adventures of suburban running

The winter broke slightly, warmed up just enough to allow for running outside. A new adventure: runs in the suburbs of Kansas City. It is more entertaining than I would have expected.  The family has 3 standard runs they refer to, and these are what I was running when we first arrived (weather permitting). There is the small lap, which is about 3 miles and is a 5 block square. Then there is the golf course lap, which is kind of an out-and-back run. We run out about 3 blocks, then cut back onto the golf course and follow the edge of the golf course back to the house. This lap is about 2.5 miles.  The other significant route is the “big lap”.  This combines the small lap run with another couple of blocks to make a large 6 mile loop. I started on the golf course lap, graduated to the small loop, and now regularly hit the big lap.

These runs are all on a pavement path alongside the busy traffic.  I get bored, and would prefer an exploratory run, something a bit more meandering and less predictable.  I find myself dreaming about joining the local trail running groups (the trail nerds, or the mud babes). They are anti-pavement (understandably), and meet a couple of times a week to pound out some miles at local parks and trails. I haven’t been able to synch my schedule with theirs yet, and maybe I am just a bit intimidated by the fact that they train for ultramarathons on muddy terrain.  Until I become a “Mud Babe”, I will just do variations of our loops, get to the parks when I can, and just overall build up my base so that the trails don’t kick my ass too badly.

One evening around dusk, I decided to squeeze in a late run before it was completely dark.  I started out on the “big lap”, but a couple of blocks into it I noticed that the path split. I was looking for an adventure, feeling pretty good, and didn’t care where I ended up. The air was crisp and cold, the kind that makes you feel a bit like you are having an asthma attack just breathing.  The light was drifting away, but I had a few good minutes of sunset illumination.  I took the new path. It took me underneath on overpass, and along a creek (I can’t tell out here which waterways are natural, which are man made, this one looks ornamental in placement as it winds around the golf course and then out to the business section – maybe it is just for runoff.). I was delighted to leave the sound and sight of the road. The creek was quietly bubbling along, frozen in spots.  The path stretched out before me as far as I could see. The creek on the left, trees on my right. I could see the tall business buildings and parking lots behind the trees, but if I looked straight ahead, it felt like I could be in the woods. I focused on the sound of the wind rustling the dry leaves, the occasional splashing of water from the creek. My breathing felt loud against the other sounds. I tried to calm it, slow it down. As I ran further it became darker. I realized I didn’t know where I was going and this could be potentially dangerous. I had two options, turn around and go back the way I came (meaning I would now be going under a pitch black overpass, no thank you) or continue down this path and hope it pops out somewhere with lights and make my way home from there on the larger streets.

I decided to continue on. I should have explored it in the daylight first, but I didn’t want to wimp out on this new trail. Plus the thought of going back didn’t sound fun, the overpass a little creepy.  So, I tried not to freak out, just enjoy the run. The moon was large, and helped light the trail, but the shadows all were in question. Funny how keen your hearing becomes when you loose the sense of sight. I suddenly could hear every rustling of wind, my feet crunching the ice and occasional snow patch seemed as loud as thunder. I focused again on my breathing, it really does help to calm my nerves.

Just about the time I was going to give up on this path and maybe even just dart through the trees to the nearest parking lot (civilization is seriously only a matter of feet in either direction) – I came around a slight bend to see another overpass – a highway, and the path split in two. I am sorry to say that I was actually relieved to find the highway. I took the turn to the right which follows it, and I now knew where I was relative to other things.  The highway gave me plenty of light, and the path opened up, the highway was on my left just beyone a fence and about 20 ft of grass. On my right was a big grassy field, which was nice because I could see anything long before it got close to me.

I had just relaxed and felt more like I was safe in this comfortable urban setting when I heard a sudden crunching of snow just to my left. I saw nothing, there was some low woody shrubs, a couple of leafless trees, but nothing suspicious. Then I heard it again, this time I saw a dark shadow, low to the ground, moving quickly. Something was running beside me on the highway side of the fence. It bolted ahead, I caught a better glimpse of the shape. It looked like a medium sized dog. I kept running, not sure if a dog was trying to escape the highway, or attack me.  I could see just ahead of me that the fence abruptly stops. My mind was preparing me for an animal attack. I didn’t want to look like I was frightened and running away from the dog, encouraging it to chase me, so I did what I thought was reasonable…I started to kind of softly sing to the animal. Hoping I would just get on it’s good side, it would see how nice I was and just want to be friends. My voice must have further startled the animal, as soon as I started it bolted across the path just in front of me. It wasn’t a dog at all. It was a coyote. Then another followed it. The first was quickly out of sight, and disappeared into the trees I just came from by the creek. The other ran a ways, then stopped and just watched me. I decided it was sizing me up – dinner or threat? I was encouraged that I was more intimidating for shear size, and felt relived and revived.

I practically sprinted to the next overpass,  cut up onto the street and made my way home on a now familiar street.  I felt alive, adrenaline pumping through my body from the excercise and the adventure. From now on though, I will either drag Jonathan along on these night runs, or just explore new territory in the daylight.

Arboretum

Enough is enough. Snow has been on the ground for the last two months and we haven’t made a single trip down a hill on skis or sled, we haven’t put together any snowmen or snow angels. Besides a few snowballs in passing  and windshield scraping, we have all but avoided the snow. Now the snow is begging us to play in it, so we had to get out and play in it before it is gone.

We finally made the trip to the storage unit to find some snow gear. We found two sets of the family snowshoes. It was a chilly 6 degrees outside, but the sun was shining, and the wind was minimal, it was a perfect snow day. We bundled up in many warm layers, packed a lunch, grabbed the snowshoes and headed for Overland Park’s 300-acre Arboretum and Botanical Gardens.

We were surprised that there were a few other cars in the parking lot, and even more surprised when we found that the paths were plowed in places, and clear from cross-country skiers and other walkers in place. Why had we waited so long? Apparently these people hadn’t.  Needless to say, the snowshoes were overkill and unnecessary, so we left them in the car.

The arboretum was a much needed dose of nature. The other cars must have been staff or people hanging out in the heated building, because we had the trails all to ourselves. One would think it was our first time in the snow. We literally frolicked down the trails, taking pictures of every limb heavy with snow, every bench buried deep, sculptures poking out stark against their white blanket. Jonathan ventured onto a frozen pond, and climbed around on shade structures.We were like kids running around in the park by ourselves, pointing out the animal tracks, and trying to name all of the birds we saw from the bird-watching station (we  saw cardinals, a couple of varieties of woodpeckers, a few we couldn’t decipher, and lots of sparrows).

The sky was clear and blue, the air was crisp and the snow was bright white. It was invigorating and beautiful, a perfect afternoon. Now that we have located the snowshoes we are excited to break trail after the next snowstorm. Our timing is impeccable though, because the forecast calls for warmer weather, and no snow!

Migrating SOUTH: Bishop, Yosemite, Red Rocks…

Ok, enough is enough. Yesterday we got to park early and both Kristine and I got into our groove. We started with a fairly easy but interesting crack climb, which was long and required our entire 70M rope to rappel down to the bottom. I then jumped on my first 5.10 at Smith Rock, which was a beautiful climb, albeit short. It was just a bit overhung with dynamic moves and a two-finger pocket at the top to a sloper finish to clip the chains (climbers reading this know what i’m talking about…). Kristine was so amped that she wanted to try the climb as well. She did amazing well but didn’t make it to the top. The irony the entire morning was that every time I was climbing the sun was shining on me and when Kristine began climbing the sun would disappear behind storm clouds of death. This was the case on the 5.10 climb. I felt the sun on my back while clipping the anchors at the top of the climb. Clouds moved in when Kristine got on the climb and torrential rain showered down as soon as she was back on the ground from trying the climb. We piled our gear in our packs and hurried back to the van. The pictures doesn’t demonstrate just how wet we really were, but regardless this is us after getting back to the van.

We then woke up this morning to 25 degree weather. It was cold but we wanted nothing other than a great day climbing, so after german pancakes with some special Hull applesauce and plenty of maple syrup and butter, we suited up and headed for the climbs. This morning we wanted to try a different area that neither of us had been to before, it was the columnar basalt of the Lower Gorge, which has renown crack climbs that are much different from the tuff rock that makes up most of the rock that Smith Rock is known for. We were still freezing before even getting to the climbs, we couldn’t even imagine taking off our gloves to climbing, so we settled for a hike up to the top of Smith Rock. The hike was beautiful. It was only around a 3.5 mile hike, but we ascended over 2,000 feet to the top and got some great pictures of the park:

Monkey face, which is a 300 foot pillar that ironically looks like a monkey’s face (although not from this angle). It actually looks like rock from another planet and just looking at it was intimidating:

A view of the valley below. This is the heart of Terrebonne, OR. It’s beautiful. With this landscape and cute llamas if it weren’t for the cold weather Kristine would probably never leave.

Back at the van we ate a late lunch and as the sun had just about convinced us that the afternoon was going to be perfect for climbing, we had to run for cover from pellet sized hail. “Are you kidding me!!!!” , I screamed, and Kristine knowingly, simply looked at me and said three words, “We’re heading South.” Simple, direct, and straight from the boss. Now it’s just a a matter of choosing between all the sunny and amazing climbing heavens in California and Southern Utah and Southern Nevada.