The 29th of November

November 29th, the day of my birth, is a day when I  remember one of my favorite Floridians.   Not Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, but Al Burt, the great Florida author and columnist.  Burt passed on the 29th a few years back.  I highly recommend anything and everything that he wrote about Florida.

The Tropic of Cracker survives in myth, memory and love of natural Florida. It exists more in the mind than in geography, more in the memory than in the sight, more in attitude than in the encounter. It thrives in the sprinklings of people who still honor a multifaceted heritage rooted in the appreciation of a place and the understanding of customs that harmonized with its peculiar blessings. It tolerates and explains the humanly dimensioned heroes and the heroically flawed rogues who give it voice. (Tropic of Cracker)

Well said.

Article by another of my favorite Floridians, Jeff Klinkenberg.

The pace of my twenty-third

A year ago, after I finished twenty-two miles for the very first time in celebration of my twenty-second birthday, I had no doubt I would be running twenty-three at the end of the next November.  Maybe I could even hit faster mile splits during the second half and run on 3:20 marathon pace.  Well, some things just don't go as planned.  This year, I walked.  Not twenty-three miles, but forty-two minutes.

 

 

I drove to a new (for me) access point to the Florida Trail in the Osceola National Forest, left my car on the side of the road, and bounded down the trail. I am not a slow walker, which is likely why long walks still leave me in some pain. What I'm realizing is that I am covering very little distance, and I am still adjusting to that.  Slowing down, well slowing to more than 8:15 miles, is allowing me to truly take in my new home.  Cypress trees are few, pines are plentiful.  So much for the sandy paths that seems to drag my feet downward.  These trails are hard packed, lightly covered with a layer of pine needles.  My legs and hips are quite grateful for that.  Time seems to pass quickly when there is so much to see and learn.

 

 

 

Just as my watch ticked 42:30, I returned to my car parked alongside the quiet road. The wind rustled the needles at the tops of the pines, the sun casting long shadows of the trees on the palmettos below. I am so glad that this is my home. Most twenty-three year olds who I know, just out of college, it seems, would much rather move to large cities and enjoy the busier, faster way of life. Well, I am quite happy with my pace in my small town.

 

As I ate some good, small town BBQ that I picked up on the way home, I though 23 miles can come later.  I suppose I have 365 days to get it in. 

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.