Charlotte to Madrid

We awoke to the sound of aircraft taking off and landing.  I went out the front door of the hotel for morning exercise – Tai Chi next to our parked car, and then a half-mile or so around the parking lot.  I had packed my running clothes and a new pair of shoes and I intended to get in as much exercise as possible, but I really didn’t know what to expect.  Two years ago, when we traveled to France, we met a man named Jean-Charles on our first morning in Paris who was the owner/operator of Paris Running Tours.  He was a friendly and enthusiastic man only a few years younger than I was (but a much more accomplished runner), and he took us on a three-mile orientation run from the hotel all the way to the River Seine – the perfect thing for jet-lagged legs, and a great orientation tour of Paris, but the only run I managed to complete in our time there.  Martha had been unable to find a similar tour in Florence, so I was on my own.

In the elevator to the lobby I met a young man in a crisp navy blue uniform, a pilot or flight attendant, and we chatted briefly.  “Where are you off to?” I asked him, and it turned out he was from Venice.  “It is a good time of year to visit!” he said.  Good weather, fewer people.  That was encouraging.  We took the shuttle to the airport and waited in rocking chairs to board our flight at Gate A, while out the window we could see aircraft being moved into place ready to embark or disembark.

So many people passed through this airport, every possible race and nationality, and I listened to the wonderful music of foreign tongues as they walked past us.  We had lunch at a Mexican place, Tequileria, probably our last Mexican food for a long time, I thought.  And then we were boarding, and taxiing to the runway, and feeling that wonderful acceleration as we suddenly lifted into the air.  I am not at all a frequent flyer, and I am still humbled and amazed at the miracle of flight, climbing higher and higher, watching the My Flight on the tiny screen in front of me.  4229 miles to Madrid, seven hours and 21 minutes, 63 degrees below zero outside, 558 mph, 37,000 feet.  What a fragile vessel we were in, this ship made of aluminum and plastic, rocking occasionally in the turbulence of transatlantic flight.  David Bowie came to mind:

“For here am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do.”

I watched most of a very funny Olivia Coleman movie called Wicked Little Letters, hoping I could finish it on the return flight, and then, drowsy with Dramamine, Major Tom nodded off to sleep.

Andiamo in Italia

Andiamo in Italia!  Let's go to Italy!  That's what I wrote on the blackboard in our kitchen as we prepared to embark on another adventure.

Are we actually going?  We planned this trip so long ago that it doesn’t seem real.  But yesterday we were packing, one suitcase and one carry-on apiece, trying to guess what might be needed for a five-week stay in a country where the weather is supposed to be rainy and cold in November.

 
And I am learning a few necessary phrases:

Buongiorno – good morning (not too dissimilar from bonjour, after all)
Grazie – thank you
Prego – you’re welcome
Mi scusi – excuse me (especially useful for poor Italian pronunciation)
Dové il bagno? – where is the bathroom?
Il conto per favoré – check, please
Arrivederci – farewell until we meet again

And of course:

Vino della casa blanco and vino della casa rosso.  We met a woman at the Highlands Wine Shoppe who had just returned from Florence and knew the city well, and she told us to always ask for the house wine, which is not the cheap poor-quality wine you might get in this country, but the very good local Italian wine, which is also inexpensive.

Cin-cin!

We drove on this cloudy Sunday morning to the Holiday Inn near Charlotte Douglas International Airport, where we have stayed on past overseas trips.  You can park your car safely there at a rate comparable to all the other parking lots near the airport and they have a free shuttle to and from the airport, which I remember from past trips was most welcome when arriving jet-lagged late at night after a ten-hour flight and a six-hour time difference. 

 All night we heard the sound of aircraft taking off, one after another – according to the internet, 672 flights per day, 28 per hour, or about every two minutes on average. We dreamt about flying high in the sky across wide shining oceans.

Oktoberfest 5-K

 This was the third year I completed the Oktoberfest in Walhalla, and perhaps the most perfect weather conditions I have ever seen – bright blue October skies and temperatures in the 40s.  Light frost was lying in the valleys on the drive down Highway 28 and I witnessed a gorgeous sunrise – who could ask for anything more?

As I have said in previous posts about this race, it is well-organized (by the local Rotary) and takes place on an almost flat course, the main road through the center of Walhalla.  As in previous years, there were people dressed in tiger costumes high-fiving runners at the start, and a young Miss Oktoberfest was on hand in her tiara to present awards.  With plenty of children and families in attendance, it is the kind of race that speaks well of small towns, with plenty of applause at the award ceremony for “local heroes” from the area and for older veteran runners like myself who had to wait for a very long time for our age groups to be called at the award ceremony. 

There were some fast older runners participating who were humbling to compete against.  A man my age took first place to my second place in a time of 25:15, while I ran a respectable (for me) 41:56.  Even more incredible was a 70-year-old man who ran 21:41, almost as fast as my all-time PR for this distance set when I was 50 years old.  I was passed early in the race by an 82-year-old woman who remained ahead of me until I slowly reeled her in again with a quarter-mile to go.  As I drew up beside her, I said, “My inspiration!” and she said, “But you’re the one who caught up to me.”  I told her, “Go ahead, you deserve to cross that finish line before me,” and with that she kicked, pulled away, and came in eight seconds in front of me.  I wanted to tell her later that I knew she had that finish-line kick, but she left before the awards ceremony. 

I have grown accustomed these days to finishing in the rear of the pack.  I used to wryly say things like, “The older I get the faster I was,” or “I’m not the runner I used to be.”  Until another veteran runner told me while we were standing around after a race a few years ago, “Yes, but you are the runner you are right now, and you should be grateful for it!”  Very true, and I never forget those words when I finish a race these days.  If I can run knowing that I could not have gone any faster, then it is as rewarding today as it was when I was setting PRs 25 years ago.

Miss Oktoberfest looked like she might have a problem reaching high enough to place the award medal around my neck – she had been dutifully doing so for everyone else, and even carefully arranging the medal so the front side was showing – so I did it for her.  It’s always nice to be handed your award by a pretty young woman wearing a tiara!  Thank you Miss Oktoberfest.  And thank you Rotary of Walhalla for another great race.

Cades Cove

For the second year in a row, Martha and I organized a trip to Cades Cove.  This adventure began 24 years ago on August 19, 2000.  I was training for a half marathon in September and a marathon in December, and I remember that the idea of a training run in Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains occurred to me.  An eleven-mile one-way loop road circles the Cove and passes by historic cabins, barns, and churches.  I was running one day with our friend Anthony and mentioned it to him, and he enthusiastically replied that he had always wanted to run there.  So we organized the very first trip that year, and since then I have run the loop fourteen times with many different groups of runners and friends, including Martha.  I have photos going almost all the way back, and it is enjoyable (and also sobering) to look at them.  We were all so much younger back then!  And some of us, like Jim and Richard, have passed away.

The loop road used to be closed to traffic on Wednesdays and Saturdays only until 10:00 a.m. during the summer, meaning that we would have to start early and hope to complete it before the steady stream of cars and trucks were released and caught up to us with their radios blaring and cigarette smoke billowing, frightening all the wildlife and taking over the road from walkers, runners, and cyclists.  Now it is closed all day, which makes it much more welcoming.  This year, we had more walkers than runners – Anthony and I were the only runners – and three of the others had either never been to the Cove or had not been for a very long time.  We were able to start at the more reasonable hour of 9:00 a.m., and the walkers, one of them pushing a little dog in a stroller who did not finish until 1:30 p.m., did not feel a bit hurried.

Martha heroically volunteered to prepare spaghetti and marinara sauce, a delicious salad, and garlic bread, all of it miraculously produced on the tiny stove in our cabin; others were asked to bring desserts, and everybody stayed at the Gateway Inn in Townsend as we did last year.  It rained most of the way over the Smoky Mountains, but we were all hopeful that it would clear by morning.  Eleven of us gathered under the pavilion in the rain and enjoyed “carbo-loading” and good fellowship on Tuesday night.

 
I think I was the first to awake on Wednesday morning at 5:00 a.m., and I was elated to discover that the rain had indeed cleared off.  And what a beautiful day it turned out to be!

There were fields of goldenrod, low clouds drifting across the Cove, and dozens of other people out walking, running, or riding bikes, all enjoying this magical place.  We saw deer, wild turkeys, and several bears, including this cub scurrying up a tree. 

The overcast skies kept the temperature down, and on the second half of the loop patches of blue sky and even a little sunshine began to appear.  I passed Anthony several times along the way because I was taking walking breaks and he was taking “talking” breaks – Anthony has famously said in reply to the question, Are we going to run or talk about it?  “Why can’t we do both?”  He has never met a stranger.

All of us eventually showed up at the Peaceful Side Social in Townsend by mid-afternoon, where we enjoyed pizza, beer, and more fellowship.  And in the evening (after some naps, I suspect), most of us gathered around the firepit at the Gateway Inn and enjoyed snacks, desserts, and more beer and wine as the sun set in the west.  At the end of the day, most of the walkers had gone farther than they had expected they could, so they all felt a sense of accomplishment.  As for myself, I completed an estimated twelve miles, as far as I have run in five years according to my records.

Such a wonderful day, with good friends, in one of the most beautiful places on earth!  We are truly blessed.

Twilight 5-K

We have missed our “Home Town” race for several years now due to traveling in August, but despite not feeling my best this week I decided early on Saturday morning to sign up.  After all, the course is the one I train on nearly every day – that steep hill at the end of Sixth Street is where I do my hill repeats and that quarter-mile over on Leonard is where I do my 400-meter intervals.  I know it as intimately as my back yard.

The last time I ran the Twilight 5-K was six years ago in 2018, when I took home a third place trophy in my age group in a time of 32:35.  Race Director Derek Taylor and the Rotary Club of Highlands have done a great job of building up the race; this year over 250 runners and walkers signed up and 201 finished.  It had been an unsettled day with clouds building up in the west, and two of the weather apps on my phone showed rain at 6:00 p.m., which was the starting time.  Thunderstorms are always a problem this time of year for evening races, but the radar showed severe weather on the way, red and orange bands approaching Highlands.  Derek seemed pretty relaxed about it, though, despite having to cancel a race a few years ago because of the weather.  It was raining lightly when we started, and it picked up throughout the race, but the severe weather never materialized and most of us enjoyed the cooling effect.

I had forgotten how much fun it is to run with so many friends and fellow-runners.  Karen was there – I run with her most Saturdays – and she brought a friend.  85-year-old Fred, my inspiration and sometimes running partner, was there, too, and 82-year old Glenda; I have run marathons with both of them.  There were plenty of children and walkers – a real community event, although some competitive runners from out of town were also there.  I had not been feeling well, as I said – I had even taken a Covid test on Friday because there have been a lot of cases locally.  I suppose it was the recent heat and humidity.  And getting old.  But those are not good excuses; I have run in hotter and more humid and much rainier conditions.  But I felt better and better as I went along, my only goal not to stop and walk, and knowing the course so well was an advantage.

Just before we reached the first mile, 16-year-old Timmy McDowell passed us going in the opposite direction, right behind the lead police car.  This young man has great potential - I ran the Waynesville Main Street Mile with him two years ago where I think he took first place, as he did tonight, finishing in 18:58.  I chatted with other runners and walkers along the way; one group of young women was walking so fast that we were about the same pace.  And all along the way, there were words of encouragement from all the Rotary volunteers directing traffic, most of them familiar faces.  I crossed the finish line in 46:39, one of my slowest times ever, and I did not place in my age group.  But was I disappointed?  Did I have a good race?   

Of course I did, I reflected, as I sipped a cold IPA under the tent at the finish (always an appreciated plus in a race), talking to Karen and Fred and Glenda and other friends.  I had told that group of women earlier in the race that my Mom would ask me, when I returned from a marathon, if I had “won.”  And of course I had!  I had crossed the finish line, as I did tonight - race number 218.

Firecracker 5-K & 45th Anniversary

Every race I run these days seems to be slower than the one before, and this fact was never more apparent than in my running of the Firecracker 5-K in Bryson City on the Fourth of July.  I have run this relatively easy course seven times over the years, with various running friends, and watched my finish times plummet every year.  And since I am an obsessive runner and have been recording my races on a spreadsheet for 216 races, I can share the dismal reality: 

2004            22:10            2nd Place
2007            22:30
2009            23:01            3rd Place
2010            23:44            2nd Place
2012            25:23
2013            26:16
2018            32:37

I told Martha – whose training has not been going well and who wisely decided not to run this race – that my only goal this year was to beat my time in 2004 . . . times two.

The traditional pasta loading took place at Anthony’s – a child’s portion of plain spaghetti with marinara for me, hold the meatballs.  Our Cherokee waitress had a tattoo over her right eyelid that read Relentless.  As always, we asked her about it, and she sat down and told us her story.  She had struggled with mental health for a long time, she said, and finally gotten through it.  “When you’re at the very bottom there is only one way to go,” she said, and she raised two thumbs.  Congratulations to this courageous woman!  And a good word to remember the night before a race.

We spent the night in the Stonebrook Lodge in Bryson City, probably the nicest hotel in that city these days and only a half-mile from the starting line.  I set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. and woke a half-hour before then, which is what usually happens on race mornings.  I know I am no longer a competitive runner, but still it is satisfying to go through the same familiar preparations that I have for many, many races over the years, from one-mile runs to marathons:  the careful pre-race breakfast, the appropriate clothes laid out the night before, dressing and going outside to “check conditions” a few minutes before run-walking to the starting line.  It was warm and humid, but not as bad as it would have been had I chosen to run the Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta.  Our friend Anthony reported that the Atlanta Track Club had gone to a “Black Flag” warning due to dangerous heat and humidity and had suspended the race.

I had not pre-registered, which in past years meant you would be given a paper form to complete and hand in your registration fee, at which point a race volunteer would enter the data on a laptop and give you your race bib while you warmed up.  But this morning I realized I was in the digital age when I was directed to one of three laptops and asked to enter said data myself.  I did not have my reading glasses with me (another handicap we aging runners face) but I managed to squint at the tiny screen as I completed data entry instead of warming up on race morning; with the help of a volunteer I managed to register and finally obtain my precious race bib . . . one minutes before the 8:00 a.m. start of the race.

I sprinted to the race start, where 300 other runners who had sensibly pre-registered were already gathered, found a place toward the rear of the pack, and then found myself waiting for another fifteen minutes for the race to start, delayed I suppose by runners like myself trying to negotiate the race laptops.  Suddenly, following the usual inaudible instructions of the race director through a bullhorn, those of us in the back of the pack noticed that everybody up front was moving forward.  The race had started, as T. S Eliot would have said, not with a bang but a whimper.

And they’re off!  It was relatively cool despite the humidity, and the course is a beautiful one, going by the Great Smoky Mountain Railway and then out of town, up one side of Deep Creek and then back on the other side.  A woman was out lazily watering her flowers, and there were picturesque kudzu topiary statues everywhere.  My goal was merely not to walk, to keep up what you might call a relentless pace.  I realized once again how satisfying it is for an old runner like me to find myself passing younger, inexperienced runners, the kind who sprint a hundred meters, and then gasp for air and walk before sprinting again.  Surprised faces said, Look at that old guy passing me!  I had the usual fun, laughing with fellow runners and meeting fast friends who I would never see again, like that blond mother of three with two other little ones in tow who kept urging her little herd of five to catch me again and again (she finally did), and that young man in red whose Dad was trying to urge him forward (“All right, we’ll walk to that white truck and then start running again!”), and that young women whose mother kept telling her to believe in herself, because she believed in her, she only had to believe in herself.  It can be a very instructive thing to run your first race, and I was glad to be a part of all of the other encouragers out on the road this Fourth of July morning.  “You can do it!” I confidently said in a quiet voice, as I passed her yet again.  And she did, just before the finish.  And perhaps she will go on to run other races, to go on other adventures, to continue to believe in herself.

It was pretty hot by the time the finish line appeared, and I was happy with a time of 43:22, which I realized was indeed faster than my time twenty years ago . . . times two.  Martha was waiting at the finish, and after chatting with some of the finishers, including one old friend from Franklin I had known for over 30 years, we made our way back to the hotel through a street full of crafters just setting up for the crafts fair that day.

Today’s race marked the beginning of a weekend at Snowbird Mountain Lodge to celebrate our 45^th anniversary.  It is a special place not far from Bryson City at the beginning of the Cherohala Skyway, and this would be our fifteenth anniversary we have celebrated there since our first time in 2003.  The former Innkeeper has retired and it has been bought out by a corporation, and although it has retained much its beauty and charm we noticed that his personal touch was missing in some of the details.  But it has been a quiet sanctuary for us over the years, and we savored once again the natural beauty, the rocking chairs, the delicious food and drink, and its proximity to nearby places that we have loved to visit over the years (plus some new places), like Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest, the Cherohala Skyway, the famous “Tail of the Dragon,” Fontana Village, a mead tasting at Wehrloom Honey, a Lavender Farm, and the Historic Tapoco Lodge, all of which we managed to fit in at one time or another over the next three days. 

 

 

A special adventure this year that Martha had discovered was the Andrews Valley Rail Tour in nearby Andrews, where we pedaled our way on a section of railway track through rural countryside and then up into deep woods, crossing several old trestles and finally through a tunnel that had been hand-chiseled through solid rock. It was great fun, and we picnicked on the other side of the tunnel with the lunch that Snowbird provides all of its guests, just making it back in time to avoid a sudden early-afternoon thunderstorm by sheltering in Snowbird Mountain Brewery across the street from the depot.  The pedaling was a good way to shake out tired legs from the race the day before, and the cold IPA was welcome medicine as well. 

 

Our stay at Snowbird was highlighted by dinner on the terrace, good wine, a competitive game of scrabble at a table in the bar, a Fourth of July barbecue, and on the night of our final stay live bluegrass music by the exceptional Carolina Bluegrass Boys, who played until it grew so dark they could no longer see their instruments.  We enjoyed their easy-going, witty repartee as much as their music, and among the many things we learned was the difference between a mandolin player and a large pizza (a large pizza can feed a family of four).  It occurred to us once again (we have heard bluegrass at Snowbird in past years) that this was the only way to truly enjoy bluegrass, outside on a terrace with the band gathered no farther than ten feet away.

A race, a visit to Snowbird Mountain Lodge and environs, and some special time spent with my lovely and adventurous wife:  a good way to celebrate 45 years of marriage.  And on Saturday morning, we did not forget another tradition that we have celebrated on every anniversary spent here by walking out to the nearby overlook at Sunrise Point and ringing the huge gong there 45 times, one for every precious year of marriage, the deep resonant sound echoing out over Lake Santeetlah and into the valley below.

Mills River Brewing 5-K

We have always liked Mills River, a rural area that we often drive through between Brevard and Asheville.  Aside from its scenic beauty, it also boasts five breweries within a mile or two of one another – Sierra Nevada, Burning Blush, Bold Rock, Appalachian Mountain, and Mills River Brewery – and we had learned there was a 5-K race at the last-named establishment.  Beautiful scenery (that we remembered as being relatively flat), a 10:00 a.m. start time, and a brewery with free beer at the finish – what more could a runner ask for?  The upbeat website promised a fun time for all:

Join us for an exhilarating day of fitness and fun at the Mills River Brewery annual 5-K Race and Family Fun Run!  Whether you’re a seasoned runner aiming for a new personal record or a family looking for a lively and healthy way to spend the day together, this event is perfect for all ages and abilities.  Set in a beautiful, community-friendly location, our 5K race offers a well-marked, scenic course suitable for competitive runners, while the Family Fun Run provides a relaxed and joyful atmosphere for families and children to jog, walk, or even skip their way to the finish line.  Enjoy a day filled with energy, laughter, and the spirit of community as we come together to celebrate fitness, family, and fun!

Martha was not sure she wanted to run this race due to an injured hamstring, and when we arrived and she had walked a few steps, she confirmed that it would be a mistake.  It was a perfect Spring day for a race, overcast, temperatures in the 60s, and as expected there were many children and dogs in attendance. 

I lined up with about 200 other runners on a gravel road adjacent to a large grass field, and when the race started I was relieved when we quickly turned onto paved roads – I do not do well on uneven terrain.  The route climbed uphill (my memory of “relative” flatness had been faulty), turned right, climbed uphill some more, and then turned right and continued to climb, about a mile of uphill running in all, before turning and going back downhill.  When I checked my Garmin watch after the race, I discovered that the course had 142 feet of ascent compared to 148 feet of ascent at our last race in Easley (see previous post). 

The course was a beautiful one, though, with brilliant freshly-mowed grass all around and azaleas and dogwoods blooming.  A light, misty rain came and went, cooling us off just when it was needed, and I enjoyed the fragrance of the flowering trees and grass.  And I really can’t complain about hills – I run them all the time in Highlands.  But I was a little put off by the last half-mile, which was a long loop around those large grass fields.

At least the grass had been recently mowed, and here and there someone had marked holes with an “X” in white paint.  Most of the runners (except for we “seasoned” and “competitive” runners) were walking at that point, as if out for a morning stroll.  I was happy with my time of 44:22, a little faster than my last race, and proud that I did not stop to walk the steeper hills as many others did.

I didn’t see anyone exactly skipping their way to the finish line, but it was a fun family event, with plenty of small children participating in the Fun Run.  One little boy in the restroom afterward asked me earnestly, “Did you do the Fun Run?”  I guess I didn’t looked seasoned or competitive at that point. “No, I ran the other race.  How did you do?” I asked him.  “I didn’t stop once!” he proudly announced.  “Good for you,” I said.  “You’ll be running the big race next year!”

The Brewery had plenty of picnic tables scattered out behind the building under tall trees, and we settled down with a very good IPA and waited for the awards, where I learned that I had taken third place in the 70-79 age group.  It was indeed a fun, family event.  And another good race - No. 216!