Thursday,
October 26, 2017
I have begun to do a lot of
reading on the ‘Triple Crown Trails’ of North America, the difficulties, the
benefits, and the reasons. Without a
doubt from what I have read, the Continental Divide is the most arduous. Its greatest challenges over the other two
would have to be its length (at 3,100 miles it is over 500 miles longer than
the Pacific Crest Trail and is almost 1,000 miles longer than the Appalachian
Trail) and the difficulty in re-supplying as there are fewer food drops
possibilities. I have settled in on the PCT and began to focus my reading there
and the writings of one author in particular has caused me to ponder. She states that you should ask yourself ‘why’
you undertake such an endeavor as a thru-hike.
“Is it for bragging rights?
Because if you do not love to walk in the woods – don’t try a thru-hike,”
she wrote.
Bragging rights? I cannot deny that there is plenty of that in
me. I remember watching the Iron Man
Triathlon for the first time and thinking if I did that people would think I
was a beast and be likely to take my fitness advice more seriously. Even riding with my cousin 20 miles from
Massena to Potsdam at age 12 was partially about showing everyone I could do
something most of them were unwilling or unable to do. I think it has gotten me to do so many things
I otherwise would not have done. Egotistical?
Yes…I can admit that.
But I also DO love walking in
the woods. In fact, there is little I
enjoy more now than the absolute peace I experience when walking, camping,
climbing, or just sitting and taking in the sights, smells and sounds of the
outdoors. So yes, if I do walk the
Pacific Coast Trail you can bet I will be bragging about it. I will also try to share my experience
through my writings and verbally with anyone who will listen for I feel
strongly that the beauty and serenity of such a trip will be something that
should be shared and encouraged. And
maybe I’ll be able to head out again or to another destination and bring along
someone who has been moved enough to experience it along with me.
I got Miggie out to do
something unusual last night, though not for the serenity but maybe more for
the reward. I told her to park her car
at Fisher’s on the way home and that I would pick her up there and drive her
home.
“We’ll walk from home to Fisher’s,
have dinner, and then drive home,” I said.
“That seems crazy. We’ll do all that exercise and then eat? Won’t that defeat the purpose?” she asked.
"You’re going to eat anyway and
this way you’ll have burned off all the calories ahead of time. Win – win,” I said.
And so we did.
Hike:
90 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 650.
Bonus:
24,000 steps.
Wednesday,
October 25, 2017
It was ‘Burn Pile’ day at the
farm – an annual event where I burn a large pile of debris accumulated
throughout the year in the middle of a field at the edge of the farm’s
property. Normally I handle it with
Mitch, my assistant, and at some point during the day when it has burned down
to the point that we can get close, we roast hotdogs. Well…I had the notion that I should invite
the entire staff of the farm for a barbeque this year thinking that I could get
them to fix a myriad of side dishes in which we could partake. Since the pile had been sitting for a year,
much of it was wet and that meant smoke.
Not a problem for me though, since I love the smell of a good burn on my
clothes. I got it started and burning
well before heading in to the offices to let everyone it was time to come out
and get some hot dogs.
“Oh my, John, you really smell
like a campfire,” one of the women said when I entered the room.
“Yeah…isn’t it great?”
“Ewe…no…you’ll need to wash
those clothes tonight,” she said.
Stupefied, I replied, “you don’t
like the smell of campfire? I’m not
washing these clothes ever. In fact, I
may sleep in them.”
She wrinkled her nose some
more.
I knew that I’d be staying late
to handle a delivery that would require me to unload a palate from a semi
loaded with fencing material using the tractor.
This would likely make a hike impossible, so I did my best to walk,
instead of use any of the farm vehicles, throughout the day. It worked.
I had managed over 20,000 steps before leaving and added a couple more
before retiring for the evening. It
wasn’t a traditional workout, but the Fitbit kept me on task and walking. The sore shin was much better too, and so
maybe I’ll give running a try tomorrow.
Bonus:
22,000 steps.
Tuesday,
October 24, 2017
Little in life can trump being
a grandpa and I became one exactly one year ago today when Josie came into my
world. When I think of what my dad’s
parents meant to me and to the person I have become (the better parts), I can
only hope I will have some positive impact on her life as she grows. I know she will have an impact on mine.
It was, after all, my
grandparents I wanted to ride my bike 550 miles to see when I was a senior in
high school. I believe this single event
was one of the most influential in my life.
It became my first great physical challenge and taught me the meaning of
pain and discipline as they relate to achieving a goal. I know I will do more of this kind of riding
in retirement and for as long as my body allows, so that part of their
influence will last forever. I know I
will be calling upon and testing that discipline when I first strap on my
backpack and begin a journey of some five million steps it will take to
complete the Pacific Crest Trail.
Memories of my time with them are vivid and recalled often as I walk,
exercise, and work. Their work ethic and
love of family though, will be what I will cherish above all else. It drives everything I do today and in the
future and if I have one quality of which I am proud and hope to have passed
along to my children, it is this one.
So…shin splints…an old friend
and nemesis has visited again. Friend
because it is a reminder that I’ve ramped it up again, though probably too
quickly. Shin splints, in the early
stages, are just pain along the front of the leg and in the tibia, which runs
between the foot and the knee. It can
come about as a change in surface upon which you walk or run, as in moving from
trails and dirt to harder surfaces like the road or sidewalks, or when distance
or intensity increases…or both. The ‘or
both’ would describe me many times in the past, but this time I wasn’t quite so
stupid. I did begin running again
though, and thought that all the steps I take in an average day would protect
me and allow me to start with 25-30 minutes of running. Just writing this down reminds me how stupid
a plan that was even for a young athlete…and I’m none of that. I walked/limped throughout the day at work, feeling
the sharp, stabbing pain with each step.
It was a run day – I’m shooting for every other – but I knew that wouldn’t
be happening. I wanted to get Dakota out
for a walk though, and complete my 20,000 steps, so we headed for the park and
a 2-mile hike.
When I returned home, I did
what you’re supposed to do, having skipped the ‘rest it’ part. With an ice pack wrapped around my shin, I
watched an episode of ‘The West Wing’ and again wished our President would do
the same and possibly adapt the one characteristic I look for in any leader –
the ability to tell the truth. I know…Fantasy
Island.
Hike:
45 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 350.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Monday,
October 23, 2017
Throughout my fitness ‘career’,
I have identified myself in different ways.
I started out as a cyclist, I suppose, with my first distance ride a
20-mile excursion from Massena to Potsdam, NY with my cousin Donnie in
tow. We were maybe 12 at the time and
rode from his house to our grandparents.
We both had single gear bikes with foot brakes and balloon tires the
size of your arm. It probably took us a
couple of hours and we likely stopped at some local store for pop and ice cream
along the way.
Then the track team in ninth
grade and a couple of first place finishes in the mile had me thinking I’d be
the next Jim Ryan and break the 4-minute mile.
I was a runner.
By my senior year in high
school, I’d returned to the notion that I was a cyclist and with a friend, set
off from Willoughby, Ohio to ride bikes across Pennsylvania, into New York and to
my grandparents’ place just north of the city.
Round trip – about 1,100 miles and we carried our gear and camped along
the way.
In 1978 I watched Dave Scott
win the Hawaii Iron Man, a triathlon that encompasses a 2.4 mile open ocean
swim, 112-mile bike ride, and running a marathon – 26.2 miles. ‘I can do that,’ I said aloud and then spent
the next two years preparing myself to do it.
At different times I would
return to running or cycling only, but in later years – like right about now –
I’ve become the jack of all and the master of none. Last Friday I again launched into a running
career with a 2.5 mile slow plod along Tree Farm Trail in the Cuyahoga Valley
National Park. It was painful, but
pretty and the effort reminded me how much I enjoyed the challenge and freedom
of running. I followed that effort with another Sunday morning, which really
says something since I had to get out of a warm bed on a morning in the forties
to complete the run before heading to breakfast to meet up with my brother and
his wife at Fisher’s. I was the only one
on the trail and the morning mist that shrouded the fields through which I
passed made the effort more than worth it.
I’ve set the goal of hiking the
Pacific Crest Trail in two summers. I
will keep talking and writing about it so that I stay on-task. I’m looking hard at starting up the Paleo Diet
again and dropping some weight so that the runs, hikes and bike rides become
easier and faster. I don’t know how to
identify myself right now except to say that I’m back into a fitness ‘career’;
out of semi-retirement.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Thursday,
October 19, 2017
I began taking the steroids for
my gout-swollen toe on Tuesday. By
Wednesday, the pain was almost entirely gone and I managed to again go over
20,000 steps for the day. Kathy was
going out of town to do a two-day ride in Shenandoah National Park, which meant
I would have cat duty over the weekend.
I stopped by on my way to hike to get any further instructions.
“I’ve got an hour before they
pick me up so I can go with you if we don’t get sweaty. I smell good right now,” she said.
She certainly smelled better
than me. I assured her it would be an
easy 3-miler since I had to spare my toe any trauma, so we headed for Horseshoe
Pond. Once on the trail, I began my pitch
for her to join me on the Minnesota hike next summer. Having someone to share the journey…and some
of the essential gear…would be a smart move.
“Thirty days and 400
miles? Are you stupid? How many a day is that?” she asked.
Quick math told me 13 miles,
but that’s if you don’t take a rest day anywhere. I told her that and she looked at me like I
was nuts. She’s probably not going to
get on board for the 2,650-mile trip on the Pacific Crest Trail either. As we walked though, I received a text from Alaska
Paul and wrote back telling him I had a plan that included him for the PCT. He texted back, ‘sounds like trouble. Let’s hear it’.
The biggest issue on
through-hikes is the resupply of food.
Setting up drops, places you can leave the trail and pick up food you’ve
mailed to yourself is the most common method.
I had a better plan. Paul could
drive ahead of me along the trail, hike back towards me since he likes hiking,
walk with me back to his camping van where I could resupply and spend a night
in relative comfort. Works for me and
now I only need to convince him.
I ended up with another 20,000
step day and very little soreness in the toe.
I think it’s time to try another run.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Wednesday,
October 18, 2017
Though I haven’t posted
anything in two weeks, I have been working out and writing about it…in my head.
Some other things have been
crashing against the insides of my skull lately and I don’t want to blame that
for not writing, but maybe. It started
two weeks ago on Thursday night…the night the Indians won the first game of the
divisional playoffs against the Yankees, 4-0.
Savannah and I were in attendance, frustrated but happy at the outcome. It could have easily been 8-0 for the missed
opportunities. The next night Justin and
I drove to the Adirondacks listening to Tom Hamilton call the game from my car
radio well into the mountains of upstate New York. This may not seem like a big deal except that
we could not pick up our local station to hear him sixty miles outside of
Cleveland in Pa. The Indians were
playing lackluster ball again and down 8-3 with our ace, Cory Kluber, having
been shelled for six runs, before they staged a late-inning comeback to win in
13 innings. A week later, Savannah
called about the fifth and final game of the series to be played that night in
Cleveland.
“If I buy you a ticket, will
you go with me?” she asked.
I’d already jinxed the Indians
beyond recognition by telling her if they made it to the World Series I would
buy her a ticket. If you know anything
about me, you know that I believe completely in my ability to negatively affect
the outcome of any Cleveland sporting team, and particularly the Indians, by making
such statements. I really didn’t want to
go as I was having terrible misgivings, but how do you say ‘no’ to your
daughter – the one in whom you’ve instilled the kind of fanaticism now on
display?
“Of course I’ll go. I was saving money for that World Series
ticket,” I said. I always put on the
positive, brave face for the Tribe.
We went, they kind of played,
we lost. Depression. And relief.
I will admit that last year’s
team and it’s run to extra innings in Game 7 of the World Series against the
Cubs was one of the most emotionally draining experiences of my life…maybe the
most since I did sit through games 6 and 7 in Miami in 1997 with my cousin,
Donnie, and watch them lose that one in the 11th inning of the
seventh game, blowing a ninth inning, one-run lead.
For this season, the stress is
over. But it will be back and I will
suffer again. ‘Why?’ I have asked myself
over and again. The cliché ‘it’s only a
game’ comes to mind first. The fact
(okay…maybe not a ‘fact’) that I have NO impact on the outcome is second. How about we have Tito Francona calling the
shots as manager and he’s like the best manager in the history of managers and
I don’t have to second-guess anything?
But they do crawl into my skin and they do share my body and their
actions do affect my emotions to a point where I’m actually shedding tears
thinking about what might be if they win…and then when they don’t. I will admit that I actually closed my eyes
and tried to send some mental energy, as though I could, to the mound between
pitches so that Cory Kluber would have that little something extra to help him
retire the next Yankee hitter. It didn’t
work…but I REALLY thought it could. What
is wrong with that? Where does it come
from? Am I alone? And most importantly, will it always be that
way?
So life marches on in spite of
the Indians defeat. Justin and I did some
serious hiking in the Adirondacks. I
returned and continued to hike and work out including a day of the Survival
Workout. More importantly I think, I
began serious research into hiking one of America’s Triple Crowns of trails –
the Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, or the Continental Divide Trail. I am definitely leaning towards the PCT.
I was crippled up by gout in my
big toe on my right foot last Friday and have been struggling with it ever
since. It was healing by Monday so I thought
a long hike was a good idea even though it was sore 400 yards into the
hike. I went three miles anyway and you
can guess the outcome.
The playoffs continue and the
Evil Empire Yankees lead Houston…another team that was supposed to handle them…3
games to 2. Sounds a lot like my Tribe a
year ago. There’s always next year and I
know I will remain a loyal, maniacal fan so long as I draw breath. Go Tribe.
Wednesday,
October 4, 2017
A week had come and gone since
the great depression of discovering Fisher’s was out of lobster. I had accepted my fate with a measure of
dignity, but Miggie was still out-of-sorts.
“We need to get there as soon
as they open! Five o’clock!!” she
reminded me the night before. I wasn’t
so sure that was necessary, but I also didn’t want to be in her crosshairs if
we missed out two weeks in a row. I
pledged to be there…around that time.
Justin was supposed to join us,
which would be followed by a trip to Appalachian Outfitters so that he could
buy himself a tent and backpack for the weekend trip. I was waiting at home for him. Our plan was to walk to Peninsula together,
but when he did call to say he couldn’t make it until later, I realized there
was no way I could get to the restaurant at the designated time if I was to
walk. I started out, but at a rapid
pace, dialing Miggie as I walked. She
was sure to be late. She never left work
on time.
“I’m walking out the door
now. Be home a little before five and we
can get there right on time,” she said.
Shit. “Umm…I’m walking down…remember? I don’t think I’ll be there right at five,
though. I was waiting for Jus…”
“WHAT? They’ll run OUT of lobster!”
“I’m pretty sure they
won’t. It was like 6:30 last week when
they did. I’m walking fast, though,” I
said. I was sweating, too.
“HURRY!” she said and then I
think she hung up.
I arrived at 5:17 and, not
seeing her car, breathed a sigh of relief.
She’d likely stayed a little later or got caught in the rush hour
traffic on I77. In any event, I asked
for a table and was being taken to it when I noticed her already seated in a
booth. I veered.
“You’re VERY late. I ordered for you!” she said. She had her game face on and was very serious
about her food. When it arrived, she
gave a little sigh of relief and joy and for the next twenty minutes attacked
that lobster with lust and vigor.
“You’re shooting lobster juice
and butter everywhere, Miggie. I’m going
to have to hose you down before you can get back in the car,” I said as she
cracked through shell and sucked for the remaining morsels. She looked at me and smiled. Not a word was spoken. There simply wasn’t time.
It was an okay meal in the
end. A full lobster with a baked potato
for $15.49 was a good deal, but I don’t like having to work so hard to get at
my food. I’ll stick to rib night, which
is Tuesday, from now on. At least I got
in a hike and hit my step goal for the night.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Tuesday,
October 3, 2017
My daughter has been struggling
with problems of an existential nature.
‘Why am I here? What should I be
doing with my life? Why are my mom and
dad mortal – they won’t be here someday and I’ll have to deal with that?’ kind
of stuff. She has always been a deep
thinker; in her head and wondering about things way beyond what others might
consider normal. That, and she talks
about it.
Well…I know all those feelings
and I tend not to talk about them.
Instead, I soldier on figuring it will happen as it does or should and
I’ll deal with it. I guess that’s not
entirely true, either. Ever since my
wife of 39 years told me she was in love with another man, I’ve chewed these
questions harder than ever and the process brought me very low, indeed. I would escape in my exercise – Tour Ohio and
the Survival Workout, or a trip to the Adirondacks, but a plan for the
future? An understanding of what I was
supposed to do with my life or why things happen the way they do? Not so much.
I read the book ‘Wild’ and then
saw the movie starring Reese Witherspoon and will admit that this inspired me
to announce my intentions to hike the Continental Divide Trail once I’d
retired. Hike it, contemplate the
meaning of life…or my life, at least, and write about it. I said it out loud, wrote about it here many
times, and thought about it now and again – but really have done nothing to
start the process. Until now.
I ordered three books
on-line. Two on the Pacific Crest Trail
and one on the Continental Divide. My
thinking is changing as I do research on these two (I have decided against the Appalachian
Trail for now because, in my head, I was looking for something fewer people
have done) and I am now leaning towards the PCT. The CDT is still far from complete, with many
miles on roads, and not as clearly defined.
Most importantly though, it is 3,100 miles long, which is over 400 miles
longer than the PCT. For a
through-hiker, someone who hopes to complete the route in one continuous hike,
that could be the difference between making it or having to head home because weather conditions have made it virtually impossible.
Time is of the essence as the hikes are typically begun in the late
spring so as to avoid snow in the mountainous southern portions and/or the heat
of desert travel in the summer months, and to complete the northern portions
before winter socks in the peaks towards the end, which can happen in early
autumn. Five to six months of continuous
hiking at more than 20 miles a day is required to accomplish this task and I
have asked myself if it would be fun to push that number to 25 and have little
or no days off just to handle the CDT?
That would be a ‘no’. In fact, as
I do my research about distances, resupplying, weather conditions, and my own
physical health, I may decide that whatever I do needs to be done over two
seasons and not all at one time. For me,
the most important reason to do this hike it not to challenge myself as to
whether I can, but instead to immerse myself in my surroundings and gain as
much enjoyment as is possible from walking through some of the most beautiful
land this planet has to offer.
The Adirondacks are a few days
away and I have been alternating between hiking with and without the pack. My hip pain is almost completely gone and I
feel ready to tackle some tougher hikes.
Much will depend on Justin’s knee.
Though he cannot go in the back country with a pack, he still wants to
try hiking and climbing. I can
appreciate the foolishness of that thinking.
I do it all the time.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
22,800 steps.
