Going long

The daylight lasts longer than it did just last week, and will only to lengthen more as the seasons pass from frigid to tepid to enjoyable. This is the time of year when most of us are pulled back outdoors to the pursuits that make us whole. For me, that's running through the woods and fields. The winters in New Jersey have lately made it possible climate-wise to run year-long, but hunting season makes it a gamble. The NJDEP produces this ultimately confusing matrix to explain what is being hunted and when, but my confidence in my ability to read it leaves me fearful to step foot in the woods from November through March.

So once the woods are free of fleeing game and flying lead, I am gone.

So it is that they are free now, and I am busting my hump to try to get out there and go long, go so far that I am fearful of getting back before dark falls, so far that I measure the amount of fluids I have with me versus the prescribed amount that I should consume over time--and actually think about ditching theory and pushing the limits. But I know better, and always seem to return home in one piece.

There is so much I miss during the winter months and during injury time. The people in my life who are forced to deal with me on a daily basis, namely Jennifer, begs for the winter months to be over for much the same reason. Only in her version, it is so that my irritability will subside and I will be somewhat tolerable. She makes that trade willingly, knowing that several unwelcome consequences come along with it. Most objectionable to her is the "ick" factor that follows a few hours on the trail. For purposes of expiation, which this forum promotes, I'll let you in on some of the more unpleasant features of trail running for any considerable length.

Firstly, the smell of me coming back from a run is that odd high-school biology smell. Personally, I don't smell a thing, but normally the one who smells is ignorant of their offense anyway. However, judging by the reaction that I get from my wife I can only associate it with the way the girls in my sophomore biology lab looked when Dr. Setlock opened up the frog packages from Carolina Biological Supply.

Secondly, finding clothing that sits on your skin rather than erode it slowly is paramount. It is only through trial and error that I was able to figure this one out. Once, on returning to the trailhead in High Point State Park, I came across two young women who were about to set out on a day-hike through the park. A scant glance in my direction produced the kind of look reserved for women who hike in areas where people go missing and Ted Kaczinski's dwell in clapboard shacks. As I looked backed at them, I noticed their stares were directed at my chest and midsection where, unbeknownst to me, my shirt was soaked in the pinkish combination of sweat and blood. You see, there is a saying among outdoor purists: "Cotton kills." Now, I don't think that means what literally happened to me, but I did learn my lesson. Yes, the skin on my nipples did heal and I now pack band-aids in the event that it should happen again. Gross, I know, but people who run long can share a story very similar to that one.

I can't wait to get moving now...