wooster weekends

This is a typical winter Sunday. I spend a lot of time inside, observing my cat.

I hang out in my flannel pj's until about 11:00, when I start thinking about working on I.S. 

The physical copy is in its final stages (!). Notice the orange pen scribbled all over. That's a sign of good progress.  I'm trying to get it finished so I can go on spring break with the track team and spend a week lounging on the beach without worrying about finishing my graduation requirements. Also, I'm really enjoying my new cookbook and Spotify subscription, because they're superb distractions.

After spending so much time working on writing, layout, and editing makes me realize how much work goes into a monthly magazine. With that perspective, I feel like I've had a pretty leisurely timeframe. Six months for one issue? No problem. 

Speaking of track, indoor season is in full swing. Three days a week, we run at breakneck speed around a 200-meter oval. We race on the weekends. I've done two 5k's so far, and they haven't been as dismally slow as I'd expected, given the kind of training I did over winter break. Turns out trail running, wine drinking, and doing a couple P-90x workouts doesn't translate to intense track running. Who knew? (I did.)

Counting down the months till graduation. We've only got three. In a way, that seems like forever, but I know it's going to fly past.

laurel highlands trail run

I've been upping my long run by 15 minutes every week. Not that I've added too much distance, since all my runs have been on snowy trails. On Saturday I decided to do my long run on the Laurel Highlands Hiking trail. It's got some fantastic views of the river.

But I forgot that the elevation profile looked like this:

Just kidding. But not really. Here's the actual map.

Basically, getting to the lookout is the easy part. After that, the trail levels off for half a mile before plunging down again. 

And then going way back up again. I turned around at 4 miles, although a hiker assured me I was close to the 5 mile mark. I didn't trust myself to finish 10 miles out there with just snow as a water source. 

Turns out the run clocked in at around 8.6 miles. I had Strava going on my phone, so I set a new Queen of the Mountain on the first climb, since bikes aren't allowed on that trail. So unless someone breaks the law, the fastest climb up the first hill will be set at around 2.5 miles per hour. Hah! 

But when I got back to the park, there was a weird mood in the air. Three fire trucks and an ambulance were all parked by the falls. There were more stationed by the visitor center. A few groups of people in safety orange were milling around all the trailheads with German Shepherds.

Apparently there's been a guy missing in (or around) Ohiopyle for the past few days. He stopped by asking about hiking trails, ate at the pub, and disappeared. According to the news, the situation is inconclusive.

It gives me chills. I feel terrible for his family and friends. I hope they can call off the search soon. 

haven't you ever heard of skis?

Last year I packed on the winter miles and ended up with tendonitis. That wasn't too fun. So for the past month or so, I've been following a training schedule that allows a bit more room for improvisation. My running mileage has taken a big dip--most of my runs have been on snowy trails (which is actually about thirty times harder than normal trail running), and I've been doing a good bit of cross training. Since I don't own a pair of cross country skis, I've been getting creative with my snow activities.

For instance, this was my last hill workout.

Montana has been spending less time on the bike and more time perfecting his unicycle skills. He's actually been getting pretty good at it. Check out this expert filmage. And this one if you'd like a morning giggle. 

We spent our New Year's Eve riding bikes on snowmobile trails Laurel Mountain with our friends Rob and Chrissy. They just got a couple of Salsa's fatbikes, which are basically dirtbikes without motors. 

Montana and I just had our 29ers, which worked pretty well on the trails that were packed down. 

But Montana's singlespeed was geared a little too high to sit and spin up the hills. 

That might the first time he's ever uttered the phrase "Colleen is dropping me." He considered going back to get the unicycle after that. 

The riding was sketchy and slippery. My descents were painfully slow, and the climbs were exhausting. Especially the last one, which everyone but Rob had to hike. We passed a few snowshoers who laughed at us as they floated above the snow like elves. 

We managed to cover 15 miles in 3 hours, but it felt like we'd been out all day. When we finally got around to eating, I tried to crush a plate of cheesy egg scramble at a family restaurant off the highway, but I was too sleepy to finish it. 

Needless to say, our New Year's celebrations weren't too rowdy.  

Happy winter, people!

Change of pace

On Christmas Eve, winter finally arrived. Here in western Pennsylvania, that usually means that the sun goes away and ice pellets start falling from the sky. But sometimes the sun comes out, and there's enough snow to lace up an old pair of cross country spikes and go for a run without worrying about falling on my face.

Running in the winter is weird. It's the intermediary period between cross country and indoor track. I should be doing a lot of base work, but the nasty weather means a lack of motivation for long runs. And the schedule doesn't dictate much speed either. So I'll settle for slipping around on the road or the trails for a few miles each day, thinking about track season and trying to keep a tally of how many Christmas cookies I've eaten over the past week.

Today: maybe some snowshoeing and a bit of yoga.

So I'm not very fast right now - right now I'm barely clinging to the 3rd spot on the team. But that's okay, because my favorite part of cross country season isn't really the running.

It's the team activities,

the team cheers,

and the new friends.

It's also the pre-race anticipation.

and then the post race endorphin rush.

And the long, long weekend long runs through the dried-up farm fields and the changing leaves of northern Ohio. These are best when they're followed by pancake breakfasts.

So that's all I've got for now. Here's to a new season and a new school year with a shit-ton of miles to run and a shit-ton of books to read.

Hope everyone's having a delightful fall after the hottest summer on record ever.

coach of champions

the 2012 NCAC cross country championship course,
drawn by Coach Dennis Rice

The Wooster cross country team wouldn't be what it is without Coach Rice. He's been coaching for about 27 years and plans to continue for at least another 40. As a young buck in high school, Coach was already on track for greatness (and presumably people were already calling him "Coach" instead of Dennis). In college, Coach Rice was an All-American runner twice and awesome all the time. His last race was a marathon in which he broke both legs but still finished, he enjoyed a post-long run meal of a dozen Boston cream doughnuts and a two liter of RC Cola, and the front of his jersey was always clean. During his career at Wooster, Coach once restarted his own heart. His only fear is lightning.

He's also an expert at rousing team morale. In my four years at Wooster, Coach has basically been the reason I get up and run every day. An example, as told by Wooster alum Eliot Fackler:

• 
  

  Eliot Fackler

  Coach to the men's team, mid September 2003:
  
  We’re doing some faster stuff on Thursday. We wanna beat Allegheny. I’ve heard about the Gators all season. I’m sick of hearing about the Allegheny Gators. I can’t even read this book, Zac the Alligator, to my daughters anymore. In this story, there’s this little kid who gets a toy alligator from his uncle in Florida. You’re supposed to water this alligator and it gets bigger. So, the kid puts it in the shower and the alligator gets bigger and bigger. Then the alligator comes to life, and he’s this really cocky alligator who sings and dances and says, ‘look at me, I’m Zac the alligator.’ And he causes all kinds of trouble and the little kid gets blamed. Finally Zac the alligator goes out in the sun and dries out. He starts shrinking because he needs water, and that’s exactly what those slaps at Allegheny are going to do when they get to the pond at the bottom of the golf course at the conference meet. [continued]

   ·  · May 19, 2008 at 11:01pm
  

  Options

Eliot Fackler

They’re going to start shrinking and they’ll jump in the pond because they need water. We’re going to beat the Gators. That’s what we’ve been preparing to do all season and we’re going to do it. We haven’t won a conference title since 1989. We’re gonna do it this year. Then we’re going to come back two weeks later and challenge the top teams in the region to go to the national meet.
Now, it’s a great day to run! It’s cold and rainy... true Cross Country weather. You have to go out there, face adversity, challenge it, and overcome it. Let’s go!

Today we have the first meet of the season - home course, 6:00. It's a 4k. It's going to be 90º and 75% humidity. About which Coach said yesterday, "Well, we're going to go out conservative. We don't want to go out too fast tomorrow and be wiped out at the end. But we're going to run hard and be competitive. And when you put on that Wooster singlet, make sure you take pride in that. Because this is - without a doubt - the best cross country program in the country. And you all represent that program. It's going to be a beautiful day tomorrow - a nice warm day for a race."

So in the race today - even though it'll be blistering hot and I'm not in tip-top shape from my 8 months off of training - I'm going to go run as fast as I can at the moment, just because Coach told me to.

wellington half marathon

I have a knack for running half marathons when I'm in bad shape. My first was the Deckers Creek Half Marathon, a rail trail race with a slight downhill grade the whole way. To train before the race, I took 2 weeks off and then did a couple 7 mile runs. I came through the first 5k under 21 minutes and then felt like I was going to have a massive organ failure. I stumbled into the finish at 1:39. Walking was almost impossible for three days after that. 

Running hasn't necessarily been a priority here in New Zealand. Eating cake and taking walks have been more a lot more appealing than training. So naturally I signed up for the Wellington half marathon.

The morning was gray, and my sinuses were clogged. This wouldn't be a fast day. I shoved through the start I saw a pacer with a white flag stuck in her hydration belt. She was leading the 1:45 group. I attached myself to her as the 1500 runners shuffled out of the start line. We dodged in and out of the crowd, struggling to get into a rhythm. As the course wound past the museum and toward the waterfront, the pacer's watch screeched. At the next kilometer it screeched again. This was unbearable. I ran ahead to the guy pacing the 1:40 group. His watch was really loud too. I moved up to run with an old lady with an aggressive arm-swing.

"Twenty three thirty," grunted a tattooed guy in a pink fairy costume at the 5k. Is that too fast? Most of the mucus had drained out of my nose. My legs felt fine. And I couldn't let myself get trounced by a sparkly Dahn Powers. I went on ahead. 

I ran through the aid station at the 10k and caught up to another group. Too fast. The wind picked up, so I tucked in behind some big guys in short shorts. The Kenyan in the lead blew past us in the opposite direction. 

At the turn-around point I was pretty sure I'd gone out too hard. Only 6.5 more miles. Oof. That has to be the worst consolation I've ever given myself. 

I tucked in behind another group of three runners. Just chill here for the rest of the race. Then a bald guy in a blue singlet peeled away. I went with him. 

He turned to look back at me. "How're you going?" he puffed. I grunted. Just pull me in, please. 

Back along the waterfront, weaving in and out of walkers and 10k runners. Past a woman in a red Boston Marathon Jacket. My brain started congratulating itself loudly. Rain dripped down, fogging up my glasses. I held onto the guy's blue singlet with my eyes and tried to wheeze more quietly. 

In the last kilometer, I tried a jerky sprint to the finish. 1:37:11. Bald guy was doubled over. He grinned at me. Another dude pounded through the line and held out his hand. It was covered in sticky blue and green slime. "Awww my gummies, man! I squeezed 'em too hard!" Gross. 

I walked toward the people handing out bananas and Powerade with Tin-Man legs. But considering I'd just run a half marathon with negative splits without proper training, I didn't feel too bad.

"Hey!" It was the lady in the Boston jacket. "You know, you should try the marathon. You could be really good." I smiled and thanked her. Maybe after next cross country season.

That race affirmed how much I shouldn't be running the 5k. I can't wait to be done with college so I can start training for distances I'm good at running.

Later I rewarded myself with a burger and a Pixar movie about Scottish bears.

 I was still emotionally raw, so I cried a lot at the end. Then I went to bed and slept for 11 hours. 

I'm not done writing about last weekend/living out the current weekend. So I think I'll talk about Ryan Gosling instead.

Has anyone heard of this web sensation? There are all these pictures floating around of Mr. Hunkyactorpants looking seductive with sexy, compassionate captions.

this collection really speaks to me.

Oh, and this one's brilliant.

 Ahhh! I can't stop!

Hopefully that gave someone else a little giggle too.

sweet as.

On Friday night, I headed towards the bars on Courtney Place. I walked past the bars and climbed the steps to a yoga studio above a bagel shop. Hot Yoga NZ wasn’t much compared to Wade’s class at home. I’ve honestly never found a class as good as Wade’s. I'm gonna go ahead and say it might just be the best in the world. But it was cheap, I did a lot of restorative breathing, and I probably lost at least 10 pounds in sweat. Overall a good time.

Early Saturday morning I ran 15 miles along Wellington’s waterfront. Waves caught the sunlight and sprayed up onto the sidewalk. A light breeze sent clouds scuttling away across the sky. Everything was easy and bright. It only took about two hours. Not too shabby.

After the run I gallantly set off to erase every health benefit I’d accumulated in the past 12 hours.

Our lovely Arcadia program staff had another awesome activity for us: a pavlova-making lesson. (Remember how excited I was about pavlova? It's probably one of my favorite things about New Zealand.)

A Wellingtonian named Matt graciously opened up his home to introduce us to the sugary side of Kiwi culture. 

He even had balloons to celebrate Trevor's birthday and a full table spread of Kiwi snack food: marshmallows, gummy Eskimos, mini sausages, fairy bread (what Kiwis feed their children: bread with butter and sprinkles), and some kind of mysterious cream-filled sponge cake called a lamington (pink thing in the back right corner). Everything was deliciously processed and full of white sugar.

Matt walked us through how to make a good, fluffy meringue. Good God. It's labor intensive. We used a hand mixer, because I assume electric mixers make food taste worse.We took turns beating the egg whites and sugar together and taking breaks to nibble on candy. After about half an hour of whipping (Matt: Beat the hell out of it!), pavlova bakes in a barely-warm oven for hours and hours before it's the proper crumbly consistency. A whole lot of love has to go into a good merengue. Matt chuckled and pulled out two a couple he'd prepared the night before. We split into two teams to decorate, and the claws came out. Lemon curd and tangerine slices were flying.

Our team went for a classic Kiwi motif with subtle hints of accent color.

The birthday boy's team got creative with sprinkles and letter-candles. They came up with "Happy Dr. T" and a lemon curd face.

 A striking resemblance.

Silly decorations aside, Matt's pav was delicious. We sat around the living room eating and chatting and playing with balloons.

Since lamingtons, fairy bread, and sausages have gluten I opted for a second serving of pavlova. I had a fantastic sugar buzz vibrating in the back of my head as we left that afternoon.

On Sunday I woke up with a sugar hangover. My friend Loren's birthday party to go to that afternoon. It was supposedly going to be a tea party, and there were rumors of a cupcake decorating contest. The thought of sugary treats made my teeth hurt. I'd only have a couple nibbles.

My resolve fell apart immediately.  First Loren had a selection of terrific tea, along with fruit kebabs and hummus and more fairy bread. She even walked me through all the foods so I knew which ones were gluten-free.

Then the cupcakes came out.

Another sweet contest ensued, this time with lots of frosting-nibbling and sugar-sprinkling.

I went a little overboard this time. My theme was "everything." I even had candy dinosaurs.

But my sprinkle explosion didn't stand up to the beach scene or the giant marshmallow tower.

Or the cupcake of death.

Thank goodness Loren had ice cream and more cupcakes to console those of us who didn't win the final vote.

I walked home from Loren's with a deep desire to brush my teeth. It was absolutely delightful.

So friends, you might want to rethink going out to the bars for your birthday parties. Explore the possibilities of tea and cupcakes.

Part 1: Wellington to Nelson and completely knackered

I've been back in Wellington for a couple days now. I recharged myself with a few cups of non-instant coffee and some walking around by the waterfront. I finally feel like I can face the idea of summarizing the last two weeks. Here's the first bit.

On Good Friday I woke up at dawn, shoved a few extra shirts and granola bars into my overstuffed hiking pack, downed a cup of coffee, and ran out into the morning mist to the bus station. I looked around the busy platform. Lauren pushed through the crowd, sweaty and sleep-deprived. Her hiking boots and sleeping bag flopped from the gear loops on her enormous pack. We boarded the shuttle to the ferry and started our adventure.

The ferry was hot and packed with people traveling for the Easter holidays. A middle-aged cricket team was drinking Coronas and getting rowdy at the bar. It was 8:30 in the morning.

We hid from the crowd in the reclining chairs at the front of the boat. I tried to read a travel brochure while little kids kicked the back of my seat.

Three hours later we docked in Picton, jumped on another bus, and drove south to Nelson where we would catch the Magic Bus the next morning. The sun was shining in Nelson (sunshine capital of NZ, apparently). A girl was standing on the sidewalk wearing a body-sized sign painted with flowers and birds. She told us a backpackers called The Palace had two open beds and free breakfast. We were fried. Free breakfast sounded wonderful. We staggered up the street to the hostel, a cozy old Victorian converted into a temporary home for dirtbag hippies and German travelers.

But we were too late. All the beds were full. The manager, a soft spoken 30-something English hippie with long hair and a headscarf, ran off to check something. He bounced back to the reception desk and gave us some options. "Well. If you want, you can stay in my van. Her name is Annie, and she's only fifteen dollars a night. I just changed the duvet cover and everything." A bed and free breakfast for just fifteen bucks? Sweet as.

Here's Annie, our home for the night. She had some questionable upholstery.

We unpacked our things in Annie and wandered around. Nelson's a sweet little city with a few small shopping streets, a Gothic-style church, a couple campgrounds, and a terrific view of the Tasman Bay. We went for a run to the geographical center of NZ - a point up on a hill overlooking Nelson - and prowled the town for some cheap dinner. We managed to find cheap Chinese food to eat in the botanical garden while the sun set.

When we got back to the Palace, the staff and a bunch of semi-permanent German visitors were having a boxed wine party in the staff house. We tried to hang with them, but we were too exhausted to keep up with the Germans and their weird techno music. Our unfortunate friend Trevor couldn't find a hostel, so he crashed in our van. At midnight the three of us snuggled up in the back of Annie and fell asleep. It was one of many very romantic evenings.

Free breakfast the next morning did not disappoint. We filled up on cereal, toast, and instant coffee and chatted with some of the other folks staying there. This lady got caught up in Nelson for two weeks.

I wish we could have had more time to hang out there. The folks at The Palace were all genuinely great people, and the sunshine wasn't bad either. But the journey had to continue if we were ever going to get to Queenstown in a week. We packed up and headed out to meet up with the Magic Bus.

down the rabbit hole and what we found there

Another Wellington weekend's come and gone.

This one started out on a low note. After a month of falling in love with the (mostly) beautiful city, I think Wellington was testing the power of our relationship. Last Monday the rain started. I got soaked walking to class. The southerlies blew. My skirt was ripped from my legs a la Marilyn Monroe on multiple occasions. Luckily, houses in Wellington are built with poor insulation and no central heating - so I didn't have any incentive to sit at home and feel sorry for myself. I trudged out the door every day for runs and attempted to enjoy myself.

I didn't take any pictures. I was too depressed.

On Friday morning, my friend and I tried to get tickets for Flight of the Conchords. They sold out in five minutes. So we went to get coffee instead. Holding a steaming cup of espresso, while delightful, doesn't quite feel the same as gripping a crisp new ticket voucher. We were a little sad. Later my friend Lauren and I tried to drag ourselves out of the funk. It was raining. We didn't care. A dingy one-room sushi bar in town sells their rolls for half price every day after 4:00. It wasn't glamorous. But it was delicious.

 OM-NOM picture. Note the rain jacket.

Then we decided to do one of the most popular Kiwi activities: go out drinking. Wellington is full of tiny, cool bars hidden in back alleys. We wandered down one of them and found a rabbit hole.

Alice is the coolest bar I've been to yet. It's a small, dim place crammed with stuff from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The book's original illustrations are displayed on the walls underneath an array of funky clocks and blown-glass lamps. On one side of the room, the furniture is slightly too small and the ceiling is a little too low. On the other, the stools are tall and the ceiling is high. The bar itself is cluttered with teacups and teapots and books. And you can order drinks for two served in your own personal teapot. I believe they also have a few kinds of cake on the menu.

 There's just something inherently awesome about sipping an absinthe cocktail from a teacup.

Saturday rolled around cloudy and rainy. The climbing trip we'd planned was cancelled. I took it as a sign that I should go meet up with the local running club instead. I'm glad I did - I finally connected with some runners in Wellington (no more lonely long runs!). I even managed to get a ride to a race the next day. I walked back into the wind with my skirt whipping around my legs, feeling almost content.

On Sunday morning, one of the club captains picked me up for the Mt. Lowry Challenge, a 12 km trail race. I squinted into the sunrise. The weather had finally broken.

"It's a flat 4k on the road before the trail starts," a runner said as I was waiting in line to register. "The trail might be a little messy and it kind of undulates when you reach the ridge trail. The descent's a bit steep after that."

I nodded. I've done some trail races before. It couldn't be too bad.

The race started flat and fast, winding around the road by the bay. I tucked in behind a group of five girls and blazed along as well as I could. Then we turned up a gravel road and crunched uphill for a while. People started walking. Ha! I don't walk. I run cross country. I surged past, feeling smug. And then we turned onto the real trail. I don't have pictures from it yet, but here's a preview from the event website:

See those people? Do any of them look like they're running? No. Because it was nearly impossible. "Kind of technical" was a gigantic understatement.

The term "trail" only loosely applies to the ridge trail. It was steep and technical, covered in slimy, muddy roots and rocks. I lost sight of the leaders immediately. The climbs were endless. I stopped caring about running fast and started caring about keeping my ankles in one piece. As I picked my way down the descents, little kids bombed past me. Whatever. The last bit of the trail was basically a cliff face covered in roots and gravelly dirt. At least twenty people passed me going down.

I managed a shaky sprint to the finish line and staggered to the water station. I won zero prizes. Eight miles has never felt so long.

Wellington rewarded me for sticking with it in the bad times. The day was still beautiful and sunny. After I washed the mud off my legs and shoes, I went to town to watch the National NZ Barista Competition. The passion for coffee was palpable - you could actually taste the freshly ground espresso in the air.

Wellington's baristas nearly swept the competition. I've made a resolution to visit their cafes. And finals are in Vienna, Italy. If only I could go.

Then I meandered down to the harbor and took some touristy pictures. 

This guy is called "Solace in the Wind." He stands alone every day, facing into the wind at the waterfront. Sometimes I think he looks like he needs a friend.

Then I sat in the grass for a while and read a book. After an atrocious week, it was a perfectly delightful weekend.