Just goofin' around

Running can be tough to keep up during the winter.

It's definitely not all blue skies and sunshine.

When the wind howls and it seems like it's been weeks since you've felt the sun on your face, it can be difficult to motivate yourself to get out and chug around in the cold. Add in the pandemic restrictions making life more complicated, and the couch seems like a much more attractive option.

Well, more comfortable anyway - it's definitely prettier out in the woods!

So, here's my suggestion. Don't go out for a run - go out for play instead.

No really - hear me out.

I've had a tough week - putting in a lot of overtime to finish off some projects, and trying to solve all the problems that come across my desk. Sometimes I hardly take lunch, or do so late enough that it can't really be considered "lunch" at all.

Call it a late afternoon run and big snack?

I have more than enough work in my life without making running seem like a chore, so I choose to play instead. How do I do that? Same way that you can, and it starts by noticing what's around you.

Oh look!

For most normal humans, that's an informative plaque about plantation forests and a prime example of forest management. If you're willing to be a bit of a goof about it, though..

The perfect posing chäir!
(It may help to be a fan of @ultrarunningmemes here)

You can stop and swing from a handy branch - by your hands, or try from your knees if you're braver (and more flexible). You don't have to be on a trail, either; most suburban and urban areas have parks, and playgrounds, and maybe fitness equipment. Who says you have to be under highschool age to have a go on the slide, or swing on the swingset?

Like my hot new motorcycle?
(NB: use caution if you're over 100lbs and try something on a spring.
There may or may not have been a near-faceplant)

Even something as mundane as shoveling your driveway can be a little more fun if you include random dance breaks - why shouldn't you do the same while running?

Everyday I'm shovelin'..

You can stop to build a snowman or other snow-sculpture, roll down a hill instead of running down, or just blanket your neighbourhood with snow angels.

Snowy dead-end street? SNOW ANGEL TIME!

Of course, you're going to need to be bundled up for all of this, and I absolutely do not recommend doing anything near traffic or on private property that could get you fined, hurt, or even just yelled at.

There's plenty of fun to be had in public spaces, as long as you don't mind looking like a bit of an idiot!

I just don't think we get enough chances in our adult lives to play, but running is an excellent chance to change that...and you never know, you might actually start to look forward to getting out there in the cold!

Give it a try, and let me know about the antics you get up to!

I've not been able to find an attribution for it, but there's a fantastic quote that really embodies all of this:

"If you choose not to find joy in the snow, you will have less joy in your life, but still the same amount of snow."

Me? I'll choose joy every time, and I hope you do, too! 

Are you afraid of the dark?

 ..because you shouldn't be. 

Cautious? Sure. Fearful? No.

The days are short right now, and I'm trying to run twice each weekend day to bank some fodder for the 100 runs in 100 days challenge. That usually means my second run of the day is at least partly in the dark, and while that's not ideal for all purposes I firmly believe it's something every runner would do well to experience.

At your own comfort level to start, of course.

Why would I suggest such a thing? Well, there are a couple of reasons, some of which are universally applicable and some that are more specialized. Let's have a look at both, shall we?

Come - follow me down this rabbit hole..

In the context of ultrarunning, anyone thinking of attempting a 24hr/100 miler - or even a 50 miler, depending on the time of year - should be completely comfortable moving efficiently through the dark on similar (or more technical) terrain as that offered in the goal race. The last thing you want is to have your first experience of a dark, root-strewn trail come while you're carrying the fatigue of already having run for hours, especially if that's the same time you discover the headlamp you've brought along fails to illuminate your path well enough to see what you're dealing with.

For some people this is plenty of light - for others it's a broken bone or badly sprained ankle waiting to happen.

If you're planning on a multi-day race (48hr, 72hr, 6-day, 200 miler)...well, you probably don't need to hear this from me, because you're already a badass that knows they need to get their night game dialed. Training in darkness gives you the absolute best chance to minimize the surprises that will come when the sun sets and energy begins to ebb. Sleep deprivation combined with high energy expenditure does not make for good decision making, so eliminating as many opportunities for failure is key to success. Nighttime is always a different game - doubly so if you're out in the woods - so building your familiarity is key to good outcomes.

..as you make your way through the dark tunnel of night, to the coming daylight beyond.

The simple act of running later in the day can be useful, too, for building experience in running while fatigued. If you've already had a full day of shopping and cooking and cleaning and errands, then head out for a trot as the light fades away, you're teaching your body that it can continue to push past diurnal limits. That's great experience to have in your mental and physical toolkit as you push through the final miles of a 100k, desperately trying to outrun the cement filling your legs and fog clouding your mind.

The day isn't over when the sun goes down  - it's over when you're finished with it.

You may find navigation more difficult, too, especially on some of the wilder courses. You can't rely on the position of the sun for direction, and even quite well marked trails can start to pose challenges when the light fades. Knowing how to find your way in the dark is a useful skill for anyone who ventures further than their local suburban park's pathways, and it can take a bit of practice to get comfortable. If you're just dipping a toe into nighttime trail running, do so in a familiar place, or somewhere without any complexities that might get you turned around. Be prepared for it to all look different, though, and stay aware of your surroundings at all times.

See the bridge, with the blazes indicating the right turn to take it across the creek?

Even for runners who never intend to race in the dark, the sheer exhilaration of tackling a trail at night can help you build mental toughness that can be drawn on in any situation in life. I don't suggest you immediately go find the gnarliest section of the Bruce Trail and go for a blithe midnight meander; I don't even necessarily recommend that your first forays into running in the dark be on anything more treacherous than a section of paved multi-use trail or a bit of well-groomed rail trail. 

You can work your way up to something more adventurous as your comfort level grows.

You'll want a good, reliable light - I highly endorse the use of a headlamp to keep your hands free, but also recognize that the position of its light being so close to your eyes' point of view can make seeing contours a challenge due to the angle of the shadows it will cast. For racing purposes I also employ a waist belt light to mitigate this effect, but I don't actually use it in training; when I'm just out bopping around the trails after dark on your average evening, I'll just slow down to accommodate the difficulty of seeing precisely what's going on in front of me. However, more light is always better for races: it not only helps tired eyes see better, it can also trick your mind into increased alertness. Humans are - regardless of my own night owl tendencies - built to thrive and be energetic during daylight hours and restful in darkness. Every additional lumen of brightness in your view as you push through the night is like a tiny sip of coffee in its effect; fooling your brain into thinking it's day, when you should be raring to go.

Not to mention giving you a better chance of staying upright..

You'll need to make sure that light has plenty of battery power, too. If you're not sure when the last time was you put fresh ones in (or charged it), do so before you head out. Taking a spare set of batteries is a great idea - lithium ones are a bit lighter to carry and tend to last longer in cold weather - but you had better make sure you have a secondary light source to illuminate things while you change them out. A chemical glow stick is inexpensive, lasts for years (as long as the internal chamber is intact), stows easily in a pocket, and casts just enough light to let you figure out which is the positive and which is the negative terminal contact. A dark trail is no place to suddenly realize the impossibility of swapping the batteries in your headlamp by the light of your headlamp! In a pinch (if your spare batteries turn out to be dead, too), a glow stick will also give you one last-resort way to navigate your way to safety.

There are some who claim my headlamp isn't much brighter than one of them, anyway.

The other thing you will absolutely need is a willingness to take things slow. Dark trails are no place for intervals, unless you're talking "intervals of cautious running interspersed with plenty of walking over the sketchy bits". Primarily speaking to ultrarunners here, this can be some of your best preparatory training for long races: making the transition from running to walking, then walking to running, over and over again as you push through the dark - this is exactly the experience you need to prepare you for 100 miles and beyond. It's not about speed; it's about efficient movement, staying within yourself, and staying on the correct course. 

Which can - perhaps contrary to expectation - be easier to do in winter.

So dress a little warmer, throw on your brightest headlamp, take a deep breath, and get out there. Maybe you start with just a 15min walk, with no running at all - feel it out, and recognize that it may be an intense experience. Being a little scared is ok; I'm not going to say I'm always 100% confident while meandering around in the dark forest, particularly when the coyotes start howling in the exact direction I'm headed. However, I have been wandering around the trails at night for many years now, and have a 100% survival rate to date! I've also come to take pleasure in the challenges that the woods can pose when shrouded in darkness, and invite you to taste of their unique charms.

At your own pace, and with appropriate caution.

Who knows? You may even find you have a liking for it, and decide to try a night trail race!

Small Wonders

 There's one thing I really love about the 100 runs in 100 day challenge.

Strangely, the actual "running 8-ish times per week" is not it.

Because I end up running doubles (partly so I can still make the full 100 runs while still taking some rest days, and partly because I'm a bit of a bloody fool), I end up adding in a bunch of short-distance runs on weekends throughout the duration of the challenge. The minimum distance to count (by Slowtwitch rules) is technically 3mi/4.828km or 30mins, which means I can hit up some shorter trails and tracts that wouldn't necessarily be much fun for 20+km solo jaunts in months (and years, for that matter) when I'm actually trying to train for ultras. 

Places like FWR Dickson Wilderness Area

With the pandemic in full swing, it's more attractive than ever to find new spaces where I might be able to avoid people, and I've been having fun discovering some new spots in our area that I'd either never heard of or seen before. When I'm running long on weekends during the summers, it's often not feasible for us to go check out a place with only 3-5km of trail. Now, though? What else have I really got to do except check out new pretty places?

Or some - like the Lions Lake Trail outside Elmira - I'd only seen once before

Two good resources for finding trails in your area are Trailforks and AllTrails - both have free web interfaces and mobile apps (plus some paid, premium services, but I've only ever used the free versions) and the ability to search in a particular area. I keep both apps on my phone, partly just to idly flick through maps in hopes of finding a new, fun place, and partly because their maps can be really handy if you find yourself less than confident in navigating one of those new places. 

Or need to re-route for some reason..
(Not that I did in this case, as a matter of fact I found this sign after I'd already run across the sketchy boardwalk)

 

Not every trail will necessarily be a winner, and some definitely have better applications than others.

I don't think I'll be attempting any speedwork here.

I also recommend giving yourself plenty of time before sunset - which we all know comes far too early these days, though is finally starting to appreciably creep back from its pre-5pm winter apogee - when exploring new places. 

For some reason there's a difference between hearing coyotes howling nearby on a familiar trail versus one I've never run before.

You might think that winter would be a poor time to go gallivanting around on unknown trails, but there are some spots that are at least as beautiful under the cover of a fresh snowfall as they are in the full bloom of summer.

..if not moreso!

You might also discover a place you'll want to return to in another season for other reasons; a new favourite picnic spot, fishing hole, or a fitness trail with stations to work on full-body strength while surrounded by nature.

Wrigley Lake might be a lovely place to paddle when the water isn't quite so...hard.

So go forth and have a poke around a new place; the stay home orders permit you to go out for the purpose of exercise, so why not take advantage of that by giving your body and mind a taste of someplace new?

You never know what you might discover.

Be safe and have fun! Oh, and if you happen to stumble across a real gem, be a good sport and share it, will you?

Not what I used to be

 It was 9am on a beautiful winter's morning, just after Christmas.

There was snow on the branches, and sun on the snow - a perfect winter wonderland

A text came in from a friend - was I up for a snowshoe hike that afternoon? We'd been trying to get together for a walk for ages, but various things had got in the way. So, I jumped at the opportunity for some safe, outdoor, responsibly-distanced fun, and we made a date for around 2:30pm.

For a couple of hours of snowy, woodsy rambling

There was a problem, though: rain was predicted to start that evening, and wash all that lovely snowpack away. Much as I love snowshoeing, I hadn't got my cross-country skis out yet this season, and it's tougher to find good enough snow to ski on than it is to find snow for snowshoeing. Plus I needed to get out for a run (because 100 in 100), so this was all going to have to be a bit tactical.

Esme, though, was not feeling any particular sense of urgency while we had a bite to eat.

Tanker was sweet enough to load up our skis and poles in the car, then we got changed into kit and set off for the Beaverdale Road trailhead of the Mill Run Trail. The car gave us a bit of a scare with a very difficult start - we were starting to fear for the battery before the engine finally caught - but fortunately ran perfectly afterward. We arrived just after noon, and if you're thinking that 3 hours is a lot of time to get ready and be at a trailhead 10mins from home, well...heck it, I was on holidays. 

It may also have taken me around 30mins just to figure out what I needed to wear

Conditions on the trail were fantastic - we'd been concerned about sticky snow with temperatures around the freezing mark, but since the passage of lots of feet ahead of us had packed things down significantly we were getting pretty solid glide.

Except when we ventured a bit off piste..

We skied out about 2km west to Speedsville Road, and I was starting to feel it a bit - it's almost like I was taking part in a sport in which I'd had zero practice for 11 months or something..

Imagine that!

By the time we returned to the car - a little more than 45mins later, as I'd been stopping lots to take photos of the snowy trail - my whole body was letting me know that 4km was plenty for the first ski of the year. 

I was just delighted to have got one in, and to share it with my sweetheart!

Then, of course, I shucked off my wind vest, insulated skirt, and ski boots - I threw on a pair of running shoes, and took off at twenty past one in the opposite direction to the section we'd skied, heading west toward Hespeler.

Across the ugly new bridge they put in last November - the wooden one was so much better suited to the trail!

I tried to strike a balance between my photographic appreciation of the snowy woods and trying to keep moving efficiently, as I knew I was a bit short on time..

But it was SO PRETTY

All told it took me just shy of 35mins to run a little more than 5km out to Guelph Avenue and back, with numerous compliments on my ugly Christmas sweater from other trail users.

It's just perfectly, festively hideous!

Jumping in the car with moments to spare before 2pm, I was very happy that I'd laid out my change of clothes for snowshoeing before we'd left. I ate the thermos full of oatmeal I'd prepared and left in the car while Tank drove us home, jumped into my dry apparel, and was back out the door by 2:30pm...having let my friend know I'd be a few minutes late.

The snow hadn't gone anywhere yet, though!

My snowshoes were strapped on and we set off into the woods by 2:50pm, having our breath taken away by the gorgeous scenery, the lingering sunshine, and occasionally the hills.

The sun lined up just perfectly down one particular corridor

The temperatures had stayed fairly mild - only about -2c - so it was comfortable to be out with minimal insulation as long as you were moving a bit.

Elf hat optional.

Ninety or so minutes and nearly 6km later, the sun was starting to fade..

..and so was I.

Back to my car - which fortunately had performed perfectly after the one morning hiccup, and didn't even get stuck! - I thanked my friend for a fun hike, bade them goodbye, and headed home. I finally got to drink the cup of coffee I'd quickly made while getting changed (delighted to find it still hot thanks to one of my incredible collection of insulated vessels; if you go outdoors in winter, you owe it to yourself to get a great thermos that will keep a beverage hot for you to enjoy when you're done), and ate the granola bar I'd stuck in my pocket.

I arrived back at the house by 4:30pm, had a salad and a hot shower, and went for a little 20min walk around our neighbourhood with Tank. By the time 8pm rolled around, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open! That's when I finally figured out that I'd sort of accidentally put in over 3 hours of self-propelled time since noon that day.

And also carried around a little extra weight here and there.

I hadn't had a day that full of motion since early November, and certainly not since (probably) contracting Covid in early December. While my symptoms were never more than a bit of a cold, it's now been over a month since the virus came home and I still have a bit of drippy nose in the morning, plus an occasional wheeze in my throat. 

It occurred to me that my plan - to ski, run, then snowshoe hike all in an afternoon - had been born out of arrogance. I've barely done any runs over an hour this year, let alone put in the long training days to which I'd become accustomed in years past. I blithely assumed I could pursue 3 sports in a day with no repercussions, and was appropriately humbled (and worn the heck out!) by the attempt.

Still, I think it says a lot for the lasting quality of endurance adaptation that I was able to enjoy a long day on my feet at all, in spite of the year's de-training and while getting over an illness. To be honest I didn't even really feel the weight of the fatigue until I was in that hot shower afterward, when I swear it felt like the stream of water turned into a ton of bricks falling on me.

I suddenly felt as laden as this fallen tree, and just as much like laying down!

I was bright enough to give myself the grace to only run once the next day, offering at least a bit of recovery. Since then, I've tried to be a bit more aware of pushing myself as I really don't want to allow this idiot virus to regain a foothold. I have a long way to go (both literally and figuratively) to get back in ultra shape, and I'd rather not be the perpetrator of any of my own setbacks!

Still 100% worth it to have such a lovely day playing in the snow, though.

Wishing you all a happy new year, and hoping you've had a safe and enjoyable holiday season!