One last snake

Chilly today--raining at times, and no warmer than 50 on Aqueduct Rd--but I ran into my favorite, and likely last, "narrow fellow" of the year. A rubber boa, stretched across the road, moving slowly, blending in. I'd never seen one of these before but I knew instantly what it was.


When I reached down to pick it up, it wrapped into a ball around my fingers, sticking its orange burnished tail out, as if to mimic its head. I read later that this maneuver isn't likely to foil an intent predator--fat chance an eagle, fox, or raccoon would be deterred from gobbling up this little guy. But it does allow the boa to fend off a mother mouse while it eats her entire, pinkie litter. (As result, rubber boa tails are extra hard, and often quite scarred.) I also learned that these snakes are more tolerant of cold weather than almost any other.



An aerial view, after I set it down:


To my college teammates, who, in Oregon, years ago, claimed I couldn't catch a snake--ha!

I'll admit, I finished my run, then drove back to the snake with my camera. The jog went okay, but my leg did bother me 10 minutes in. The same thing happened Monday on Hwy 167, when I tried to run down a slight hill. Both times I stopped and stretched, and was able to go on with my run. I'm hoping its healing, even as symptoms persist. Yesterday, however, I was able to run without incident: 14 on 167 from mile 10 at about 6:30 pace. Go figure.

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10 mi, 70 min; Aqueduct Rd on Williams Butte

Tuesday, 10/19: 14 mi, 130 min; Hwy 167 from mile 10

Monday, 10/18: 10 mi, 70 min; Hwy 167, close to home (back and forth)

Well ...

My former coach, John G, used to prescribe three days off, no cross training, when ever we were confronted with an injury. So when the problem cropped up again on Monday ten minutes into my run, I walked back to the house and told myself I would heed his advice from years ago. Yesterday, I went down to Mammoth for a brief check in with a chiropractor and a massage. When I told my massage therapist I was interested in environmental writing and journalism, she casually revealed she was a climate change skeptic, and proceeded to try to prod me into a debate, which made me wonder if I was really in good hands. But, surely the massage helped; it hurt, at times--in a good way--at least.

The chiropractor, of course, gave me the once over and said all kinds of things were awry, which I absolutely believe, sort of knew, and in some cases could see: one quad muscle 20 percent bigger than the other, my left hip rotated forward, my right leg an inch or two shorter. He told me to see how it goes the next few days and come back Friday, or next week, if I decided I wanted further help. Nice guy.

Today, I tried running on the flat section of Aqueduct Rd that traverses William's Butte. I stretched, walked for a spell to get the blood cycling, and started up. But ten minutes in the symptoms returned, then grew mildly painful. It seems that I have IT band syndrome, or a form of "runner's knee." My IT band is inflamed, and so rubbing against my knee bone--side to side action seems to aggravate it. Likely, of course, it stems from problems at the hip, including my glute muscles; after all, the IT attaches up there. It's all one system.

I stopped, stretched some more, felt despondent, and began to walk back to the car. But I decided to attempt jogging again, to be sure I could describe the situation correctly (still can't). But surprisingly, I was able to keep it up for another hour, at a slow pace--maybe 8 min miles--with out any real pain. I felt the occasional twinge, but nothing as alarming as I had during the first ten minutes. So, I know that the injury warms up, rather than getting worse--perhaps I need a more rigorous warm up routine if I'm going to work with this thing. In any case, a slow jog is a thousand times better, to my mind, than resorting to a pool in June Lake.

Afterward, I drove to Lee Vining Creek, and jumped in right beside 395 for 12 minutes, sitting on a granite stone so that I was covered to the waist. Totally frigid, but healing, I hope, like the legendary icy waters of the McKenzie up in Oregon, which are known to vanquish shin splits after a single soak. I wore two fleeces and a towel with pink, yellow, and orange flowers over my head, and felt the blood rushing back into my expanding veins as I drove home.

So, we'll see. Going to try again tomorrow. Hoping for the best.

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~ 9 mi, 70 min (with break after the first 10 minutes); Aqueduct Road on William's Butte

Tuesday, Wednesday, 10/12-13: Off

Monday, 10/11: Off -- 1 mi, 10 min, and then a walk home

Why do I bother?

Got up this morning in time to see an unexpected entrant, Ryan Hall, demolish the Tioga Pass Run, which starts in front of the Mono Lake Committee and finishes at the entrance to Yosemite Park--a 3200 ft climb. Apparently, he does similar runs somewhat regularly--gez--especially on Rock Creek Rd. He ran over a full minute faster per mile, on average, than the second place finisher, which could have been me, except I took the easy way out and didn't run. But I was able to give Sara, his wife, and an elite runner as well, a lift to the top. We stopped at various turnouts to cheer him on; he hardly needed it. Nice to chat with her, though, and hear about life in Mammoth. At the top, Ryan declared, "I can't believe other people are doing this." Well said. People are amazing. I dropped them off in Lee Vining so that they could head up to the Whoa Nellie Deli for some grub.

I didn't run, until later in the day, that is. Fresh with inspiration, and guilt (I mean, if Ryan could take down Tioga Pass only a month from his goal race, the Chicago Marathon--and only a week from a half-marathon in Philly--then why couldn't I have, two months away from my race?), I took to Aqueduct Road. But goddamn if it wasn't very long until I was feeling lousy. On flat-to-rolling terrain, I was probably going slower than Ryan earlier in the day. Why do I bother? I thought. The legs were tired and tight--from yesterday, I suppose--and my stomach was churning. Only went 16, which was the plan. A good riddance run.

The most awkward (and funny) moments of the day, however, were atop Tioga Pass, where after the race numerous people began mistaking me for Ryan. They'd come over to shake hands, though I was wearing corduroys, a fleece, and flip flops, leaning idly against the stone wall beyond which was Yosemite. "I'm not Ryan," I had to say, several times. "He's cooling down." Sara joked that I should take the prize basket (if there was any) and make my get away.

When I got home, a friend of my housemates, who was visiting, said, "Didn't I just see you running up Tioga Pass?"

"No," I said, with a laugh, "that was someone else."

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16 mi, 111 min; O+B on Aqueduct Rd from the base of Horse Meadows Rd to the backside of Grant Lake

Week total: 80 mi/6 days -- Not bad, considering. Gonna try harder next week.

The oncoming moon

Aqueduct Road and Lower Horse Meadow tonight. As I finished up down through the meadow, the full moon rose in a saddle of the ridge that leads to the top of Williams Butte, a sway that looks just like a horse's back.

I'm sorry to continue going on, like a kook, about snakes, but c'est la vie: Starting out on Aqueduct Road this evening, I passed a white truck--a couple of hunters with, in no particular order, their compound bow and a black dog in their laps. Didn't think a thing of it, until, returning, I leaped, in my usual awkward and compulsive way, over a garter snake in the road, yellow stripes down its dark back.

The sun was gone--no snake in its right mind would be lying exposed. Sure enough, and sadly, it seemed gone. I was sure it was the truck that had run over it. It was still warm, though cold-blooded, like a rock cooling off after dusk.

I squatted by the little snake, perhaps a foot-and-a-half long, resting my elbows on my knees. Then, with a finger, I felt it, pushing one of its curves, gently. There was no stiffness in it, just residual life, the twitch of nerves. So as if drawing pictures or patterns in the sand, I puppeteered for a moment--I don't know why--pushing the snake forward in curves, allowing it to crawl one last time. It was playful and solemn, like the best of ceremonies I think, and it made me happy to imagine I could help it go where ever it was going.

At last, I made to lift it off the road--and, it yawned. It opened is tiny jaws, each like a fingernail, as wide as they would go, nearly 180 degrees. I wondered if it, still alive within, somewhere, though not on our plane, was remembering the last cricket or blind, newborn vole it took from the grass. Weirdly, I almost wanted to give it my finger--let it clamp down harmlessly, soothingly at the last. But I did not. It was not a gasp, just a yawn before a long, early hibernation. Or a waking? I moved it off the road--and it yawned, again. The final stretch, I thought. I watched it, for another moment, but it didn't move again.

When I finally uncoiled from my squat and went on with run, I would find that I was stiffer, colder, too. But beforehand, high in the blue above us, a raven called out. Perhaps the bird--a mere black dot, overhead--would find this garter in the morning, and to help, I coiled it in a corkscrew, turning it into an artful eye that would find the raven and the sun lifting over Mono Lake. Or the oncoming moon.

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10 mi, 69 min; O+B on Aqueduct Road across Williams Butte, as well as Lower Horse Meadow

Monday, 8/23: 10 mi, 70 min; loop around Dechambeau Ranch from Mono City

DP in the desert, yo!

So, I was reading in Daniel's Running Formula last night about tempo runs--yes, I have such books, but for some reason, I rarely browse through them. Anyway, he, this legendary coach, made a point of stressing that tempos should be on more or less flat, evenly surface, and windless terrain. I thought to myself, Dang.

My tempo last Tuesday (which I haven't written about til now, sorry ... maybe what comes next will suggest why) didn't go so hot. Well, no, it was hot; I ran in the early afternoon, on Cemetery Rd, the same stretch I used for my first tempo. But I intended to go 5 miles, and only managed 4. It might have been because I went out too hard--I don't really know, the miles aren't marked--and the wind was bad. During the first mile, I ran straight through a bona fide dust devil, sand whirling all around me, and held my breath. Then, mile 3-ish was pretty much all up hill, though relatively gradual. The footing everywhere in the Basin is sandy as all get out, at least in (unexpected) sections, and full of rocks that can test an ankle. To cut this sob story a bit shorter, I called it off after 4 miles feeling tapped running back into the wind, uphill. No juice to be squeezed. God-lessly awful. Not fun.

So, today, I wanted my tempo to be extremely funner. I drove to more level terrain (check!), Aqueduct Rd, just before 7 pm--when it was COOL (how reasonable!)--and parked at Walker Creek. I got out of the car, opened the doors, and blasted The Strokes, as I half stretched, half danced in full view of gorgeous mountains and dangerous volcanoes. (I was really shaking it out! It was a dance off, and the challengers were the Mono Craters and my elbowy, distorted reflection in the Jeep!) It made think about how fun the old locker room days in college were--terrible as the music often was--or just those days of rollicking company, period. That's another drawback to training alone.

Anyhow, even before the warm up, it was off to a good start. A success, even. Never mind that my legs felt pretty Cemetery, though I'd tried to leave that behind. I guess that's what 60-ish miles in the last four days can do to you.

My warm up was indeed heavy, stiff, and I'll admit, I had a few doubts. But what-ev. I lay down some short strides and set out at a brisk clip. But not too fast (YES!). And the best part of Aqueduct Road is that it works with you. Dances with you? No, that may be going too far. But it does bend in and out of the wind, as you run roughly parallel--this is key--to the mountains (though one of those bends is at least a mile, and you can see all the way to the other side, which is intimidating, because it looks so freaking far). This way, you don't suffer for too long in the Santa Chilla always rolling down those glacial canyons. And it went fine! Just fine, considering my legs. They continued to warm up and by the time I finished my solid 27 minute tempo I'd almost forgotten about how rough the road was. Almost.

At one point, I chased a mountain quail. It skeddadled straight down the track for about a minute, before taking flight, finally, in a puff of dust. Why? Cause I was gaining on it ... ha! Then on my return, coyotes sang out from the hills. Probably dancing up there, too, old Wiley. To The Strokes?

Here's what I've learned, in the end: I must try to be both Roadrunner (or quail) and Coyote! I'm sure some interpretation argues they're of the same ego, anyway.

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3 mi, 21 min, warm up; ~ 5 miles (or who knows) in 27:11; 3 mi, 21 min, cool down

Solidarity in rain

Thunderclouds, lightning, downpours today, and forecasted for the next few. Some runners--at least me--become down right doggish when weather comes. Most of the afternoon, I felt nervous, pent-up. When the booms shook the house, a part of me wanted to scamper downstairs to the bathtub and cower. Or, to switch metaphorical tacks, when the day's mood is off, I find myself walking to the window and looking out, my hand on my chin, like someone in a harborside house who compulsively looks out for the return of the beloved under distant masts. A person introspective, in all appearances, but more actually numb. I dramatize (though, we do have a view of the lake). But when the winds are suspect, I become anxious searching for the right window to venture out, and it's then, more than any other time, that I sometimes miss company on my runs. Solidarity in rain.

Of course, once I'm outside, it's often not so bad. Quite nice, in fact. And in the Eastern Sierra, if you drive a canyon or two over, sometimes you can discover that window. Rather unfortunate that it doesn't work that way everywhere.

Tonight, after a short store shift, I drove just south of Lee Vining and parked at the base of the road to Horse Meadows. From there, I ran on a jeep trail to Oil Plant Road, which merges with Aqueduct Road (which rolls over Walker and Parker Creeks). I crossed the north side of the June Lake Loop, went over the wooden bridge that spans the Grant Lake Reservoir spillway, and then turned around at 49 minutes. My legs felt heavy for the first quarter of the run, then I warmed up (I even left my shirt behind, three miles in, and was a bit chilled by the end). The vistas from Aqueduct Road, especially of the Mono Craters and Reverse Peak above June Lake are altissimo; horns should accompany! (Or at least photos, soon!) The lake, meanwhile, was shrouded in mist and rain, but the sky ever so politely spit just a little in the South Basin.

Also: near the turn around, I spent a few minutes watching an osprey hover and swoop over Rush Creek. Tourists are often miffed as to why an osprey, an exclusively fish-eating raptor, would nest over Mono Lake. How does it survive? I pose the question ... No, not on shrimp... Well, there above was the answer silhouetted below cloud and light rain. The bird had flown down from Grant Lake Reservoir to test Rush Creek for trout, but quickly went back. We passed each other twice, silently.

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14 mi, 98 min; O+B on Oil Plant Road and Aqueduct Road from the base of the Horse Meadows Road

Week Total: 76 mi