For cross-country skiers living in the Northeast or Midwest, December can be a fickle month with temptations of snow cover followed by thaws.  This year has been that way -- a warm wet November gave us good running and roller skiing weather.  A minor snowstorm a few days ago has coated the ground and got our juices flowing, but there's been no freeze and the trails are wet and muddy under the white stuff, and it will melt away.

I should know by now that real XC skiing normally starts in January, and that early outings on rock skis can be very frustrating as ice and mud coats the bottoms.  Yet, out is out and even on a little snow, it's better than running.

 So we wait, impatiently.  Skis are down from storage -- perhaps cleaned up although that usually is a last minute deal -- and folks trek into the high country to find snow.  Or drive to Canada. Or fly to Alaska.

For those of us who "ski local," we know that before long, there will be some wonderful "green wax/ blue skies" days where in our euphoria over the great conditions, soon forget the frustrating days of December.

Bring it on, Snow Gods!  We're ready.

photo by Don_Wright

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As thousands of nervous runners mill around at Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island, for the start of the New York City Marathon this morning, my thoughts go back to the day, twenty-four years ago, when I too awaited the start.  I still recall the day my lottery result came in the mail.   It was the last marathon I ran and perhaps the most memorable.

Up early to catch a bus, wall-to-wall runners at the start, and a walking, start, stop, jostle beginning up on to the Verrazano-Narrows bridge.  It was awesome, wondering if the bridge could take the load (you could feel it shake), the great atmosphere, and of course, some fast runners weaving in and out of the group plodding along.  Back before timing chips, and it took over ten minutes to get to the start line.

Of course, the race traverses the five boroughs and what a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, smells, and people as we ran through Brooklyn.  We were feeling strong after all that training and the first fifteen miles or so were wonderful.  I can still remember feeling draggy as we crossed the Queensboro bridge (mile 15) but the crowds as we came down off the bridge were incredible.

The last ten miles are tough.  The trip up First Avenue to the Bronx seems to last forever and then the leg muscles (for most mortals) start complaining big time.  I was hurting as  came down through Central Park -- every hill was an insult -- but a combination of running, walking, hobbling got me in sight of the famous finish line seen so often on TV.  My time was ok for me, under 4 hours.

Finding Mary afterward in the crowd was a trick (B.C. - before cellphones) but we hooked up as I shivered in the Mylar blanket we all got.

I later trained for several other marathons but always seemed to get injured as I got into the 18-20 mile run segment of training.  I settled back into 10K's and a few ten-milers.  So it’s nice to have this marathon as a fond memory.

Running any marathon is a nice accomplishment and the ambiance and energy of a big on like New York or London is something you don’t forget.  The lottery for 2010 opens tomorrow for New York.  Why not give it a try?

 Verrazano-Narrows bridge photo by Thomas R. Stegelmann  Brooklyn race photo by fergie_lancealot  

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I'm looking out the window at a crisp day with pretty foliage on the hills but our woods trails are pretty muddy.  Yet, snow showers are in the forecast for tomorrow, and the week ahead looks a little raw and damp so it will be a good day to get out and run with the Vizsla.  Another pair of muddy Ascics is no big deal.

But, while procrastinating by the wood fire a bit, I'll lay out some exercise ideas on what works for me - to get me out of bed, or away from the desk.  I'm not a fitness fanatic -- but like most of us, finds that the day goes better for me (and those around me) if I get a little exercise.  It works the same way for my Vizsla -- no workout and someone is going to pay. 

Finding time for fitness starts for me with two major decisions: 1)priority for exercise, and 2) planning workouts.

 

Set Your Exercise Priority High

We need to move exercise way up near the top of our personal priority list.  For me, it’s one of the things I’m always thinking about.  It’s a given that I’ll probably exercise -- that’s just part of my life, but what I do, where I do it, and when in the day can I fit it in, are all decisions to make. And then change it if need be.  Schedule a rest day -- and do it without guilt. Mix things up to keep for overusing muscles and to keep it interesting.

Plan Workouts
I tend to decide about exercise early each day, taking into consideration my preceeding exercise sessions (if I’ve run three times in a row, I’ll cycle or lift), how I feel physically, and when will I have time.  Of course, if I’m looking at a real early workout, I’ll decide that the night before.  If I have travel or other time commitments up ahead, I’ll do some rough planning for a weekend or a week. (”We’ll get there early enough for a quick run, then I can do a weight session next morning in the motel workout room.”)  The trick is to plan so that you have a time set up but then can change routines if you’d rather walk with the family than run solo.

It’s easy to get “preachy” when talking about finding time for fitness but that’s not the point. I just think that by moving exercise way up the priority chain, by thinking ahead on what the game plan for exercise is, and by being flexible (”It’s slushy, screw the run, I’m going to go downstairs and row”), exercise becomes part of your daily routine.  It has mine. Time to find the orange vest (it's bow hunting season) and loosen up.  The dog is ready to go.  Stay fit.

image from dawn pink chick

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The Vizsla needs a run -- she’s been waiting patiently all day and the rain has let up to a fine mist.  I’ll grab my poles and take a hike (nordic walk) up in the woods.

We start out on the loops on our land, which we walk several times a day, and she’s off on her “check the new smells” romp.  I’m caught up in thinking about some publishing issues I’ve just struggled with -- missing fonts in older documents because they were done on older computers.  I’ve been trying to create some ebooks using pdf and it’s a hassle -- I’ve got 900 fonts but not a couple we used five years ago.  So, let it go and enjoy the early fall afternoon.

The leaves are turning but mostly yellow here.  We’ve got soft maples and they seem to get speckled with brown -- although some will get red later on.  Higher up, there’s lots of red showing on the mountains.  The ferns, chest-high in spots, got frosted and are bronze.  The asters and daises, often head high, are untouched but soaking wet.

I’ve got my new LL. Bean slicker on and with the poles and climbing, find it pretty warm.  Robins are flocking up in every clearing -- they’ll likely be heading south on the next cold front winds.

We head up on to abutting forest and Penny flushes a couple of partridge.  She doesn’t point them, just chases them.  No wonder she flunked out of hunting school years ago.

I’m reminded of a time years ago when I was working on one of my mountain bike books and trying to tape record the ride description as I rode along.  I was climbing up this rocky trail, gasping into the mike about it, when a whole covey of young partridges exploded out of the weeds near my front wheel.  I wish I had saved that tape -- it was a breathless  “the trail gets more technical .... S.O.B...” accompanied by the beating of a dozen wings.  It was funny to hear when I was transcribing later on -- and still makes me chuckle as I remember it.

Then my mind veers to the photos I used to try to take on these rides.  You don’t meet riders on most of the rides I was doing and rather than just taking another photo of the bike against a trail sign, I’d try to set up the camera and use the timer.  I’d set up the small tripod I carried, set the self-timer, and then run back, try to hop on the bike and ride toward the camera.  What a joke -- it was either out of focus, or I was half on the bike, whatever.  I don’t know that I ever got a usable shot.

The rain has picked up a bit and I’m glad for the slicker.  It’s loud on the leaves and all I can hear is Penny’s periodic shaking to dry out.  She’s loving it, ranging back and forth, nose to the ground.  There are still some stone walls to check on the way back -- where she remembers critters from former walks.

We’ve been out a little over an hour and it feels great -- the trail is soft due to the rain and the temperature is perfect.  My hiking shoes and jeans are soaked.  We’ll head back and dry out a bit -- and Penny will smell like ferns all evening. 

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A week ago this morning, I was in the Central Vermont Medical Center recovery room after an emergency appendectomy.  A day earlier, I had been running with the dog - albeit with a little gut ache - but Thursday’s excruciating pain with a trip to the ER started a long process to remove a perforated appendix.  I was hospitalized for four days.

My surgeon was able to use laparoscopic surgery and thus I left the hospital with three small wounds.  He is a mountain biker/skier and has mentioned to me several times “not to worry about loss of fitness -- you’ll get it back.”  And that’s the attitude I’m using because in spite of daily small gains in recovery, there’s little I can do physically but walk the dog.

The Vizsla’s reaction is interesting.  Of course, she knew I was gone for four days in spite of good attention from our family who gathered.  Now, she has sort of adjusted her pace in the woods to reflect my slow plodding.  She’ll stop and look back, waiting for me to move along.  The roots and rocks on our trails make walking different from walking hospital floors, and a lot more interesting.

As I continue to feel better, I’ll probably just crank up the walking mileage a bit for now because about everything else I can think of uses the abdomen.  I have an old Soloflex downstairs which should allow me to work on some muscle groups such as arms and shoulders soon.  It’s a matter of patience -- and after what my body’s gone through, a few more weeks to heal and strengthen is nothing.  My goal is to be able to bring in and stack our firewood now drying out in the woods.  It's a Fall project. We’ll see.

Asleep on our couch, my Vizsla Penny just gave out a little bark -- perhaps she’s reliving the encounter yesterday with the biggest moose I’ve ever seen.  She and I were about halfway through a soggy trail run on a route we often take when just ahead in the pines was this big black thing. He lifted his head, I saw the massive rack, and the dog took off toward him. He wheeled and started running off, then wheeled and she screeched to a stop.  Then they both were off again, charging up the hill, leaving me yelling and breathless, and scared witless for my dog. She looked pretty small behind the big guy.

About ten minutes later, Penny returned - legs caked with black mud - tongue hanging out, but unmarked.  We bushwhacked home a different way and another adventure was over.

Last week, it was a coydog.  Running down the trail, I spotted some movement in the tall ferns up ahead as did Penny and as she charged off, a big shepherd-sized coydog scrambled away with the red dog right behind.  I yelled as they raced off - hoping that the coydog would not turn on her and fight.  After a ten minute disappearance, Penny came back tuckered out.  Every so often she would stop and sniff the air as we wended our way home.

These two recent “adventures” got me thinking of some of the other encounters we’ve had out back.  Of course, the little ground birds drive her nuts, flitting from limb to limb, as she chases the through the underbrush. Likewise, the red squirrels often sit about 15 feet up and chatter at her as she goes ballistic, barking and trying to climb the pine tree.

We’ve had a couple of meetings with mama partridges who explode off through the brush, dragging a wing and staying just ahead of the racing red dog, letting their chicks (which I ofte see and hear) disperse to safer environs.

And then there are the porcupines.  Last year she met one up close and personal in a woodpile and came home with several quills in the nose.  Lesson learned?  Not!  Just last month, she treed a big fella in a spruce tree, barking and jumping as the guy ambled up the tree and perched on a limb.

Penny, an AKC Vizsla, was born and bred in Kansas by a guy who raises hunting dogs.  After a litter or two, she was sold to a couple in Boston who couldn’t handle her in urban confines and gave her to the rescue group.  That’s where we got her -- fourth place for her.  As I see her chasing anything that runs, I can understand how she flunked Bird Dogging 101.  But living and exercising with her is always interesting and you never know when the next Wild Kingdom adventure will start.

coydog by wikimedia commons   moose photo by gailfisher   porcupine photo by clarity

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