked by myself in heavy rain the entire way down the seven-mile Rainbow Falls Trail.  There was no shelter then, and there will be no shelter on the trail we will be taking (except for Alum Cave), and wet rocks can be hazardous.  In 2011 we were caught in rain only briefly, but it was enough to dampen spirits.

A slow-moving cold front is making its way toward eastern Tennessee, however, and after widespread severe storms on Monday afternoon and evening it should all clear out for a day or two.  Wednesday is likely to be sunny with no chance of rain, so that is when we will plan to go.

So the running plan changed, also, and after my slow two-mile "taper" run yesterday, I went for ten miles this morning.  It was a long morning, but it was encouraging to be able to complete that distance - approximately the same distance as our planned hike - with no problems.  All is in readiness for my 30th climb up Mt. LeConte!

Sisyphus

I have been running hills even more than usual this week in an effort to prepare myself (weather permitting) for the planned hike up Mt. LeConte on Sunday.  (Everything is "weather permitting" this time of year with afternoon showers a near-daily event, but I run in the mornings so I have been drenched with sweat but not rain.)

Yesterday I ran some of the short hill sprints that my friend Skip suggested to me a few weeks ago when I was complaining about "dead legs."  I have been suspicious in the past of "mixing" my workouts, like hills and intervals in one day, but as Skip said these sprints are so short - only a few seconds each - that injury is unlikely.  I have worked up to eight of them now, and I can see that I could easily complete a dozen or more on an otherwise easy day.  Running hills at any pace builds strength, so I feel that I am making some strides (as it were).

Today I ran a second hill workout because I wanted to complete another long run in the middle of the week, and then taper off on Friday.  So I ran all  the way down to the Mirror Lake Bridge via Cullasaja Drive, a run I used to do regularly but have not yet completed this year.  It's a long, shady route, and I realized that I have been missing it and should incorporate it more into my schedule.  And it went well; I was able to pull up that long hill without stop for a total of seven miles.

All of this hill running reminds me of the Myth of Sisyphus, that iconic figure in Greek mythology who was condemned to push a boulder up a mountain, only to see it roll down again.  Hill running seems like that sometimes - run uphill, walk back down, run uphill, walk back down.  James Ramey (Town meter-reader) drove past me while I was running those sprints yesterday and I had a glimpse of what I took to be a head-shake of disapproval.  What's Richard up to now?   

Albert Camus wrote a famous essay on this subject and concluded, "The struggle itself . . . is enough to fill a man's heart.  One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

 
These are words that I remembered today as I drove home in a carbohydrate-deprived, dehydrated daze, happy to have accomplished nothing more than temporary cessation of struggle.

June in Highlands

June is surely one of the most beautiful months in Highlands.  Gardens are thriving, flowers are blooming everywhere, and those hot days of July and August with their hit-or-miss afternoon thunderstorms have not yet arrived.  My mileage has increased to a reliable 25 or so per week now, including weekly climbs up Big Bearpen and weekend long runs of ten miles.  I have even had time to include some 400-meter intervals and some short hill sprints that my friend Skip told me about.

At the same time, life is more than running, and this time of year we start thinking about Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains, which we often climb in May or early June when temperatures are still cool and the myrtle is blooming.  It is a beautiful and special place, accessible from four trails that climb to its towering 6,593-foot peak.  The Alum Cave trail is our favorite way to the top, with views like this for most of the way:

Last year we were even lucky enough to see the llamas that deliver weekly supplies via the Trillium Gap trail to LeConte Lodge at the top.  The climb did not seem to faze them in the least.

We are planning on making this excursion, weather permitting, on Father's Day, and in preparation we have been ensuring that our new hiking boots are broken in by hiking some shorter local trails on days when we do not run.  Thursday I climbed Sunset once again (see post of May 28), this time with Martha.  Mountain laurel was still blooming, although it has passed its peak down at our house, petals scattered on the grass like confetti after a June wedding.  And both varieties of rhododendron.

I almost stepped on this little fellow, which reminded me of my snail-like pace on recent long runs, the same pace I anticipate setting during our hike.

Today we tackled the more ambitious Whiteside Mountain trail, which peaks out at only 4,931 feet and takes only part of an afternoon to complete rather than all day.  I regretted leaving my camera in the car - there were some beautiful and unusual small purple trillium blooming, and the view of Whiteside Cove seemed especially gorgeous.

But we are ready.  Running and hiking complement one another.  This time of year they seem like different churches a worshiper might choose to attend.  Like the Duke in As You Like It, we look forward to finding . . .

. . . Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.