Fast Trails

Finding places like this really makes me want to run, and run fast.  Long, hard-packed dirt road in the woods with no traffic.  It's like a cross between the J. B. Starkey bike path and power line road.  Perfection.  Can't wait to train here and run some strong quarters and kilometers.

I can't deny that I tested out a section of the road for about 100 meters.  How could I pass it up?  Great news: it runs fast. 

Coming Home to Starkey and Other Runners

What a wonderful day to be home.  I am glad that I made it in last night.  After a longer than expected drive due to seven accidents that brought traffic to a halt, I was back in Pasco County.  Just like old times, I woke up early the next day to go to J. B. Starkey Wilderness Park.  Although overcast and wet, the morning was peaceful, welcoming, and beautiful.

 

 

 

 

I took to my still most frequently traveled path, the same one I ran down over ten years ago during my first cross country practice at the park.  Immediately I was reminded of what I love most about this park.  Diversity.  Although small in comparison to the Osceola National Forest, close to where I love now, the landscapes in Starkey vary greatly.  The ecosystems are always changing, the land discretely rising and falling around lakes.  Live oaks, scrub palmettos, cypress strands.  Even on a small walk of just a few miles, I am able to experience so much. 

 

 

 

As wonderful as my outing turned out to be, it began as the first time this year with my injury that I really felt removed from the running community.  As I was sitting in my car behind a line of others eagerly awaiting their opportunity to hit the trail, a group of energetic forty-something runners ran by, hopped the fence, and continued down the road.  Normally, I don't feel down when I see runners, but this morning I did.  Maybe it was the location.  I was jealous that they were able to run in the place that I call home and the place that taught me to love running, to love Florida.  Maybe it was that they were the first group of runners who reminded me of my team: bouncy, smiling, chatty, tall, thin, and toned.  They looked like runners; they moved like runners.  I miss that.  Maybe the setback with my injury got to me early today, but I know that I am still moving forward and still progressing.  Today, I am happy to be able to rediscover my home on foot, even though those feet are walking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three miles for which to be thankful

I am a planner. I always have been, and the trait has served me well. As much as a planner I can be, I have my times to be spontaneous. Over thinking art and the artistic process process has never worked well for me. Usually, I have better results if I jump right in, experiment with the materials, and see where it takes me. My approach to distance running is remarkably similar, which may be why art, running, and nature are so closely related in my mind.

Despite being told to 'limit my weight bearing activities' by my orthopedic, I still decided to go for a walk at J. B. Starkey Wilderness Park when home this Thanksgiving holiday.  I cannot resist watching a good sunrise on the west coast.  The problem that surfaced when I was waiting at the gate for the park to open was where?  I am used to being able to meander across acres upon acres in just one outing, and then do it all again the next.  This was my one shot. 

Where would I make the most of my one morning here?  The large field?  Western horse trails?  The big scrub?  The 1.9mi loop?  I went through all of my favorite shorter routes, but as soon as I stepped out my car and my feet touched the damp crushed shell lot, all planning disappeared. 

I was drawn to the dark, more enclosed path with the thin rays of light just beginning to peak above the horizon.  As if the forest knew I was coming, the morning was cool and clear, and a thin layer of fog nestled low amongst the lakes.  This is my favorite kind of morning. 

Just as I decided to take the short path to the edge of one of the many lakes, I stumbled upon a new trail.  This path did not exist a few months ago, and somehow I found it on this one morning.  The fairly wide trail meandered along the edge of the lake, and ended at a recent campsite.  There was a small opening in the clearing.  It was like a window made to watch the sunrise, so I did.

With just a three mile or so walk, I was thankful I could do what I love.  Although I limited the distance, I was able to explore.  I had my own adventure.  It felt good.  It was exactly what I needed.  I had missed the freedom of running.  Perhaps that is why when I am not running, I paint landscapes incessantly.  I have a need for spontaneity.  I cannot wait until I am once again able to fill that need with my brush and my feet.





Physical therapy begins tomorrow!  Let's see what I am able to do...

Light

J.B. Starkey Wilderness Preserve- Serenova Tract

Florida is renowned for its beaches and stunning sunsets, however, I believe the lesser-known sunrises from central Florida deserve equal recognition.  For me, it is the all-encompassing nature of the rays by the time it strikes the tops of the pines and then falls to the scrub.  Out on the trails, the sunrise is not merely watched, but experienced.  Even while running through the densest of cypress strands, shafts of brilliant light will still catch me. 



Starkey

After having been away from this part of the state for months, it is the light and the specific colors it produces that have struck me.  They vary slightly every morning, but I can always place my trust in their brilliance.

There is a sense of home in the warmth and overwhelming power of the color that I haven't found anywhere else.  Every time I return, I am even more struck by the beauty.  I hope that everyone is able to have a similar feeling about a treasured place of their own, and if not, I believe these sunrises can be even more beautiful when shared.

 


Serenova



Winter Part II

Winter in Florida?  People may laugh and mock the typically mild southern weather.  Many move to Florida in order to skip the season all together.  The good news, in that case, is that where I live the temperature will likely rise to the upper seventies tomorrow.  Many others know, however, that despite the sunny skies and January beach weather, Florida most certainly has a winter. 

All one has to do is open his eyes.

When the crisp yellow-greens fade to deep ochre and lovely terre verte, I know the season has changed.  The early morning fog acts as a grey backdrop, making the oranges and deep greens even more vivid.  The greens still hold their familiar yellow undertones, but they have changed over the months that I have been away. 

                                        

As the temperatures drop to freezing at nights, I notice the pure whiteness of sandy trails.  Like snow, the sand crunches underfoot, instead of sucking my feet downward, making my stride more laborious.  With the new lightness of my feet, my eyes focus ahead.  Somehow, the sunrises seem even more brilliant against the cooler colors of the bald cypress and live oaks.  The changes in color may not be as noticeable as the dramatic fall foliage of the north, but, to me, it is equally as beautiful.

I have missed winter in the woods.  I missed the colors most of all.

Winter Part I

While home for a few days in December, I dealt with camera problems and then computer problems and all of the things that come with technology.  I didn't add new posts, even though I was out on the trails literally every day.  This is part one of two (likely) summarizing my winter adventures. 


When I return home, I find myself only revisiting the places where I have spent the most time in the past.  Even though I know the land, and I could easily drive a bit further to another park, there is comfort in returning to these woods.  In the end, I always manage to find something new to experience, so in a way, even the familiar can lead to adventure.

One Sunday morning, I set out to find a trail that I knew ran north to south, and then take it until it turned back west and hit the powerlines.  It was one of those foggy mornings when your eye lashes feel heavy because of the weight of the air.  Everything was the softest blue in color and even the sand was damp underfoot.  I took the path, but never found the bend, likely because it was overgrown.  What I did find, however, was much more exciting.

Just past where the main marked trail turns, a muddier path runs straight.  About one hundred meters ahead rests an abandoned bridge.  This bridge crosses the Anclote river.  The ramp on my side of the bridge was missing, long removed, to deter those on foot and vehicle from crossing.  Naturally, I climbed it.  If anything, I thought, I would rest for a moment and take in the view.  After admiring the slow moving river and the creatures in it, I pushed my way through the overgrowth on the opposite side to see what it was like.  The area had clearly been traveled, although the path of pressed grasses was not a maintained park trail.

I knew that crossing the bridge meant abandoning the planned route, but how could I  find a bridge and not see what was on the other side?  Well, it took me deep into the Anclote Tract of the Starkey Wilderness Preserve.  Once I was about a mile in, I knew generally where I was, but was convinced that it would meet a path I had explored a few years back.  It did.  But I turned around because I already hit nine miles or so and had only planned on running eight.  The path ahead, which would meander around  the park boundary following the fence line, was tilled by a tractor and I had no idea of the length back to the powelines.  It could have been a mile or five, if at all.  I decided to turn back.  There was no point in stressing my hips when the path back was generally compact with only a few miles of sand.  Watching the cars whiz by on SR 54 made me want to retreat back to the isolation of the woods anyway.

When I crossed the bridge and returned to the paths I know well, I literally crossed paths with an old friend.   My former coach and my brother's teacher was hiking alone on a trail not often traveled by those on foot.  I was so surprised  to see someone there, let alone someone I knew.  We said hello with pleasantly shocked expressions and went on our ways.  I would see him a week later on another path.  I guess we have similar ideas on how to spend our weekends.  There is no better way to spend a Sunday morning than deep in seemingly familiar woods. 

Twenty-Two

Today was going to be, if things went generally well, another point-to-point run.  This time, it would be thirteen miles longer than the one from this summer, back when nine miles was a post-injury accomplishment.  I didn't want to think about the added distance, though.  It just made it seem even longer.  Today was going to be my birthday run, and I was going to enjoy it, I decided, even if I was a little apprehensive at the start.

Early this morning, I pulled into the vacant parking lot of the Serenova Tract entrance to J. B. Starkey Wilderness Preserve.  Twenty two miles to go.

It was dark for the first few miles, but I knew the route and plodded along trying to find a rhythm in the blackness.  The sun started to rise around mile four, which made it easier to relax.  I wasn't as worried about tripping or stepping on a snake.

Shortly thereafter, I made my way to the Serenova powerlines.  This time, the powerline stretch seemed shorter since it was familiar.  Once I hit the Starkey paved bike path, I headed further east instead of west, like normal.  Overall, I felt really good for eight and a half miles of trails.  I was eager to make it out to the Suncoast Trail.  It had been two years since I had seen that side of Starkey. 

On the bike path, I felt strong.  I was ready to fly on the pavement.  During the last few miles on the path, I could start to feel my hip.  Even though those were easily my fastest miles, I was ready for the soft ground again.



I found the path that jutted off near a water station without much trouble.  This is where the unfamiliar paths began.  Of course, I wanted to go off and explore, but I knew that by the end of this run, I wouldn't want to have gone farther than necessary.  So, I stuck to my planned route and didn't get creative.

What I did discover along the way, though, was water.  Lots and lots of water.  My big mistake on planning this route was assuming that the water levels would be low enough to not get soaked when running through the lowest paths.  Oh, how very wrong I was.  Flooded Path 1 wasn't bad because it was shallow, clear, and flowing.  Flooded Path 2 was essentially stagnant and black.  The third was moving slightly, deep, and dark because of the depth (about calf to knee).  I had no choice but to run directly through the third at about mile sixteen.  There was no going back at that point.  I was on my way back to the powelines and my mile nineteen marker.

My favorite miles were easily the few just over half way.  The land was unfamiliar and vast.  The path was extremely wide, with tall golden grasses swaying on either side.  I felt small, a strange feeling, as I was dwarfed by the grasses inches above my head.  These miles seemed peaceful and relaxed.

Once the path pointed me back west, I picked up the pace again.  I knew that I needed to get back as soon as I could.  At that moment my legs felt strong, something I planned to take full advantage of.  The paths were grassy and firm underfoot and I felt great.  I knew it wouldn't last for long.

I hit the powerlines by my landmark pump-house.  Three miles to go.  Because I was drained and the trails were predominately deep sand, these were the most challenging miles.  My hips had a hard time, but I pushed through it, knowing how close I was.  These last miles went by surprisingly quickly.  It helped that I knew the land well.  This was home.  I was back.

Right now, hours later, I feel great.  I've certainly felt worse after shorter runs.  My hips are sore, yes, but it's nothing to worry about.  The strange thing was when I finished my toes hurt.  Twenty two miles and it was my toes that concerned me.  No worries, they are fine now.  I think the softness of the trails will help greatly with my recovery.

Overall, this was a nice route (even with the water), and I can see myself repeating it for future long runs.  It is definitely a winter run, unless you plan to go swimming as well.

Tomorrow, I think I'll take the day off.

That Time of the Summer

Mid August means the end of summer and central Florida running for me.  It's about time to return to campus and get down to business: fast road running and studying hard.  I have a few things on my to-do list this week, including mile repeats, catching up with my high school coach, and, of course, my final summer trail run at J. B. Starkey Wilderness Park.

Yesterday was my scheduled Starkey run, and I did run there, but it wasn't a real farewell run.  The good news is that I wasn't killed by lightning and was able to return today. 

When I set out this morning, I was enthralled with the color.  (This happens a lot...) The sunrise was rose-colored and warm, surprisingly similar to the flashes of lightning yesterday.  Not twenty-four hours ago, the humidity hung in the air, taunting me.  That should have been my sign, but I know that if I am going to run at all during the summer months, I will have to run in a few thunderstorms.   I needed 6 miles, so I felt I had to at least try.

By the looks of the dark cloud blanketing the sky in the west, it was going to rain and rain a lot, but I had no idea how brutal it would turn out to be.  I was able to catch a glimpse of the sunrise, golden and brilliant,  before darkness retook the morning.  Before I could even really get into the run, rain fell and the wind picked up.  The drops were cold and large, stinging my  face and shoulders.  I turned around about a mile and a half out, looked up at the storm over top of me, and started retracing my steps.  Fast.  Or as fast as someone who had  done her first speed workout in a year just the day before could run.

The rumbling overhead grew increasing loud as the power of the lightning strikes increased.  The sky would grow warm and pink for an instant and then return to black.  Sandy trails that were dry minutes before already held enough water to drown my shoes.  Splashing along, the lightning strikes continued, thunder booming more and more frequently. 

Today, that same rose color was peaceful and welcoming, a good warm memory to hold me over until November.  This land is where I fell in love with running and old Florida.  Leaving it, even for a few months, isn't easy.  The paths may change, but the land will always be here when I return.


Here are a few pictures from throughout the summer:

Point to Point

Let's face it: point to point runs can be quite inconvenient.  That is why I had never embarked on one, however, I discovered the Serenova entrance of J. B. Starkey Wilderness Preserve on 52 and knew I had to find a way to connect it to the gate just off of Starkey Blvd.  Unfortunately, I had to wait until late this summer because of the hip issue.  This run, marked in ink, had been on my summer running calendar for weeks:

Saturday: Point to Point.  Serenova- Starkey.  9mi.

Sunrise in Serenova

My route:  I meandered back on the Serenova paths for about two miles, making sure I hit all of my favorite spots.  Then, I hopped off the sandy trails and onto the powerlines path.  From there, I ran south and kept running south.   For a very long time.

The powerline path feels much more extensive than I thought it would.  Of course, I know that it cuts directly through the preserve from end to end, but I did not expect it to seem so long.  I am glad that even though much of my route was simply a gravel road following a stretch of  powerlines, it was still unbelievably scenic.  Deer (including a fawn!), rabbits, and many, many birds kept me occupied.

Looking back at where I had been

Despite all  of the beautiful paths that intersect the powerlines trail, I stayed true to my planned route.  I knew if I took a detour, I could easily add an extra few miles or more onto my total distance.   I really have no self-control when it comes to trail running.  Someone was waiting for me on the other end, so it was not the day to play.

By the time on my stopwatch, it had been about an hour, I knew that I would stumble upon the paved bike path within the next few minutes.  And then I saw it.  Or at least I saw something.  Even though I was a few hundred meters away, I  could tell that the forest opened up slightly on both sides of the powerlines.  Just then, a white shape moved across the open stretch between the trees.  A fellow runner!  I was there!

Getting there!

As I made my way up the slight incline, my pace quickened and a spring returned to my step.  Let me tell you, I have never been so happy to see the bike path.  I usually view the path as a way get in a road run without leaving the woods.  That day, it was the road home!

When I reached the bike path, the pavement felt strange to my legs.  I felt fast even though I was tired.  In need of water, I made use of the nearest water station and then found the connecting horse trails.  These were the trails I had run since the summer before I entered high school.  The next two miles felt so easy because of the familiarity of the woods.  I was home.  After nine miles, the longest run in my log since the injury, I was exhausted but exhilarated.

View for most of the run

It is a strange feeling knowing that I had no intention of going back to where I stated, at least on foot.  Usually, I am burdened by the ticking seconds of my watch.  There was no turn around point this time, just nine miles in one general direction.  When I drove back to the entrance on 52, I was surprised at how far it really was.  My kind friend who enabled  this crazy idea of mine agreed and said, "and you did it on trails!"

This isn't something I  could do every weekend because of the logistics, but it was definitely a good route and great experience.  If I do it again, I will be sure to stay on the Serenova paths for as long as possible so that I will have less time along the powerlines.  The hiking paths vary and are a nice change from the powelines, especially after that many miles of them.

After this run and passing all of those enticing trails, I now plan to fully explore all of the places I passed.  Even though I have literally run the distance of the park, there is still so much to experience!
 

The Secret River

It was last summer when I learned the Anclote River begins in J. B. Starkey Wilderness Preserve.  While on a run, a fellow runner with her two scampering black labs and I crossed paths.  She recommended a service road along the powerlines that I had long overlooked.  The Anclote River passes the trail, she pointed South.  She told me that she didn't take her four legged running companions down that way in the summer months because it tended to flood.  It sounded wonderful.

Powerlines in a wilderness park seem like an odd choice of route for a cross country runner.  Why not take to the deepest and most rugged paths?  I have learned that the powerline path cuts directly through the park.  Trails intersect right and left; new opportunities to explore seem unlimited.  But I do love those rugged trails, too.

It is summertime, although the river has yet to flood my path.  Just two weeks ago there was little river to speak of, so I was overjoyed to see the waters of  the Anclote River gushing from one side of the road to the other this morning.

According to Wilfred T. Neill in the Pasco Times of March 20, 1977: “The name Anclote dates back to early Spanish times. The Spaniards called these islands Cabo de Anclote—Cape of the Kedge Anchor—because ships had to use a kedge to winch their way through the shallow water or the winding channels. And early French sailors called the islands Cap d'Anclote, which, of course, has the same meaning as Cabo de Anclote.” According to Neill, Anclote is by far the oldest place name in Pasco County and one of the oldest in Florida. The name is found on a 1715 map which I have seen, and a 1545 map, according to a newspaper article. The Red Race of America (1847) by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft has:

“ANCLOTE, an island on the southwest coast of Florida; also, a river flowing into the gulf at that locality, which is also called, in the Seminole dialect, the Est-has-hotee.”

From Origins of Place Names and Anclote Images

The segment of the river that crosses my path is unlike the better known mouth.  This part is narrow, winding, shallow, and hidden.  There are no boaters or fisherman, just a great blue heron, a slew of mosquitoes, and a sole runner to be seen.

I have viewed the river at this point of intersection countless times, but toady it seemed as if it were singing as it ran by, to use the words of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings from The Secret River.  I could not simply run past it today.  I had to see where the waters would lead me.

Mere steps away from the trail, the morning sun was blackened by a veil of leaves and intertwined branches.  Inside, the air was noticeably cooler, a welcomed relief from central Florida summer heat.  The twisting waters and buzz of mosquitoes were the only sounds.  No longer was I in a wilderness park with other runners, cyclists, and hikers.  I was simply in the wilderness! 

To follow the river further, I decided that it was best to cross and move westward.  Thankful for long legs and, at the moment, lower water levels, I managed to hop across without getting too wet.  I felt more free than ever before.  It was difficult to believe that I was in the same park, now that I was without trails to follow and signs marking the way.  Only the riverbeds and fallen trees directed my path.  I could not help but think of the early settlers of this area.  At one point in time not too long ago, this is what my home was like.  No fences.  No traffic.  No footsteps but your own. 



I felt like I had traveled far, crossing the river multiple times, and occasionally standing in awe of this seemingly undiscovered part of the park.  When I made my way back towards the poweline path, I was shocked.  I had traveled no more than 100 meters down the maintenance road, and even that was a generous estimate.

There is still so much more to explore, I thought.

I'll be back tomorrow.

Oh, and I finally broke in my new shoes.  After a week of exclusive road running, they are now covered in the sand, grit, and brown waters of central Florida.  It's about time.



Friendships

One of the aspects of running that I love most is how it unites, and reunites, people.  I had the pleasure of running with a former track and cross country teammate from high school in a place that holds many memories for both of us.  I competed with the girl for just a year, being that she is two years younger and started running as a sophomore, but we have remained friends despite graduations, running on opposing teams, and moving away from one another.  One thing that has kept us close is our love of the sport.

Just like days in high school, we met at 6:30am at the crushed shell parking lot of the corral, predictably wet from the heavy summer air and smelling like a mixture of salt and horse.  After stretching, applying bug spray (horse flies are unrelenting in the summer and I am known to keep a bottle or two in my car), and many hugs, we made our way down the horse trail that connects to the paved bike path. 

Meandering a few strides over 6.5 miles through the vast landscapes the park is known for, the bike path at J. B. Starkey Wilderness Park is a popular spot for runners, cyclists, walkers, and friends.  Although it extends to the 42 mile Suncoast Parkway, my friend and I were just going to put in a few miles.

We discussed old running and new running, stories from high school and college.  She is about to leave our little town for another with a four year college located in Tennessee.  I am about to graduate and leave the world I have called home for the past few years.  I laughed after hearing tales about former teammates.  She laughed about my giddy, obvious love for the park and the trails.

I pointed to the right of the path, "There's a great trail back there, along the tree line.  I ran it all of the time last summer."

"By yourself?" she asked, clearly worried about me running alone in God-knows where.

I assured her that I was safe and that "I've never gotten lost."  But that doesn't mean I always knew exactly where I was going, either.

Two miles.  The pristine painted white line stretched across a newly repaved section of the trail.  The mile marker had moved; it used to be worn and hardly visible just beyond the section of trees.  We turned around anyway and made our way back to the start of the trail.  Nothing stays the same when you are away.  The paved path now extends to the front of the park, forever altering the home cross country course I was told I inspired.  Young longleaf pines have grown nearly a foot since March. 

I guess what does remain are the people.  In the early morning hours, I see the same people out on the trail:  the middle aged man and his doberman, those speedy cyclists, and running club members who have seen me running at Starkey since I was thirteen.  Friendships.  That's what I love about running.  Even though we may not always know where we are going, we know where to return and we know we have our friends to return to.

My friend was feeling the heat of the quickly rising sun and decided to take the wooded trail back to the corral.  We said goodbye, unsure for how long it will be this time.  A week?  A year?  I turned around and ran back down the path for a mile or two more, greeting each person I met along the way with "Good morning."  What better way is there to spend a morning than running with longtime friends and new ones.

A few pictures of the bike path from last summer

Massaging?

I have had a few set backs with the running recently, but I am still moving in the right direction overall.  The long hours of being on my feet and printing during the summer semester did a number on my hips.  I have started getting my IT band massaged about daily (by an athletic trainer at my school), which seems to be helping.  I have never had anything massaged regularly, so it will be interesting to see if it helps in the long run.  YouTube is full of videos about IT band massaging, but most seem to focus around the knee instead of higher up around the TFL.  These two were helpful to me:

Video 1
Video 2

I am also foam rolling more again.  I admit, I slacked off when my hip started to feel better. 

I was able to get out to J. B. Starkey Wilderness Preserve recently, which did me a lot of good mentally.  After being away at school, I had forgotten the smell of these woods in the early hours of the day.  It was an absolutely beautiful morning, as a fellow runner pointed out when we crossed paths.  "It is beautiful," I replied.  Then I added, "But it is always beautiful here."  That's the truth.

Saturday Scenery

J. B. Starkey Wilderness Park

SNAKES

It is fairly common for a black snake to slither away from me on a run in my Cross Creek, but before Monday I had yet to see any of Florida's colorful snakes in the wild.  There was that one time when a striped little one made its way under my car before an early morning cross country practice, but I never got a good look at it.

Along a somewhat forgotten sandy path in J. B. Starkey Wilderness Park, I had my first trail running encounter with Florida snakes.  The sand was tightly packed after an evening storm and I was enjoying the ease of the motions.  The last time I had really run on these trails was in the winter when the sand was loose and powdery.  After rounding a bend in the path, I jumped to the side of the trail.  This is what I found:

In my head I quickly tried to figure out the venomous/ nonvenomous snake rhyme... red and yellow...kill... something Jack...  Then, I realized that the colorful little guy wasn't moving.  I still had a feeling that he was of the venomous variety, so I snapped a picture and continued down the trail.

Later on, past the powerlines, I decided to venture down a horse trail that I had never explored before.  This is what I love about Starkey.  Even though I have been running these trails for eight years, I can still find new places to explore.  This trail was beautiful- grassy, covered, and cool.  I was taking in the scenery when, again, I came to an abrupt halt.  This bigger guy was stretched out across the path and he was most certainly alive: 

I was thankful that he did not seem too bothered by me, but I could not help but image what he would be like if I had stepped too close or stepped on him.  I took a picture of him in hopes of identifying him when I got home.

I finished the horse trail loop and ran the two miles back to the corral from the powerlines.  It was a beautiful clear morning.  Besides the snakes, I saw a few deer and a wild turkey.

 



When I got home, I took to Google in the hopes of identifing the snake that left his skin and the one that was alive.  I quickly found the Florida Museum of Natural History Online Guide to Florida Snakes.  The skin was most certainly from a Coral Snake and I believe the other was a Corn Snake. 

 

Here is the direct link to the Identification page of the Guide to Florida Snakes in case you need it one day.

Coincidentally, I read this passage from The Creek by J. T. Glisson the day before this run:

"But the Ol' Gal's [Mother Nature's] specialty was snakes.  Since back when she loaned one to the devil, they have terrorized or mesmerised those who came in contact with them regularly.  We assumed snakes could be anyplace at anytime, and we were right.  A lady I knew sat on her chamber pot in the middle of the night once and discovered a snake in it.  Little children were taught before they learned to walk never to put their hands or feet anyplace they could not see."  Page 44.

Good rule to follow.