James’ evil laughter when he compared the extensive markings on my 50K course map to those for his intended 23K.

Finally wearing those arm warmer things they handed out at Bear Mountain, so it was not run in vain!

Paranoia won’t destroy ya. Having seriously sprained my ankle at Pisgah last year, I not only wore an active ankle brace, but also packed a spare (for no reasonable reason I can think of). Five miles into the race, I saw a runner hobbling in pain with a newly sprained ankle. He quipped that he’d give me a dollar for the brace I was wearing. I rejected that offer, but let him know another one would be ready and waiting for him at the next aid station, where Diana/Whisperer held my refueling supplies. She told me later he was going strong at 19, so it seems like it did the trick!

Using Bimbler power to push through tough spots…Recalling Ultra’s 100 mile triumph (If he can do THAT, I can do this) and Allstate’s pledge to do a real-time empathy run on the Pisgah Mountain Road near her house.

Hearing Sandy report at the 25 mile aid station that she’d loved the 23K and was finally “converted” to trails!

Discovering a smiling, unexpected Whisperer on the final paved road, who ran me to the finish in her Teva’s (a more intense effort than she anticipated, as I had just zoomed past a female runner who was ahead of me the whole race, and didn’t want to give up that place!)

Seeing Catamount demolish his prior PR by a whopping half hour.

The beautiful, cool, sunny day and wonderful, runnable course. I adore all those evergreens, ponds, bouncy wooden bridges, and ridgeline views. The whole day just seemed charmed, with zero falls, zero ankle rolls, and my head, stomach, and legs all on good behavior. Even my feet survived ridiculously unscathed, pedicure intact (despite the gnarly, bandaged feet pictured on the ugly race T-shirt!)

Getting a PR (5:33ish, 13 minutes better than last year) despite being so undertrained I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to complete the course. This seems like a dangerous precedent that could encourage further ill-advised endeavors…

Race results

I took advantage of my body being on European time to do some morning runs and decided to check out the West Rock Challenge 9-Miler (a fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity), despite the unfortunate 7:30 am start time. I was curious to experience a familiar after-work running venue in the different context of a race. My friend Sandy (the road runner I have been attempting to convert) agreed to join me, despite some trepidation about the terrain, given her lack of trail running shoes or experience. We got to the start with only one minute to spare, joining a small band of unfamiliar faces (though there were two Bash shirts in attendance and I now know Rachel was also present!) Since I had bimbled the full Cockaponset loop the day before (my longest run in months ), I wasn’t sure how my legs would hold up and planned to make it a social run.

As we set off on the dirt road around Lake Wintergreen, lovely in the morning light, Sandy was surprised by the unexpected appearance of a long-lost friend and former running partner. They quickly set about updating each other on the eventful last few years of their lives. After a mile or two, I decided to give them room for their conversation and continued on at my own pace.

The first section of the race was a fun, varied romp with alternating smooth and technical sections, a few guardrails to climb, and some rocky drops to leap. I encouraged an aspiring virgin Bluff runner as we neared the big climb. The air was humid and I found the long, rocky push to the summit extremely grueling. Given my depleted legs, I was barely able to sustain a run and saw that most of my compatriots also seemed to be tottering indecisively between running and hiking. By the time I reached the top, I was so exhausted and focused on my feet, that I almost forgot to take in the stunning views of New Haven from the summit. I ate a few dried apricots, hoping that the brief road section on the ridge would give me time to recover before the dicey technical descent down to the notch over the Merritt tunnel and back to the Lake. By this point, runners were pretty spread out, but I had no shortage of company, as there there were pairs of spirited Quinnipiac student volunteers deployed to every remotely ambiguous trail intersection. It was a relief to hit the dirt road on the back side of the lake and to know I was past the most difficult sections. My body seemed to go on autopilot as I settled into a brisk jaunt over the twists and turns of the familiar, well-loved lower trails. I managed to pass a few folks on the flats and downs, but then struggled to keep my momentum and stay ahead of some of them on the rolling ups (a familiar pattern for me in races…yet I keep avoiding those Sleeping Giant hill repeats! Those who indulge–please invite me along next time!) The final 1.5 mile stretch of the race is on a completely flat, completely straight dirt road. On training runs, I sometimes I appreciate the coasting after a venture to the rocky upper reaches.

But on this occasion, as on many others, it felt extraordinarily long and boring. I started to daydream, remembering other West Rock experiences….my initial explorations with Catamount…a snowy, single-digit group bimble (when Shellygirl claimed the overlook chair!)…a nighttime run with Allstate on that same section with only one dying headlamp between us… The sudden lack of trail obstacles to negotiate made it hard to stay focused and maintain my pace. I caught myself inadvertently slowing down several times, until the sound of a runner thundering up behind me finally motivated me to kick into gear and finish strongly.

The appealing finish line spread hit the spot perfectly– lots of coffee, fresh fruit, and bagels. Exactly what I like to eat at 9 am on a weekend (but usually BEFORE running). I even indulged in a delicious bonus donut (yeasty and sugar coated), which made me wonder why I don’t eat them more regularly. I started to walk back to the finish to cheer on Sandy and James, but they appeared before I could get to them, having made very speedy progress. Sandy and I were the top two (of three) in our Master’s age group and I was thrilled that she’d felt confident and done so well during her first “real” trail race. I was also delighted to select from the award table a very generous gift certificate to Ibiza wine bar. In keeping with the Habitat for Humanity theme, race trophies included engraved hammers for the overall winners and pieces of recycled lumber for age group winners (not quite as distinctive as the Soapstone rocks!).

I would definitely recommend this very enjoyable and well-organized local race (which also included a 5K option). While trail race volunteers always seem to be a good sort, I found this crowd to be exceptionally friendly and dedicated to the enjoyment and well-being of their participants, as well as to the cause that it supported. It seemed a shame that more runners weren’t present to enjoy the occasion. In addition to an interesting and varied course, there were lots of nice extras, including tech T-shirts, massage therapy, and well-stocked, eclectic goody bags (playing cards, 5 razors, bakery granola, gu, toothbrush and toothpaste, water bottle, chabasso bread). In one of the morning’s amusing moments, I felt like royalty for a few instants when the massage therapist summoned two burly runners to lift and carry the massage table I was inhabiting to a more pleasantly shady location. Truly a full-service race experience!

'Relax Diana, the chair will be here any minute - Turst me!"

I am not usually a fan of looping loop courses (still traumatized by Pinelands!), but somehow the lure of the jumbo, bright-green 7-inch bagels pictured on the website became irresistible. Worth a long run and a long drive. Even worth getting up earlyish on “spring ahead” day.  But, wait! … I already had a local running date arranged with my friend Sandy. A road-running friend who had never shown the slightest bit of interest  (in fact, seemed actively disinterested) in trail running.  Hoping the luck of the Irish  would be with me, I called her and suggested a slight venue change from Sleeping Giant to the Bronx.  Shockingly, a road trip appealed to her and we decided to take the plunge.  She signed on for the half, Diana opted to join us for the 10K, and I planned to do a “three-quarters marathon” (with the possibility of doing the full if all went well and I didn’t feel too guilty keeping Sandy and Diana waiting). Three loops (19.5 miles) seemed like a worthy long run goal, since I hadn’t run more than 13.1 since October.

After an effortless 75 minute drive, we found curbside parking minutes from the start and talked a convenience store owner into unlocking his creepy bathroom for us.  Sandy pointed out a rat-sized mouse trap in the environs, which I had neglected to notice in my morning haze.  We escaped unscathed and located the starting area on the grassy “parade grounds” across the street.  The (non) registration tables were symbolically situated next to a large statue of a tortoise and a hare.  After donning our new green beanies and matching “777″ bib numbers, we decided to get an early start around 9:30 am (as runners were invited to do since timing was on the honor system).  We set off in high spirits with several other green-clad runners, hoping for the best since no one seemed to be able to explain how the course was marked.  All appeared to be going well until–after a half hour’s journey over an expressway and through a wooded area–we suddenly found ourselves back at the parade grounds, having apparently skipped one of the course’s component loops.  On the positive side, we arrived just in time for the official race start, marked by the sounding of a massive Chinese gong.  We  fell right in line behind the small pack (75 or so?), hoping they would lead us to the loop we had missed.  This elusive loop turned out to skirt parts of a golf course and lake, before heading back into the woods.

My favorite moment of the run occurred as I watched Sandy get her first taste of “real” trail running on a brief technical descent full of rocks, branches, mud, and water. She danced confidently as she found her line through the muck, letting out a loud whoop of excitement and adrenaline.  (On the second time through, she sealed her “non-virgin” status by taking a tumble that splattered her tights with mud).  Before we moved on to a long, flat section we dubbed “Long Wharf” (which seemed as interminable as its namesake in the New Haven road race), she acknowledged,  “I see why you like this!  This is like playing! I might be able to get into this!”   Fortunately, we were able to complete the half marathon together without too much difficulty by picking up the loop we had missed the first time around (doing B-A-B-A rather than A-B-A-B).

My memories of the solo part of my run are less vivid.  I mostly recall actively soaking up the sunshine, blue skies, and 50 degree weather (how long will it be before we start to take all that for granted again?)  I seemed to be effortlessly orienting to the present moment, which is probably why the four double loops didn’t feel as tedious or mind-numbing as they had at Pinelands (usually, it is the lure of the unknown that most powerfully propels me forward).  Trusting that things would become clear as I proceeded, I didn’t even obsess about whether to run my planned  three-quarters marathon or to shoot for the whole thing. The traffic on the trails became very sparse as the afternoon wore on, but before I knew it, I was back at the start with only a half-loop (4 miles) to go. Though I was a little bored and ready to be done, all bodily systems were holding up well.  I knew I was too close to finishing  the marathon to stop, so I sent Diana and Sandy to the pub across the street and settled in for my final tour of the lake, golf course, and Long Wharf.

My reward for completing the marathon was a bag o’ chocolate coins and the chance to hit the Chinese gong with a large mallet. It made a lovely, booming sound, somehow even sweeter and more resonant this time around! I signed my name in the finisher’s logbook, then hobbled across to the pub to attack the remains of the girls’ sweet potato fries. (If you look up results from past races, you’ll see a scanned image of the logbook, with runner’s names and times in their own handwriting). I was excited to be able to complete the distance comfortably, despite my lingering ankle injury and limited training this winter.

In summary, I appreciated the vision, creativity, and festive atmosphere of this free, community event and enjoyed the lively company of the other (mostly green-clad) participants.  While the course is not the most scenic or challenging, it was pleasant, and made for a great, gentle introduction to trail racing (and I imagine a wonderful change for pavement-bound New Yorkers). I told Sandy about another, very scenic, not-so-gentle trail race in early April, but the verdict is still out on that…

If you go to a future holiday marathon, be sure to bring your own food and drink, as the limited supplies disappeared quickly (and the green bagels I so admired failed to materialize at all!)  Bottom line: I don’t plan to be hauling to the Bronx for every holiday race, but it could be a good option if you find yourself needing a break from in-laws or your usual running partners are out of town. I bet Halloween would be a good one.