Flashes of Panic

I won’t detail the thought process that led to me dredging this up. It’s revised slightly from a post I made on a discussion list shortly after I moved up here from Pennsylvania. It’s about a memorable run, as you’ll see, and in my mind it ties in both my old roommates and when I was running strongly; this was near the beginning of a long stretch of good running which included a near-PR at the half-marathon, a PR at four miles and (barely) the marathon, and six race wins in one calendar year. Any surprises that I remember it fondly?

After we loaded the truck and cleaned the house Monday evening, I settled down for the night in a sleeping bag on the floor of my old room. (The bed was packed, remember.) I planned to get up around 6 AM and run before putting the last bits in the truck, handing in my PO box key, and grabbing breakfast with my now-ex roommate.

Well, about one in the morning I figured I wasn’t getting much sleep. And that I wouldn’t be for a while. I remembered a story Wish (or maybe Amby) tells about one of the Great Ones of American running in the late 60s or so, maybe Gerry Lindgren when he was running 200 mile weeks. Someone asked how he managed the mileage; he replied that sometimes he’d get up in the night to use the bathroom and figure as long as he was up, he might as well get in an hour or so. (Of course, for Lindgren, an easy hour was about ten miles.)

So as long as I was up, I figured I’d get the run in.

I did the Phone. The Phone (named for its shape on a map, where it resembles a phone handset with big earpiece and mouthpiece and very narrow handle) is two big loops on the ridge south of Emmaus, climbing to the top of the ridge on 10^th street, returning to town on 5^th street, crossing over on Minor to 2^nd street and climbing again, this time forking right before cresting the hill, going down into Vera Cruz, and returning to town on 2^nd. Three long hill climbs in a ten mile loop, all approaching (or exceeding) a mile in length. It’s truly a masochist’s delight; we used to call each other before lunchtime runs and ask if anyone was ready for a Phone call.

After leaving downtown Emmaus (pretty rapidly—there’s not much of it, and since we were living between 9^th and 10^th there wasn’t much left before you were headed up the mountain) I was navigating like a prehistoric sailor, running from island to island of, not light, but dim glow. Sometimes there would be a streetlight or someone’s garage light but mostly it was me and the moonlight, me mostly hoping the moonlight would provide enough contrast that I could tell paved road from, say, forest floor.

The first loop was the only visually tough part. I saw a whopping three cars on the road for the entire run, which was somewhere under eighty minutes. In some sections I would have my eyes bugged out looking for the faintly different darkness that represented road in front of me; in other parts I would be sailing along a moonlit road with a pretty good idea what was ahead. I only wavered once; the rest of the time my legs just knew where to take me.

As I came down off the last big hill and headed for home, I passed by a house with a bunch of kids sitting out on the porch, one holding what was probably a beer. As I passed, I heard one saying, “Dude, it’s 2 AM.”

When I got back I set the alarm later, and slept fine. Still only about four-plus hours, but no less than if I’d got up at six to run.

One advantage to running in pitch blackness: you can take a pit stop pretty much anywhere, even in the middle of the road if you’re brave enough. The disadvantage: I stepped to the side and watched a skunk poke through the tall grass in front of me. Hi there, don’t get shocked, I’m just passing through… I saw one of his buddies in the road a few yards later, but he wasn’t moving anymore.