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A Critter in the Park
January 2006
Nashville , TN
posted by Trent
Okay, so this morning I woke up at my usual weekend time. That is, I muster the energy to get out of bed on the weekend about an hour earlier than I ever could during the week (you know, before work). The pitter-patter of rain outside made the task easier; I knew ahead of time that I would have the distinct and rare pleasure of running in the rain under predawn skies. I had planned to meet two buddies at the fabled stone gates and head out for a 5.8 mile run through hill and dale and then over more hills. While not 11.2 or 11.8 miles, it is still a reasonable effort, one worthy of the so-many years of training I wish I had under my belt. This is going to be a great start to my weekend. And it wasn't even too cold out. So I stretched, put on my running gear, munched a banana, and was off.
It is strange to arrive by car at my destination among such a crowd. You see, typically at the honorable hour of 6:30, in the cool January mist, you would be hard pressed to find another fool shivering beneath the stone gates. But this morning, for reasons that remain unclear all these hours later, there was a veritable procession of headlights and be-vested runners coming up the great boulevard and from the side streets. Such numbers are not uncommon as the sun has begun her job warming the gray skies and drying the brown slog of our sweet Village, but it was surprising as I stood there in the Winter dank. And while the cars converged and the runners within grouped off and headed into the inky mists, I remained alone. Stood up. Not by one companion, but by both. If only I realized at the time the wisdom of their ways.
Well, after waiting a time in the cool darkness of the grand park's lobby, I gathered my strength and courage to head off into those hill alone. One of the great unspoken mantras that flows through our blood and out in our sweat are the words "never run alone", a truth that takes on even greater meaning out there. There are many great stories telling tales of the adventures (or misadventures) that have befallen single runners of those woods, stories that have reached mythic status. There are those who talk of vast owls, of swarms of bees, of attack poison ivy, of herds of deer ready to spray you with musk or gore you with their bull's antlers, of dogs attached to their owners by leashes that stretch clear across the path; some speak of horses wild and free, and others fear beastly but rarely seen flying monkeys. There are many dangers out there, all praying on the lonely runner. But I knew I could do it. I have seen lesser men with such courage, or perhaps foolhardiness. Off I went.
(Given the light drizzly rain, I knew from hard experience that my glasses would not help me see, so I left them on my dashboard. My eyes were not to be with me this day.)
As I ascended the first hill, looping far off to the right and then back around to the left, and still in the low light of the predawn dank, I began to realize that the throngs of people who had gathered below had not followed into the heights. Perhaps they had taken the route backwards. Or perhaps they had chosen to get back in their cars and head to a local establishment to warm themselves with hot bitter beverage. Or perhaps one of the many dangers of the woods had taken them. I shall never know, for I ran alone. The only other runner I saw came up from behind in the first half mile (for indeed, I am apparently easy to catch up with), passed me, then as we committed to the route longer than 1.6 miles, she stopped, turned tail, and returned. Yes, my friends, she left me to suffer the wickedness alone (another wise runner, I can assure you).
The hills that follow are well described in the great literatures that abound among us. There are two that take on a particular notoriety, named simply by their locations. The first of the two fabled hills falls just as you begin to climb towards the waymark for the third mile, and stretches beyond it. This hill winds in and out, from side to side. Its wickedness comes from the combined effects of its grade and from the fact that you cannot see the efforts ahead of you; they are hidden, each, behind the next curve. Every time you approach what you perceive to be the end of the madness, you round a turn and see more beyond. By time you have reached the top, just past three miles into your trek, your will and energies have been sapped. To accentuate the devil in this rise, when you finally come to its full height, two paths appear before you. You can either continue on in your suffering, heading straight into the dense grove with 8 more miles to cover, or you can turn left and escape as a nave with only 5.8 miles under your belt. Of course, on this day, my plan had been to escape quickly.
The second hill is more subtle, and in that subtleness lurks the distress of all those who attempt it. Unlike the hill we have just considered, the hill that bridges the ninth waymark is fully apparent. Its endpoints are nearly all visible from where it begins. But this hill, like that at Areopagus (strangely, both are to the west of a Parthenon), will judge you and your skills with complete unbridled objectivity. Before you approach this hill, you have to overcome other tests of strength and will, including eight miles afoot at uncomfortable paces and several opportunities to stop and turn-tail or escape to pursue more civil aspirations. But in the final mile as you approach the local Areopagus, there is an imperceptible yet persistent upward climb that slowly wears away your reserves until they are inadequate for the task at hand. And at that moment, you face the great hill. As you mount its asphalt, the entirety of the effort ahead visible to you (but somehow unknown) there is no pace that is correct. Run too fast and you will not have the necessary fuel in your depleted legs to make it. Run to slowly and the mount will outlast your will. Best just to put your head down and go on blindly. When you reach the connector road (the very one the naves such as myself on this day doing just 5.8 miles use), you are only halfway up. By time you reach the top, weakened and poor, you do not have the focus to look around you at the grand vistas on display.
But the great stories that consider these hills all ignore the truth that is clear to anybody who regularly impales their spirit on them: there is another. This rise takes its bane in its anonymity. Like the little jingle admonishing runners from going out alone, the hills at miles three and nine are known to the entire community. But the hill at mile one is unavowed. A warrior can prepare for the enemy he knows and a combatant can fight the enemy for which she has prepared. The runner unaware of the hill at mile one, which is in the end no more than a short and aggressive steep, can find themselves beaten down before they have had the opportunity to get going. Without adequate preparation and the correct mental game (as with most in running), the runner beat by One Mile Hill will not finish the entire route in proper form.
I have run these hills and have known their dangers. I believed myself well prepared for anything that they have to offer, be it twist and turn, beastly hill or ghastly beast. I was ready. To mount the hill at mile one, the runner simply requires a knowledge that it is there, and an ability to address oneself to a careful pace, balanced between speed and climb. So on this morning, I put my head down, focused on my foot placements and began the climb. All my energies were strained towards the single and first goal of my day, passing that first waymark, the mark at the hill's crest. Friends, please understand, a unary focus on anything will damn you in these woods.
As I crested the hill, my legs burning and my awareness coming out of singular devotion, is saw the enemy ahead. Well, without my glasses, I sort of saw it. As I was running forward, mostly with an uncontrollable forward inertia, I observed a blurry and small black animal waddling my way. What was this critter? I have never before seen such a form, and the glasses sitting on my dashboard so many steps back were of no help. Momentum was in me, and forward I went. As I came closer to this black waddling mass, it seemed to grow out of proportion to what the shrinking perspective would allow. And then it dawned on me, the thing was raising its tail, as if in alarm. The beast was afraid of me and was using its tail to appear larger, perhaps to frighten me away. Yet if it were afraid, why did it continue to approach me, what was its devious plan? And then, suddenly, it came into full focus, white-striped black-tail and all.
Friends, this was a skunk. Its tail raised not to invoke fear (at least not directly) but to expose those terrible glands.
Still tired from One Mile Hill, and not yet fully awake in the predawn murk, I somehow managed to ignore the laws of physics and move in a fully perpendicular direction, out of the skunk's path. Only narrowly did I avoid piquing a spray, and the odor of the skunk's trail followed me, but not so long as the visions will.
So a word of warning as you run the hills in this fine land, be vigilant, for there are skunks.
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Comments
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JmacTN
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I know where that is now! I have driven past it a few times, but never have actually been there. I will check it out next chance I get.
(2-15-2007 10:44 AM)
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Trent
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Cool. Percy Priest is on the other side of town. Percy Warner is near Belle Meade and Bellevue, just west of Vanderbilt and White Bridge Road. It is nearly 3000 acres of rolling hills and woods. There are several great running/biking routes there that make you work! Check the map link I put below.
(2-14-2007 2:27 PM)
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JmacTN
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I have ridden a few times at Hamilton Creek by Percy Preist Lake.
(2-14-2007 12:17 PM)
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Trent
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JmacTN, that is all in Percy Warner Park. The route I describe is the loop that starts from the corner of Belle Meade Boulevard and Page Road. You can see the routes here - http://harpethhillsmarathon.com/parkmap/ . It is a great place to run, walk, hike, bike, horseback ride, etc. And there is an adventure race there once a year now too.
(2-13-2007 11:09 AM)
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melolympia
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I feel your pain. My dog has been sprayed before and it was so gross. You lucked out. Whenever you see that tail raise, RUN!
(2-12-2007 10:45 PM)
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JmacTN
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Good story. I live in Nashville. Where are these hills you that you describe in great detail? I need to check it out.
(2-12-2007 8:08 PM)
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Wade
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Wow, what a story. You definitely skirted a bad situation there! I've never been sprayed, but my dog was once when I was a kid... NOT FUN!
(2-12-2007 3:47 PM)
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