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Moosilauke: Little Boy, Big Mountain

One noteworthy footnote about Mr. P and I is that, in our pre-Little Boy days, we spent about 4 and half years climbing all 48 4000+ foot mountains in the White Mountains region of New Hampshire, finishing with the beautiful Bondcliff in May of 2010. Obviously, welcoming Little Boy into our lives put a damper (well worth it, of course!) on our mountain adventures… but only a temporary damper (evil Mommy giggle).

Now, I will say one thing about Little Boy: He is not thrilled by the mere act of hiking. He would much rather be frolicking in the swimming pool, playing on the playground, or doing just about anything else aside from walking in the woods. So, we offer incentives and bribery (post-hike pizza, hamburgers, television) and make it interesting along the way (finding technical trails with lots of rocks, playing “throw pine cones at the leader”, grossly exaggerating our inability to follow simple cairns/trail markers, etc.). We don’t want to force our interests on Little Boy, but Mr. P and I both believe in the benefits of taking little kids on big hikes: for the exercise and uninterrupted family time; to build an appreciation, understanding, and respect of nature; and for all the character-building that comes with climbing mountains (patience, confidence, self-reliance).

So, hiking all of the White Mountain 4000-footers with Little Boy (starting him young, progressing to his ‘tweens) has been sort of an idea of ours for a while, after he proved himself physically able to walk for 6-7 hours. We choose Moosilauke as his first 4000-footer because of the stupendous bald summit, of its popularity (Little Boy moves much better when he sees a lot of other hikers), and the relatively gradual climb. I mean, gradual for a 4000-footer. It was still about 3.7 miles up 2450 feet of elevation gain, then 3.7 miles back… in retrospect, a little too much for those little legs, but I don’t think it completely destroyed him because he was running to the car at the end. I mean, sprinting. Kid wanted to get the heck away from that mountain.

To back up: we left for the White Mountains on Saturday morning. En route to the campground near Mount Moosiluake, we stopped at Rattlesnake Mountain near Plymouth, a short but steep 1000-foot climb that yielded a decent view and a veritable shitload of wild blueberries.

Digging into lunch (and flask!) at the meager summit

Foraging for blueberries

Checking berries before consumption

I look pushy, but I'm really telling Little Boy how the trail markers painted on bald rocks sometimes tell us to turn

Us on Rock

After the short but rewarding hike, we checked into our campground. Instead of a state park, we opted to try one of those gigantic, RV-ridden family campgrounds because it had a spectacular pool with a water slide that we knew Little Boy would love. Thankfully, the camp sites themselves are fairly wooded and clean, so it was worth it just to see Little Boy’s face when he saw the pool…

Campground Pool

I really didn’t want to go in the pool, but Little Boy and Mr. P were insistent… I think because they wanted to forever embarrass me with this picture:

One of us is dreading the plunge

After romping in the pool, we headed back to the campsite for dinner. Gourmet campfire cuisine, comin’ up.

Hotdogs and various grilled nightshades

Upon waking on Sunday morning, we fueled up on carbs and headed off to the Moosilauke trailhead, arriving promptly at 9am. Little Boy flew for the first two miles. I mean, Killian Journet-style flew. As we predicted, the sight of other people on the trail was highly motivating; we passed a group of older hikers and he was obsessed by the notion that they would catch up to us. Knowing his energy would be rapidly depleted, we tried to temper his pace but he kept going. Until about mile 2, when he began to complain and would only proceed after being fed gummy snacks.

Flying up the trail

Technical and steep trail = more gummy snacks

Reaching the cairns and in view of the summit-- "Mama, I'm not bored anymore"

This is fun!

The shot of the day, courtesy of the talented Mr. P

Summit at last!

It wasn’t easy… but that’s sort of the point. I made a big deal about the hike afterwards — giving Little Boy lots of indulgences, because “You hiked a mountain.” That’s what I want him to remember. I want him to look at his legs and think “These legs climb mountains” so that he may revel in the pure power of himself.

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By Meredith – July 30, 2013

2013 Vermont 100K Race Report

I signed up for the Vermont 100K way back in late January when it seemed winter weather wouldn’t preclude springtime hill-training at Wachusett. The decision to sign-up was made during a rare date night for Mr. P and me; we had arranged a group baby-sitting situation so we could enjoy copious amounts of raw fish at the local sushi joint. Perhaps it was the saki: Mr. P demanded that I sign-up for the VT 100K and promised me that he’d be my pacer if we could arrange childcare for Little Boy. (Grandparents to the rescue! My mother and step-father were available and willing to come to Vermont to take care of Little Boy while Mr. P paced me from miles 39.5 to 62.1. Ironically, I believe the VT 100K was our first ‘date night’ since the sushi.)

Then, February exploded with snow and in spring I was skiing Wachusett instead of running up the mountain road. May and June were so busy that I just never had the time to do long runs on hills; I did finish the now-infamous inaugural TARC 50 miler, yet though the mud was plentiful, the elevation was minimal… so, I felt under-prepared for the Vermont 100K, with its 8000+ feet of elevation gain on relentless Vermont hills!

Still, I was committed. Last Friday, we headed up to Vermont for the late-afternoon registration and pre-race meeting. As I mentioned, my mom and step-father came all the way from PA to help us; by a great stroke of luck, we randomly happened upon each other on the remote Vermont dirt road near the big white tents. I received my bib and had my medical check, where they took my weight (135.0, which seemed low) and blood pressure (120 over 60, which seemed high) as baselines to check against as the race progressed. Then, we sat through the highly-entertaining pre-race meeting, where we were advised on how the course was marked, how to run simultaneously with horses, and how not to poop on someone’s lawn. Although, honestly, if you need advice about that…

The best thing about 100K is that it started at 9am, allowing me to sleep in and eat a leisurely breakfast. Instead of camping at the finish line with the 100-milers (who started at 4am), we camped at nearby Mt Ascuntey State Park under a lean-to. We were awoken around midnight by a tremendous thunderstorm; this cooled off the humidity a bit, but put me on edge. Still, I managed to go back to sleep and woke up at 7am for a bit of coffee and blueberry bread. We made our way to the starting line to meet the rest of my family/crew.

Applying pre-race sunscreen

Minutes before the start

Welcome 100 Milers, but apparently not 62.1 Milers

The race started suddenly, without a lot of fanfare (only about 50 runners were doing the 100K, compared to the 300 runners in the 100 miler). I settled into a leisurely middle-of-the-pack jog as the field made its way up and down the gentle hills of the dirt road. Not going to work too hard! I did pass a few people in the first couple of miles, but by the time we reached the first aid station at mile 6, everyone was spread out and settled (until the first 100-miler roared passed us, making us feel rather pathetic).

Around then I started talking with two guys who knew each other from a previous ultra. We swapped stories and chatted easily, passing the early miles quickly. At Camp 10 Bear (the most populous aid station and a medical check, as all runners go there twice and most pick up pacers there), I was weighed: 137.8. “Only I could run 10 miles and gain three pounds,” I quipped to the medical staff as I headed off to eat some watermelon. Though the day was warm and humid, a nice breeze was keeping me surprisingly cool. I took off running with one of the guys I was talking to before (the other one was trying to call his wife via the spotty cell coverage). We wound up running the next 2 hours together. The conversation combined with the spectacular New England scenery had me feeling pretty good!

It looked like this for 30 miles

In the distance, just another VT hill

We soon separated when he stopped for a bathroom break. I caught up to a woman around my age from the Boston suburbs. My guess is she started too fast, as her pace and feet were dragging, but I decided that slowing down around mile 20 was probably good for me too. Together, we headed to Margaritaville, where my crew and Little Boy awaited!

Mile 23-ish

So happy to see my family!

They brought me a chocolate bar, which I nibbled on (I think Little Boy ate more than I did!) I was still able to eat solid food at that point, so I ate some turkey sandwich and ginger candy. Seeing them was such a boast and I charged out of Margaritaville at a blistering 12 minute mile pace 😉

I wouldn’t be seeing them for another 17 miles, when Mr. P would join me as my pacer. I spent those 17 miles all by my lonesome, as the pack had spread pretty thin by then. Occasionally a 100-miler elite would pass me. The people at the aid stations were pretty fantastic, but I tried not to stay too long. I leap-frogged with another woman around mile 30; she would pass me on the downhills and I’d climb past her on the uphills. We made it back to Camp 10 Bear at around the same time, and right when it started to rain pretty hard. I was weighed in — this time, I was down to 132, still within an acceptable range, but I decided to drink more. Camp 10 Bear was a zoo, with pacers waiting for their runners and everyone crowding under the tents to stay dry. I drank some soda and picked at some fruit. I really should have tried to eat more but my stomach was starting a quiet rebellion.

On the steep climb out of Camp 10 Bear, I passed the other woman for the last time and continued my solitary jog. I was passed by a few 100 milers (including the lead woman, who looked downright jaunty) and passed a 100K guy who blew out his quads and was going downhill backwards (“Too many ultras,” he told me.) I felt pretty good except for the slight queasiness in my stomach and tiredness in my hips.

I passed a photographer in a grassy field, who called to me “Don’t worry, your hair still looks great!”

“Yeah, but is my mascara running?” Ha ha ha.

I was close to the Spirit of ’76 aid station (mile 39.5) and again jubilant to see my family/crew and start running with Mr. P. What a boast! Together, Mr. P and I ran out of the aid station. The excitement kept me going for a few miles, but soon the relentless hills and the realization that I had 20 more miles started to really “get” me. I concentrated on following Mr. P, who ran about ten feet in front of me. His “pacer” style was perfect; he kept me moving without pushing me too hard. At the pre-race meeting, they mentioned the pros and cons of letting family members pace you (versus the race arranging you with volunteers/strangers) but in our case, it worked out really well. Mr. P and I have hiked and skiied countless hours together and he has always been very sensitive to my slower pace; running the last 22 miles of the VT 100K was no different.

Following Mr. P into the sunset

Around sunset is also when the horses began to pass us — a few at first, then as darkness fell, a lot. What a kick to see!

Horses

We reached Bill’s aid station (mile 51) soon after complete sunset. It was another medical check. This time, my weight was back exactly at 135.0, which seemed okay since I was weighed pre-pee break. I still felt pretty… cohesive. Mr. P ate A LOT of food, which I envied him for, although my nausea would dissipate after drinking some beef broth. We took off from Bill’s, following the glow sticks lighting the way on the roads and the trails. Thanks to Mr. P, I didn’t have to think about where to go — I just followed his feet.

From miles 52 to 55, I was re-energized. My stomach and legs felt good and I was really attacking the hills. I just wanted to be done. Then, Mr. P said “Only 10k to go!” For some reason, this just killed me. I was thinking how most people go out and run 10K and that’s more than enough for them. And here I am, doing this crazy 100K race that involves the time and energy of so many people, and I just wanted to stop running but I couldn’t. 10k to go.

More 100-milers passed us, including the second-female, who was wayyy too chipper. The hills just wouldn’t stop. Even when we reached the last mile, there was a steep hill. What sadists. It’s bad enough to do that to someone who just ran 61 miles, but think about the person on mile 99!

I crossed the finish line feeling brutalized and oh-so grateful to be able to stop running. There were a fair amount of people at the finish line, cheering loudly, and Mr. P tried to shake my hand but I planted a quick kiss on his lips. A woman gave me a medal and I staggered over to the tent near the finish line, looking for water. Instead it was the results. Look at that… I finished fourth girl. Yes, 15 hours, 12 minutes… I pushed myself so hard in the last 10 miles so I wouldn’t be passed, but it turned out the next women was nearly 2 hours behind me, and the third woman was about an hour ahead of me. So I finished solidly as fourth girl. Yet again! Fourth girl seems to be my destiny!

We finally found water and food (I choked down the nastiest grilled cheese ever and some fruit that had started to turn) and then drove back to the campground. Coin-operated shower at 1am… in bed at 1:30am. Ahhhh. Four hours of blissful sleep then my digestive system woke me up at 5:30am, begging for the bathroom. I hadn’t really slept long enough to really set off the DOMS, but oh, I could feel something in my legs. I let Mr. P sleep in until about 8:00am, when my hunger for calories could not longer be ignored. We packed up the tent and headed over to the general store for some eggs and toast, then went to my mother’s hotel to check on Little Boy. From there, we headed over to the finish line to pick up my trophy: 100K in under 20 hours, it says (I imagine that sorta peeves the winner, who finished under 10 hours).

Trophy

What an experience! Thanks to everyone for helping me attain this milestone of dubious sanity!

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By Meredith – July 25, 2013

Bad Guy Underwear

Little Boy now willingly dresses and undresses himself independently, with the exception of buttons, some zippers, and shoelaces. It is just another milestone that I thrill over (all those extra minutes gained on busy weekday mornings!) while feeling sorta sad (are those extra minutes of productivity more important than nurturing my darling son?)

Before his morning shower (which, heh, he is still dependent on me for), I lay out his clothes on his bed so I can shuttle him into his room after said shower and then shower myself. Precious minutes, gained!

This morning, he came back to me — totally nude, of course, because there is yet to be any shame — while I was in the shower:

“MAMA!” He was alarmed.

“Yes?”

“MAMA, there are A LOT OF BAD guys on my underwear!”

Yes, in honor of summer camp and the twice-a-day changing into swimming gear, we have new underwear — Star Wars lego-themed underwear. And indeed, this particular pair of underwear did have a lot of bad guys on it.

Little Boy was evidently going through one kind of moral conundrum, as to whether wearing underwear with bad guys on it was the right thing to do. The previous day, he wore Chewbacca underwear, so it is understandable why going so abruptly to the Dark Side would be difficult.

I looked at the underwear and there was only one bad guy on it — Darth Vader, pictured many times — but by then Little Boy was pulling them on, evidently now unconcerned.

I found this all very amusing. There will come a time when Little Boy is grown and off doing his own thing, and I will think back on moments like these, when his main preoccupation was about the sheer amount of bad guys adorning his underwear.

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By Meredith – July 19, 2013

More Hot Fun

A former classmate of Little Boy’s comes from money; her parents hosted a pre-school graduation party that, frankly, put every other parent to shame. “What the heck are they going to do when she graduates high school?” we whispered to each other as we eyed the bounce house and furtively nibbled at the catered spread under the tent canopy while watching the hired Spiderman and Cinderella impersonators cavort with our children:

The Cinderella picture reminds me of a picture taken last weekend, when we traveled to Pennsylvania and visited the Lancaster County cousins. Little Boy has a phalanx of beautiful young blond female cousins, all of whom have ardent affection for their contemporary boy cousin:

As usual, Pennsylvania was an action-packed long weekend of family fun and adventures. Mr. P and I managed to go on a date. A trail race date, that is. Because if given the choice between relaxing in matrimonial solitude with a bottle of wine and plates of pork belly confit atop caramelized kohlrabi…. or running 30K in a buggy, humid Pennsylvania forest on a Sunday morning… apparently we are deranged enough to choose the latter.

Enter the Double Trouble 15K or 30K in French Creek State Park. It’s a race put on by Pretzel City Sports, a PA-based organization that Mr. P and I are totally fans of. Fun, challenging races with a charismatic race director who has twice had the opportunity to tell me “Train harder” because I keep placing in fourth.

I took on the 30K, which reduced me to a squishy, sweaty mess. (Not nearly as squishy or sweaty as the VT 100K will in 10 days, so it’s all in good practice).

Thumbs Down near the Finish Line -- because I'm sweaty ;-(

Where is the freaking finish?

Seriously, my Garmin says 19.2 miles... WHERE IS THE FINISH?

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By Meredith – July 10, 2013

Hot Fun in the Summertime

I’m getting behind on posting about all of the fun summer things we’re doing, probably because we’re so busy doing fun summer things.

It’s… a vicious cycle of fun!

After dinner, you can usually find us romping on the local playground/rec field

So far it’s been a wet, humid, overly disgusting summer.

I’m running the Vermont 100K in less than 3 weeks so I’ve been training in the humidity as much as I can. Oh, bother. This type of weather kills me but I’m fully expecting Vermont to be as hot and sticky as a trail runner’s toe blister guard. According to most training plans, right now I should be “peaking” in my training and beginning to taper, but there’s an 18-mile trail race I want to do next weekend. And anyway, since I’ve been unable to do hardly any elevation training, I figure Vermont’s going to be one long uphill-downhill hike anyway.

More than a week ago on my long run on the local running trail, I tripped over a rock and fell pretty hard. Perhaps I wasn’t picking up my feet high enough due to residual lower-leg fatigue from the TARC 50… but, pride compels me to instead blame the overgrown grass on the side of the trail that obscured the rock that caught my left toe. I was going slightly downhill, slightly faster than I normally go, and my legs just couldn’t catch myself before I sailed resolutely into a concentrated field of other rocks.

I landed hard. Pain screamed from my left leg, my left arm, and my left hip. I momentarily thought I broke something. I panicked — I was 5 miles from home on a very unused trail (the mountain bikers have abandoned me now that prickly summer berry bushes are crowding the thin single-track of dirt trail). I pictured myself crawling to the nearest road and flagging down a passing car. Luckily, after a few minutes of examining, jabbing, and experimenting, I was able to stand and even run home. I was very lucky on the fall — judging by the configuration of cuts and bruises, I had avoided slamming multiple vital bones on pointy rocks by mere centimeters. The worst injury was on my left shin, a deep but small cut that throbbed and gushed blood through my compression sleeves but narrowly missed gauging my tibia.

Did I mention this happened the morning of Little Boy’s 5th birthday???

Though no bones were broken, this fall was the worst of my trail running career by far. I was scared enough that I resolved never to go trail running again without a cell phone. So on last Saturday’s 13-mile trail run (16 was planned, but the oppressive humidity causes me to run short of water quite early) I was able to snap pictures of the Western Greenway Trail, my bread-and-butter training trail that I truly consider “mine” because A: it’s 1.5 miles from my front door and B: I rarely see anyone except the dog-walkers and light-hikers within a half-mile of the parking area (since the mountain bikers have abandoned me until the autumn…)

I will be the first to admit that I look pretty bad in this picture. I had no idea that running in my glasses made me look like such a huge nerd! but I rarely put in my contacts for early morning runs. I’m posting this unflattering picture to prove that, despite my beguiling pics from the TARC 50, trail running isn’t all glamor and beauty:

This is my trail. After my fall and fears of bone fracturing… after hearing my near-daily complaints about bug bites, cobwebs, mud, paranoia about strangers and poison ivy (which I don’t even seem to be allergic to, given that I’ve never had it despite all my time in the woods — if genetics are a factor, then thank you Dad!)… Mr. P wonders, why don’t I just go 100% road running? This is what he’s done. He’s decided that trail running isn’t for him, and whenever I do manage to get him on a trail, he’ll complain for weeks after that he incurred an injury from the uneven terrain and look pointedly at me whenever he gets the ice pack from the freezer.

But I can’t give up my trail. I’m convinced it makes me stronger, both physically and mentally. I will brave the humidity, the insects/ticks, the overgrown berry bushes, and all the perilous hazards of trail running for the yielding ground, the whipping leaves, the calming peace that restores me after a trail run. This is my trail, and I can only hope my body stays strong and healthy enough to be worthy of it.

My trail (at its best)

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By Meredith – July 2, 2013

Party like a 5 Year Old

Last week we celebrated Little Boy’s 5th birthday with a pool party for him and 16 of his closest friends.

The Boys
Splash!

Oh, the fun. After one hour of romping in the pool, the kids emerged, got dressed, and headed into the party room for pizza, fruit, and cake. What a life, these kids.

Partying Like Rockstars
Raising his hand for fruit punch while amusing his BFF

Little Boy wanted a Transformer cake. He received probably the wildest and loudest rendition of “Happy Birthday” I have yet to hear at one of these kiddie b-days. It was so loud, his other BFF covered his ears and cowered while Little Boy subdued the cake fire.

Of course, the best part was when we got home and unleashed Little Boy upon his 16 presents. It was like Christmas. It was better than Christmas. It was enough Legos to build a life-sized cabin.

The Birthday Haul

Primus the kitty-cat had a pretty good time with the bows, ribbons, bags, and wrapping. Little Boy received so many presents that he didn’t even question where OUR birthday present to him was. Or maybe he actually remembered that it is, in fact, the kitty-cat.

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By Meredith – July 1, 2013

Pics from Tarc 50 Miler

One week ago, I was finishing up the TARC 50 Miler… I’m now almost fully recovered from running 50 miles with about a pound of water and mud in my shoes, which definitely tweaked the muscles around my ankles. I have been mostly swimming, though I went for a slowww 7 mile run on Wednesday and then a 2 mile shakeout jog on Thursday. Training for the Vermont 100K resumes in about ten minutes.

Photos taken during the race were subsidized courtesy of GU, who makes those disgusting yet vital Chomps energy chews that have gotten me through so many long runs.

Looking at this finish-line photo, I’m reliving the quandary: running made every muscle in my legs groan, yet walking made me want to vomit. If I stopped running, would my digestive system finally muster the blood flow to regurgitate 12 hours of GU?

No, it didn’t. Though I’m sure they would have taken a photo of that, too…

Finish line

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By Meredith – June 22, 2013

Preschool Graduation

Today was Little Boy’s preschool graduation ceremony. We laughed, we cried, we listened to the kids tentatively sing “Blackbird” and “Here Comes the Sun.”

Pomp and Circumstance

Little Boy was right in the front, relishing in the revelry.

So proud of himself!

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By Meredith – June 21, 2013

TARC 50 Miler 2013

I ran 50 miles last Friday night. I really did! It took me 12 hours, 10 minutes, so I was basically running from 7pm until 7am. Sounds crazy, but the TARC 50 miler was the wussy-option for Massachusetts’ first 100 mile race, the TARC 100 miler… so, there were people exponentially more crazy than me out there.

First: EPIC mud. The last few weeks of rain, including at least three days of heavy downpours, left the normally-bucolic course in Weston, MA extremely muddy, with vast stretches of knee-deep mud that runners had no choice but to trudge through. By mile 3, my sneakers, socks, and feet were soaked — and they remained wet for the next 47 miles.

The mud actually caused 60% of the runners in both the 50m and 100m to drop out — from twisted ankles, from fatigue, from pure mental wear. Had I known that so many people were dropping out, I probably would have joined the ranks… especially at around 3am, around mile 32, when my hips were sore and I became slightly nauseous and unable to eat any solid food. The nighttime stomping through mud and water, which a few hours before seemed really cool and fun, was becoming tedious to say the least.

Epic Mud (courtesy of another runner) -- imagine it at night!

At one aid station, I surveyed the selection of pizza, brownies, cookies, and candy with hunger for calories subdued by vague nausea. The volunteer — who happened to be one the premier ultrarunners in New England — asked me what I needed. “I’m losing the ability to eat, so maybe some Ginger Aid?” I was asking for Ginger Ale, but I was so delirious I kept calling it Ginger Aid. Do’oh. In addition to giving me a cup of said beverage, he forced me a handful of Saltines, too.

Still, the nausea persisted, but so did I. I ran. I ran. I talked with people. They’d become my BFF for a mile or two and then we’d part ways. I listened to my iPod — a strange melange of Erasure, AC/DC, Mumford and Sons, and Awolnation got me through to mile 45. By then, it was sunlight. I was tired but my legs suddenly felt revived. All I could think about was the finish line. I ran through the final aid station at mile 47.5. I ran! I bounded through mud. At mile 49, my shoes became stuck and I totally wiped out into thick puddle of mud, drenching my entire right arm, leg, and buttock in clingy chunky mud. I kept running. I passed a few volunteers at the road crossing — “I hope I’m not the only one covered in mud?” I asked them as I passed. They laughed and assured me that I wasn’t. As I came into the finish line at 7:10am, the crowd went wild — granted, the crowd was about 30 tired volunteers and spectators waiting for their loved ones, but the sight of a crazed mud-covered girl with comely blond braids was evidently pleasing. I wish I had pictures, but you just have to picture it — I forbid Mr. P to come and see me with Little Boy. But here’s a pic about 5 hours later, after a bath and a nap, relaxing poolside at the birthday party of one of Little Boy’s best friends. Wearing, proudly, my race t-shirt. Hair cleaned and re-braided.

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By Meredith – June 16, 2013

Welcome, Primus

I’ve been wanting to get a kitty-cat for a long time. Like, years. I’m a cat person… and I suspect that Mr. P is a cat person, even if he’s never had a cat and hence doesn’t yet identify himself as such. Yet.

Little Boy isn’t really a cat person — too extroverted, too conservative. But, he’s a kitten person — playful, full of energy.

Meet his new best friend, Primus. Originally termed “Optimus Prime” by Little Boy, we talked him down to “Prime” and then decided on “Primus.” It’s Latin, so Mr. P was pleased.

So far, a really good kitten. Tidy, playful, and cute as heck.

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By Meredith – June 9, 2013