Hello, Mr. Heron

Spent quite some time this morning during my run with this handsome guy. He was a remarkably well behaved subject for a good 20 minutes, until a group of noisy schoolchildren pushed his patience to the brink and caused him to duck into the weeds. Despite my patience, he never came back out to pose again. When the schoolchildren circled the pond, he took off heading towards The Lagoon. (I saw him one last time when I drove by stalking along under the Cedar Point Bridge about a quarter mile away.)

a gray run

A gray run, brightened considerably by the chickadees.

November may be the most gray month of the year. It seems like the sun never shines during November. Of course, that’s an exaggeration, but still. One starts to run out of ways to describe the color of the sky: battleship, steel, iron, sooty, silver, ashen, dismal, smoky, powdered, leaden .. all synonyms or adjectives to describe that extremely dull color: gray.

The trees turned late here this year; some of them are desperately hanging onto their burnished golds and fiery scarlets, but most of the leaves are now on the ground. The decaying leaves give the air a certain earthy fragrance. They make a soft carpet to run on, even adding cushioning to the hardest concrete sidewalks. It is a slippery carpet, though.

Given the lack of foliage and the grayness, I suppose you could say this is one of the most ugly times of the year. Everything seems so dull and dead and dirty. It’s also often quite cold.

Not today, though.

I go running nearly every single day. Sometimes I run and I forget that I am running and suddenly realize I’m a lot further along than I thought. Other days are a struggle, though I almost always feel better for having run. Still other days I seem hyper aware of my surroundings; I become extra aware of every tiny little detail: from the wildlife to the mottled green, gold, and red colors on the leaves under my feet. It’s not just sight either, but the smells — the wafting scent of breakfast or burning leaves or a fireplace. And sound — the crunch of gravel underfoot, the soft padding over the leaves, the squish and squeak of a well worn pair of running shoes, the sound of cars and the wind whistling past my ears.

I ran down by the lake today. The lake is just as gray as the sky. It was unseasonably warm — 60ish — and as a result I broke a pretty good sweat. The air was thick like a warm, wet blanket and the wind was gusting out of the south-southwest. It made the way out a little harder than the way back which is much more sheltered from the wind. The waves from the lake lapped gently against the pale sand. The white water gradually crawls forward, then as if an unseen giant was pulling a string, the waves pull backwards.

I saw a few birds. A red-bellied woodpecker clung on the side of an old oak tree. Woodpeckers don’t like to be spotted. They are shy and elusive. I’ve learned that at Gettysburg, “pursuing” the gorgeous red-headed variety. The red-headed woodpecker is common in the woods between the Virginia and North Carolina monuments where the road dips down and then rises up again. I also see them quite often at the Loop near the Wheatfield. And I spotted quite a gathering of these blue-black, white, and red stunning avians in the large old witness tree at Devil’s Den. They don’t like for you to know where they are, and if they sense you’re watching them, they will take off, progressively higher and higher into the trees. Anything to escape the prying human eyes.

The chickadees are much more friendly. They are tiny balls of feathers and fluff with bright black eyes that sport a distinctive shiny black cap and bib, with a contrasting paintbrush strip of white over their eyes. Their eyes are like tiny black stars glinting out from the snowy white surrounding feathers. The back of a chickadee is a gray (but it’s a warm gray) and their bellies a very soft, chestnut-golden brown, not unlike some of the strands that pepper my hair. The chickadees hop happily back and forth at the many bird feeders along my route. I also sometimes spot them curiously and cheerfully peeking out from an evergreen bush: tiny tufts of gold, brown, gray, black, and white.

What I like most about the chickadees is for such a delicate bird, they are actually very hardy. I see them out even in the worst weather. In that way, I suppose they are kind of like runners. They also always seem so cheerful, no matter what the weather. They don’t seem to mind the gray.

I saw a few other birds. A hold-over robin with dull-colored plumage, a few large white seagulls. And innumerable house sparrows, as always. Several coal black crows were perched high in a buckeye tree. They were engaged in cawing at a set of crows that had taken up a spot in another tall oak tree. I have always liked crows; they are smart and funny. I still smile at the thought of a very large, solitary crow crawling into a discarded bag from McDonald’s at college; the crow crawled into the wet and dirty bag and emerged triumphant with a piece of half-eaten hamburger. The crow enjoyed that hamburger as we would enjoy a piece of fillet mignon.

I saw many squirrels too. The squirrels are incredibly busy this time of year, gathering nuts and acorns for the coming winter. They were moving a bit faster than usual today.

I think the red furry squirrels are moving a lot today because they do not need the Weather Channel to tell them that the weather is changing. The northern sky is no longer gray but is now like a fresh bruise: dark, purple, angry. The wind is picking up more, and it is starting to rain. Tomorrow it is supposed to snow.

If I run tomorrow (I feel as though I could use a day off), I’ll be looking for the squirrels and woodpeckers and chickadees. It’s amazing what’s there when you take the time to look.

Autumn Running Pictures

In the interest of inspiring trail envy, here are some pictures from my running trail this week. Enjoy!

Jealous??? Now you understand why I run so much and enjoy running so much. :)

strafed by a pterordacyl

Strafed by a pterordacyl while running this morning.

Ok, not really.

But for a long moment it seemed as though it were so.

I was heading back to the car at the end of a 15-mile run through the Rocky River and Mill Stream Reservations. My route takes me along the Rocky River. It’s a good run, fairly flat except for a big hill near Berea Falls. Other than that just enough rolls to keep muscle boredom at bay. It’s all on an asphalt trail that often winds away from the road. It is nice to run in a car-free zone and the only thing to dodge is recreational cyclists and walkers. I cross the river several times on this route, sometimes over a bridge, other times over a ford, still others over old wooden trestle foot-bridges.

It was a sunny, gorgeous morning. The trees are just starting to turn. Maybe just a touch too warm to be running 15 miles. It was 58 degrees when I started out.

(Left to my own devices, I like to run in the high 40s to low 50s ideally.)

As I came back across the big road bridge over the Rocky River my eyes focused on a shadow in front of me. It had the shape and size to be a pterodactyl. What is THAT? Whatever it was, it also was making some sort of strange sound — think a goose with laryngitis on steroids. I quickly and instinctively ducked my head. Eons of flight or fight took over; adrenaline rushed and I think my body was quite prepared to suddenly bolt at a full sprint, despite having just run 14.75 miles. Fortunately, it was not a flying reptile from millions of years ago and fortunately although he was flying very low his long trailing legs didn’t brush my head. It was actually one of the many great blue herons that stalk the river magnificently hunting little fish, frogs, and whatever else they eat. They stand about four-feet tall with a nearly six foot wingspan and are impressive in the air.

It just looked like a pterosaur.

I stopped to watch this large bird sail down and land in the river. I see these four-foot tall avian hunters in the river very often, but I’ve never had one swoop down over my head like that. It looked incredibly prehistoric — like something that did not quite belong in the 21st century.

(The largest of the pterosaurs actually had wingspans of up to 36 feet. The biggest was known as Quetzalcoatlus — it lived during the late Cretaceous period in Texas. Yes, I was one of those kids who loved dinosaurs. I thought a trip to the Natural History museum was very cool.)

the magnificant goony bird

The sun came up today like a red fireball. Every time the sun comes up like a red ball, I think of Stephen Crane’s description from The Red Badge of Courage: “the red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer.”

(Yes, and that’s me, editing pictures on my trusty laptop.) It was a beautiful day for running. It was almost fall-like in terms of temp. In fact, it was so cool this morning that I briefly entertained the notion of going back inside for a longsleeve shirt. Needless to say, that’s the first time I have thought about doing that in a long while. I am happy to report that my legs were better today. Yesterday they felt wooden and dead and as heavy as cinder blocks, probably because I barely ate anything over the weekend. Today they were not great, but at least they had a little bit of spring to them. I’m sure the cool weather and eating properly (i.e. devouring an entire bag of potato chips) yesterday helped out immensely.

(I don’t know what possessed me to eat an entire bag of potato chips, other than the fact that I have spent most of my adult life into the whole “eat healthy lifestyle” stuff and look where all that denial of good stuff and self control got me: cancer before my 27th birthday. Nuts to healthy eating.)

I took my camera along with me on my run and took some pictures of the usual suspects: wildflowers, birds, anything that was interesting and crossed my path.

My best pictures on the day were of a magnificant great blue heron. I like to call great blue herons “magnificant goony birds” because they are big and majestic, but they also kind of look goony.¹ Anyway here’s a link to the best pictures I took today. They are down-sized for fast downloading (I store the bigger files on CDs to keep room for stuff on my hard-drive, but if you ever see anything you like, let me know and I could send you the full-size image(s).)

(Although I do like the pics I got of the heron, I just missed an awesome photo opp with a buck that was sporting one heck of a splendid set of antlers. Oh well. It is pretty difficult to actually shoot wildlife pictures when you’re trying to run.)

1. Technically, a “gooney bird” is actually an albatross. [↩]

Jenny versus Beelzebub

I knew it was going to be an “interesting” day for a run when I walked out the door and a turkey vulture was circling overhead. Its still nice and warm out, though the wind is picking up.

I drove back to the Nature Center and ran about 2.5 miles today. The warm weather combined with the wind combined with chemo-after effects combined with a cold — what a combination! — kept my mileage down low. Amazingly, everything seemed slightly more green than it even had seemed yesterday. That’s pretty darned cool.

I took off down the path and saw more of my “friends” the geese. Here’s some more geese images.

The geese today were even louder and more obnoxious than usual.

As I came around a turn to enter what I call the bunny trail (its marked with a gray bunny rabbit — its actually called the Wildlife Management Trail), I had my first encounter with Beelzebub. Not the demon out of Paradise Lost; no I am talking about Beelzebub the Goose from Hell.

The first time past I had no major problems with Beezlebub other than he fluffed at me. He very begrudgingly moved over to the side to let me pass. Still he was nasty enough that I nicknamed him Beelzebub, remembering Satan’s right-hand man from Milton’s Paradise Lost. See, I can occasionally put my liberal arts education to at least some use.

As you can see, where I run is absolutely beautiful and has great views of the Rocky River.

Anyway, as I circled back off the bunny trail — having cut the run somewhat short due to the beforementioned reasons — I encountered Beezlebub again.

Oh and by this time was he ticked.

He fluffed at me. He wouldn’t get out of the pathway. Then he lowered his head and hissed at me. I had to beat a hasty retreat and circle back down another way.

I then saw him chase a dog.

That is one angry goose (which is why I have nicknamed him Beezlebub). I’m glad I didn’t get any closer.

4 crows of the apocalpyse

Yesterday, while out running, I swear I saw the four coal black crows of the apocalpyse. Yes, it was hot enough to nearly be hallucinating.

When I left the house, it was 74 degrees with 82% humidity under a sunny sky. When I returned it was 78 degrees with 88% humidity under a sunny sky. The dew point was tropical: 68 on leaving, 72 on return. Jenny does not run well if the temp is much about 60 even without any humidity. Needless to say, Jenny wilted.

I could tell from the first steps that this was going to be a very difficult run. My calves burned a bit. But that’s not that unusual. My calves always hurt. If they don’t, something is wrong. Turned out something was wrong anyway. It was soon apparent — and by soon I mean two minutes into the run — that I should have brought my water belt. You could see the steam rising up off of the street. You could probably have cut through the blanket of humidity with a knife. And there were no clouds in the sky. It was brutal.

The run went ok for awhile. Or so I thought. I was running very slow and sluggishly. My mouth tasted like cotton; I had occasional chills (a sign of impending dehydration, I learned later). I then turned down a sidestreet. And there I swear I saw the four crows of the apocalypse.

[Aside: Jenny loves all birds. But she has a soft spot for the crows. I think they are funny and neat and really smart. I love to watch them and have since high school.]

Four very black crows — for a moment my mind wondered if they hate the humidity and heat as much as me, what with their cloak of heat-absorbing midnight feathers — were taking a bath in a puddle. It had rained cats and dogs the night before. We literally had a thunderstorm stall on top of us from about 9:30PM to about 4 in the morning. I know this because the bright lightning and the rolls of thunder kept waking me up. The significant rainfall left very large puddles by the road — including this deep puddle that was large enough to allow four crows to bathe in it.

As I approached, the crows gave a loud “CAW” and one took off, landing above his black brethern on one of the street lights. As I looked up, the sun drifted behind a very thin cloud and the crow was outlined against this milky background. It looked very ominous to my sleep deprived, tired, and overheated brain.

At that moment I felt like I had descended into one of the Circles of Hell. It was certainly hot enough to be Hell and the asphalt street was a little like brimstone. Or perhaps the end of the world was coming and rather than four horsemen (as in Revelations) here were the four CROWS of the Apocalpyse. And because of the sudden and milky greenish pale color of the sky the behind him, the one on the lamp-post must have been Death. “…and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” Perhaps I was not yet in Hell but it was coming.
[The other three crows, by the way, just kept peacefully batheing. Crows are smart and know runners mean them no harm. We just will keep truding by, there is really no need to waste energy getting away from us. The deer act similarly.]

Apparently I really, really, really needed some water. I even briefly considered drinking out of a puddle. But my brain prevailed that drinking rainwater out of a dirty street puddle probably was not a very smart thing to do.

I did not stick around to try and figure out which of the crows was War, Famine, or Pestilence. At this point, for once common sense prevailed. If I was imagining a small group of harmless crows enjoying a bath as the Four Horsemen, my brain obviously was very off. Rather than keep running, I slowed my pace, turned around, and jogged home. I then soaked my head under the faucet. The cold water felt very good, especially when splashed on my face and the back of my neck.

I looked for the crows on my run today, but I did not see them. I wonder if I did see them yesterday or whether my imaginiation created them. I have never seen crows hanging out anywhere near there on that part of my run before.

fall has arrived

Autumn arrived today.

For the first time since I can’t recall when, I ran in a long sleeve t-shirt and shorts. I was perfectly fine in that set-up. I could PROBABLY have gotten away with a t-shirt and shorts, but I would have suffered during the first part and been quite cold for the first two miles of the run. The sky looked fallish. I bet the trees start to turn soon. A very large, gray groundhog was on the side of the road. He/she looked pretty fat — but he was chowing down like there was no tomorrow. I guess he has to store up fat for the winter.

I saw crows fly overhead. I love crows. :) They are my favorite bird. They are smart and funny and I don’t know why, I just like them.

It is incredibly windy. Like gusts over 25 MPH. I am glad I ran down in the Valley today. I guess the walls of the Valley cut off the wind? Because there was barely any wind at all down there.

I ran in the new Wave Riders today. So initial run review. Hmm. Well, they are very light. I really like that. For a regular trainer (ie not a lightweight performance shoe for speedwork or something like that), they are really light. They do not have that clunky feel that the 2100 had in the back. I could stand a bit more forefoot cushioning, but the ride of the Wave Rider is so smooth. Its hard to describe. They feel closer to the ground than the 2100s and even though I forefoot strike, the transition between heel and toe is really awesome. So I like the Wave Riders, at least for their first 4.5 mile jaunt. They are also a very nice looking running shoe.

Still debating doing a 5K this weekend. I would do one except my heels continue to bother me. Oh, and the toenail on my middle toe yesterday rubbed against the second toe and ripped it open. Nice. I had a bloody sock. That happens a lot when I run hills. Better than a blister, I suppose.

[Yes, I am still totally obsessed with my feet]

Off to go look for “recovery” food.