Fog and Gray and Rain

Sorting through pictures today on my hard-drive; a few favorites of the Gettysburg battlefield in the rain and fog.  Seemed appropriate for a very gray February day.

Image of Cowan’s New York Battery near the Angle in the rain.  Taken in December 2007. Visible beyond the cannon is the Codori Barn.

(These are far from my best pictures in most cases, but they have a certain dark and forlorn beauty that I can appreciate and I hope you enjoy them too.  The field takes on a ghostly appearance in the fog and rain.)

Set one, from upper left.  The Codori Farm from the Wheatfield Road, rain beaded like droplets of sweat on the bust of Patrick O’Rourke on Little Round Top, Warren in the fog on Little Round Top, view towards newly cleared Devil’s Den from the 140th New York monument

 

Set two, from upper left. The Bushman farm from Seminary Ridge near the position of the Texas Brigade, Meade at the Angle, the Trostle Barn, view of the Peach Orchard in the rain from the Longstreet tower.

 

Set three from upper left. The 155th Pennsylvania Zouaves on Little Round Top, Culp’s Hill near position of the 123rd New York, the Masonic Monument - Armistead hands his effects to Capt. Bingham of Hancock’s staff, the High Water Mark Monument at the Angle.

Set four from upper left. Personal favorite series — shots of the Bushman and Slyder farms taken from South Confederate Avenue along Seminary Ridge.

Set four from upper left. Detail of the 2nd New York Cavalry horsehead, the Pennsylvania monument from the Emmitsburg Road, the 44th New York castle on Little Round Top, the Peace Light Monument.

rain rain go away

Yesterday morning was absolutely gorgeous — high 30s, bright sunshine — so it figured that today would be gray, dreary, and very wet.

I really don’t mind running in the rain, but I don’t exactly enjoy it. Especially when it is 39 degrees and raining. The only saving grace today was that it was a kind of misty, light rain rather than a driving downpour.

Since I was going to be miserable anyway, I did my most miserable route, the middle distance one with several big hills in and out of the Valley.

I figure if you have to be miserable, might as well be miserable overall. Right?

At least my feet managed to somehow stay pretty dry.  That was a big plus.  I hate soaking wet feet and sopping squishy wet running shoes.

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.

running through the rain

It has not rained on me most of the summer. I more than made up for that fact yesterday.

When I left to go running it was only drizzling a little. The sky was a pretty dark shade of gray to the west, though, and the radar was covered in green. ((Runners are obsessive weather watchers.)) So it looked inevitable that I was going to get wet.

And, of course, about 4 miles from home it started to pour. The rain came down in sheets. A few times lightning flashed overhead and thunder rumbled like distant artillery. My clothes were so wet when I got home that I had to wring them out. I could literally pour the water out of my shoes.

Since it was warm I didn’t really mind running in the rain. That said, it is rare for me to come back from a run quite that wet.

pardon my silence …

… I am busy building an ark for the animals at the zoo.

Picture borrowed from WKYC a local Cleveland news station.

I like to joke that living where I do, you would need a flood of Biblical size to cause me grief.  (The nearest water is the Rocky River which is in a valley about 250 feet below where I live.)

That said, all it has done here for the last four days is rain, rain, and more rain.  When it is not raining, it is so humid that when I run, I seem to form sweat droplets that look suspiciously like dew drops.  It has become a new challenge to run without being struck by lighting.  There is no point in even attempting to avoid the rain; the humidity is at such a tropical level that within a half a mile of running, your clothes are so wet you have to ring them out anyway.

We were having a drought, so we needed rain.  But this is ridiculous.  Like round up the animals and pair them off ridiculous.

If you need me, I’ll be working on my ark.

and I wonder why Snorky is rusty

And I wonder why my going on 3-year old ipod, Snorky, is rusty …

When faced with no sunrise, dark skies, and pouring rain, I did what any other self-respecting runner without a treadmill to retreat to would do.

I  ran in the rain.

Then I dripped water all over the house.  :)

As you can see I did have the good sense to at least wear a hat.  But Snorky comes rain or shine or snow, whether I actually listen to her or not.  She is as l0yal as the United States Postal Service.

(And, I am not really sure why my face is so puffy today.  Usually it is only puffy for a few days after a chemo session.)

Actually running in the rain in the summer is pretty fun.  Rain acts almost like air conditioning.  Its when the temp drops much below about 55 that running in the rain is no longer fun.  Plus in the summer, you’re going to get wet anyway from sweat, so it really doesn’t matter all that much in the grand scheme of things.

However, I must admit, I did not see any other runners out this morning.  I imagine a lot of morning runners used the weather as an excuse to take a rest day.  Too bad.  They missed the wet fun!

I cut this one short

I had to cut my run short today because I feared I was going to DROWN.

Yesterday was a bad day. Stomach hurt all day, no DSL when I got home (it was out), didn’t sleep well. Woke up, felt better, and debated running. Decided since it was still warm (relatively — 55 degrees) and it was not raining, I would go running. Plus I have that annoying thorn of a running streak that keeps goading me out the door.

But in consideration to the fact that I didn’t eat all that much yesterday AND didn’t get much sleep AND that storm which has pelted the rest of the midwest is headed Cleveland’s way, I decided to just run in a local subdivision. I call this my “winter route” because except for a half mile stretch, I can exclusively run on the road, there’s almost no traffic, its almost pancake flat (hills + slippery conditions = bad), and because I’m running up and down cul de sacs mostly to build up mileage, its easy to cut the run short, if need be.

So ANYWAY, to continue making a short story incredibly long, I take off running. Take off is an exaggeration. I’m kind of tired and my stomach is growling. I figure I’ll just do some easy paced miles then come back.

Sunrise comes (around 7:30) and I’m still out running because I’m not feeling bad. Its been drizzling on and off. There is no sunrise, the sky just lightens from black to light gray. A very nice shade of battleship gray.

(Live in Cleveland and you will learn many, many, many adjectives to describe a gray sky)

I head down a cul-de-sac and it starts to rain. Its a heavy steady rain, but nothing terrible. Then the rain stops. The sky is a nice shade of whale gray. A little sun even peaks out. I keep going.

Down another cul-de-sac. The sky is still steel gray and the anemic sunlight is now gone. But then everything changes. It changes as rapidly as though someone flipped off a light switch. No more silver gray. No. Black. The wind picks up. There’s kind of a quiet ominousness. Then, the heavens opened up in a torrent. The wind began to gust — so hard that it nearly pushed me backwards. So much water was running down my face, into my mouth and nose, that I momentairly did fear that I was going to drown!

Drowning wouldn’t do. So, I turned around and walked backwards. The rain pelted my back. It pelted me so hard that it hurt. Within three minutes, the cloud had passed and the sky had resumed being a shade of smoke gray. The rain stopped. The wind died down.

I started running again, completely soaked to the skin. Running shorts and longsleeve shirt were stuck to my skin; my running cap was dripping. The term “drowned rat” would have been quite appropriate. I was so wet, I decided to just head for home. Enough is enough.

As I finished running — under a solid iron gray sky — I wondered just what the heck possessed my ancestors to take up residence here.

storms

It stormed most of today. I woke up around 7 and my room was very dark (the sun rises here around 6:00AM so that is strange). Pulled myself out of bed, turned off the fans, and ambled down the hall. Looked out the back door which faces north (towards Lake Erie). The sky was pitch black. Angry. The color of a very fresh bruise.

Thunder was already starting to rumble. I will run in pretty much any weather (including ice), but I draw the line at running with lightning. I am not sure why I draw that line; running in a thunderstorm is probably no more dangerous to life and limb than running on very icy roads in the dark and I do that for a good part of the winter.

Be that as it may, as mentioned I decided to draw the line at running through the thunderstorm. Decided to wait it out.

So I sipped some lemon-lime gatorade endurance formula (a usual prerun ritual anyway), took my time putting on my shoes and socks. Even managed to get my running clothes to match (gasp). The storm was over by around 8:30. I went out and put in my miles. Pace was slow. I was wearing my heavier, more protective shoes (the Supernova Cushions) and the air felt heavy. It did not rain or thunder during my run. But by 10:00 it was thundering again. And it stormed off and on throughout the day. Storms just kept forming over Lake Erie and coming over.

Made for a boring day. I like to either be outside or on my computer. Couldn’t do much of either. Ended up doing reading and watching TV. Boring. Too bad there is no more soccer.

drowned river rat

I will pretty much run through anything — though my least favorite conditions are cold rain (less than 50 degrees), wind (at any temp), and ice. Today, the weather was 36, pouring rain, with wind. Disgusting.

Is it any wonder I looked like a drowned river rat when I got done? I ran 6.3 miles in 60 minutes today. I thought about running seven miles and my legs felt good enough for the effort, but I was so cold and wet that I decided 6 miles would have to do today.

I do love the looks you get from people. Its really not that bad being out there running. It would be bad if you couldn’t change immeditately afterwards. But when you’re moving its really not THAT bad.

cold AND rain

I have to say — I feel caught in the movie Groundhog Day.

I woke up this morning and you can guess what … Again, its VERY dark, its POURING (maybe worse than yesterday), and its COLD! Plus, now the wind is blowing at about 25MPH. Ew squared.

What’s a runner to do? Every time you roll over and go back to sleep without a really good excuse (i.e. you’re sick or injured or you really DO need the rest day), it makes it easier to just keep doing that. I don’t have a human hamster wheel to run on, so if running is going to get done today, its getting done outside. In the cold, rain, and wind. Ew.

So. I get up. Dress same as yesterday: tights, longsleeve tech shirt, hat, gloves, and my shell jacket. My Wave Riders are still a bit damp, but it doesn’t matter since they are going to get soaked again anyway. I decide to run in the park; I figure the walls of the valley and the trees may reduce some of the wind.

I again go through the difficult process of convincing myself to get out of the car. There’s almost no one at all out today. The wind is whipping, and as I get out of the car, the big oak behind me drops an acorn on my head as if to say “silly girl, get back in your car and go home.” I then promptly get covered with several HUGE wet maple leaves from the oak’s neighbor. These leaves were bigger than the palm of my hand.

I really don’t want to run at this point. But I walk up the short hill out of the parking lot, walk a couple yards to where 6.5 miles is painted on the asphalt path, and then I click start on my watch and start running.

I’m cold. Its pouring. By the time I reach mile marker 7, my feet are already damp and cold and my shell is soaking wet. I keep going. I run under the freeway bridge — ahhh, three or four seconds of dry — and notice my legs are really tired, dead, and stiff. Lovely. Nothing is hurting, they are just being sensible and rebelling against two days in a row of this nonsense.

The only good thing at this point is the walls of the valley and the trees are keeping the wind mainly at bay. Mile marker 8 is missing, but it should be located near another big bridge that spans the valley. My feet are cold and wet. There is a thick layer of leaves in many places on the path and they are making footing a bit slick. I give my Riders credit though — they are doing a good job in this slop.

The marker for mile 8.5 also is missing on this path, though I think I also know where it is approximately. Haven’t looked at my watch; don’t care much about the time. The path winds back away from the road again, and I finally see a couple other runners out running on the bridle trail.

At this point I want to stop running. Usually every run my brain and I go through one heated (generally somewhere between .5 and 1.5 miles) where I want to quit. I remember reading a passage in “Lore of Running” about the feeling of wanting to quit only coming on once and if you can manage to get through it, then you’re good to go. Well, that USUALLY holds true for me. Not today though. Four or five times (mostly in the first half of the run) I went through the “I don’t want to do this” debate with my brain.

I’m coming up on mile marker 9 now — that’s where I turn around for my 5-mile run. The path here is very winding. As I come around one of the last winds in the path before a straight section that leads up to where the mile marker is, I see a white tailed deer right on the edge of the path. Its a doe. Behind her, a very handsome buck. The buck quickly bolts, but the doe stands frozen, staring at me. She seems to be debating whether she needs to move for this person slowly running towards her. I get within about five feet and she decides to move: she bounds gracefully into the brush, white tail raised like a flag behind her. I hit mile marker nine, turn around, and think “now I get to do this again.” I look at my watch and its 22:27. That’s the fastest I’ve ever done that 2.5 mile stretch.

Seeing the deer refreshed me a bit, but I’m still struggling. My legs have loosened up a bit and I’m running at maybe a touch faster than conversational pace so I’m not hurting cardiovascularly, but despite the deer sighting this has not been a fun run.

Back past about about where the three mile point should be and the watch reads 27:17. Decide I’m tired of my gloves so I take them off and stuff them in my jacket pockets. My nose is running like crazy and water is running down my hat.

The run back under the two bridges is uneventful except I almost do a face plant from a few acorns. Have to be careful of those. I pass an elderly fellow walking with an umbrella. He must think I am crazy. My nose is running, my jacket is absolutely soaked, my tights are soaked, my hat is soaked, and my face is red.

I keep going. I do that awkward little sidestep dance where you try and go one way and the other person goes the same way with a chipmunk. I hit the 4.5 mile marker in 40:22. Whoo hoo. Half mile to go. Pick up the pace a bit. The path now comes of the woods out into a very large field. And straight into that nasty head wind. Ewww. The wind is blowing strong enough that I have to turn my head sideways. Its a miserable half mile and I have to exert myself more to maintain my same pace. But finally I hit the 6.5 mile marker again. And maybe the most miserable 44:18 run of my life is done. And if you read this far, I commend you. :^O You must be bored, too. If you were here, I’d share my giant post-run chocolate chip cookie with you. (uhh that is if there was anything left of my giant post-run cookie hahaha)