Running With Scissors

"Remember what your mother told you about not running with scissors? Forget all that," Jeff tells me as he hands me a giant pair of pruning shears.

I'm out with the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club on the south end of Massanutten Mountain near Catherine's Furnace. This is a trail maintenance trip for the upcoming Catherine's Fat Ass 50K and training run for those who want to see the course. I decided to come out to get in a training run on some rough terrain before I run my first trail marathon on July 29 - the Grand Island Trail Marathon. I've heard the people in VHTRC are pretty fast, so I'm hoping that the trail work will slow the pace enough for me to keep up on what will be my first trail run ever. I'm supposed to get 20 miles in today. I don't know if that will happen but I'm prepared to either run more at home in the afternoon or push the 20-miler back to next week which will still give me plenty of time to taper before July 29.

Unfortunately, because this is a trail maintenance trip, that means I have to carry tools while running, yet another new experience.

We met at the Centerville Park and Ride at 7 AM. There are 5 of us. We head out to Catherine's Furnace where we split into two groups to cover two different sections of the trail. I'm paired up with Vicky, who I am told has just completed races of 50 miles, 100K, and 70 miles in 3 consecutive weeks.

Jeff, the Catherine's race director, tells me to treat the first portion of our trail as "glaze ice" and I quickly discover why. The trail follows the rock path of a stream bed and is littered with mossy rocks. It's not runnable - very steep and slick, and there are about 10 crossings of an icy stream which is running high and fast due to all the rain we've had. I get stymied trying to hop from rock to rock on the first stream crossing and Vicky has to put out her hand to help me across. She knows its my first trail run and she's told me it will be difficult. She seems nice and willing to help me out, but I still feel like a neophyte and worry that I'm going to be dragging her down.

Up the mountain we go, and Vicky isn't running, but she's speeding over the rocks like a marmot and I have to run wherever possible to keep up. She bounds through the stream crossings - practically walking on the thigh high water ferociously rushing over hidden moss-covered rocks strewn like mines. I pick my way gingerly across each one, hanging on to whatever I can for dear life, trying not to fall on the pruning shears gripped in my other hand.

The trail straightens out and moves away from the stream and the rocks, but conditions don't get any better. Now its covered in several inches of sucking mud. I almost lose my shoes more than once. But I am making better time keeping up with Vicky now, able to run and not having to pick over the rocks. On this section her advantage of experience isn't quite as great.

We drop our tools at the head of a side trail up to an overlook. Vicky wants to show me why running the trails is so worthwhile out here. She also wants to find a bear and thinks this will be the most likely spot. We head up a quarter mile and are treated to a view of the patchwork quilt of the Shennandoah Valley, the hazy Blue Ridge in the distance, and the ridges of Massanutten taunting us from both sides. Vicky points out the location of an aid station for the race on the next peak over. No bears though. I am secretly thankful for that.

From here it's downhill back to the road, and while I think it's going to be no problem keeping up with Vicky on this section, she once again shows me the value of experience. The descent is steep and straight and the rains have littered the trail with fist-sized loose rocks. A thin layer of silt and running water covers it all. I get going too fast for my comfort level, burning my quads as a tough ski-run would do. Before I know what's happening I stumble on a rock and go down. I have the prescence of mind to flip myself over on my back (pruning shears up) before I land and I'm not hurt. It was actually a little fun, and I feel more like a genuine trail runner now - covered in mud, scraped up, legs feeling like jello.

I meet Vicky at the bottom of the road where she's got her shoes off, rinsing them out in the stream. I proudly tell her about my fall and she congratulates me. She points out a natural spring from which I can fill my water bottles. The water is icy and completely tasteless. It's the perfect refreshment after an hour and a half of hard running.

Here we have a choice to make. The other group is shuttling between two ends of of another trail which starts and ends on this road. We can head up a couple of miles or down a mile to either end. Vicky leaves the choice up to me. I came out here to get some climbing in, so I decide we should head up. Footing's not an issue on this gravel road, but Vicky's legs are used to the beating we just took on the trail, and mine are not, so I fall behind once again. She gradually works her way out of sight and I start to feel a little defeated. I have no idea what my pace is but its not fast. I take a litte restroom break (the nice part about being away from civilization is not having to worry about finding bathrooms) and start jogging again. Shortly after I see Vicky heading back toward me. "I thought you got kidnapped!" I think, no I'm just slow, but tell her I had to stop to use the facilities.

She doesn't get out of my sight again, and soon I see her standing at the top of a hill waving to me. I can't hear what she's yelling so I trudge up the hill. Looks like we're at the trailhead where the other group's car is parked. We take a break and sit in the shade, but after 10 minutes of swatting away flies determine we should head back down the road to the other end of the trail and hopefully catch the other group on the way back up the road to the car.

We start down and Vicky sticks with me, asking about the marathon. After taking 2 hours to run maybe 8 miles I tell her I've decided all notions of a time goal have just gone out the window, and she reassures me that I should be able to do the marathon in 5 hours if the trail isn't as technical. She recommends I do another run on a more rolling trail to practice footing and work the hill muscles without the demanding climbs and offers to set up a group training run for next week. These trail people are much less competitive than road racers it seems.

As we descend on the road we pass roaring waterfalls. Vicky stops to admire them and tells me this scenery is why she loves these trails. It is quiet and beautiful and spiritual in a way running down the crowded Mt. Vernon trail never is. Rather than listening to my feet and counting steps till mile markers, I'm looking at the scenery, stopping to admire a bird or a waterfall, not even concentrating on how many miles I've been.

We get down to the bottom of the road and the other trailhead where we are expecting to see the group. But they aren't there. We stop for a bit and wash ourselves off in the stream, but the flies are at it again, and even though my quads are telling me I can't run another step after several miles of downhill, and I want to throw the pruning shears into the woods, Vicky wants to start heading up the trail to intercept the other group.

I'm starting to get worried we'll never see them and I'll be forced to keep running uphill like Sisyphus for all eternity, but we see them in several hundred feet. We turn around and head back. Vicky wants to get in a few more miles snd starts heading up the road. We'll pick her up on the way to get the other car. She asks if I'm coming. I know I haven't run anywhere near my 20 miles for the day (Jeff tells me I might have done 10 in the three hours we were out), but I also know my legs will give out if I run one more step. They feel weak and jellyfish-like. Its a feeling I haven't experienced in a while. Plus I'm starving for some real food and all I have is gel. Clearly there's a reason most trail races stock "real" food at their aid stations in addition to gel and gatorade.

Rebecca, one of the runners in the other group, offers me a sandwich from her bag while Jeff brings out a cooler of beer. No food ever tasted so good as this does after being out in the mountains with some new friends.

Today I'm more sore than I have been in years after a run. I don't think I've felt like this since my first marathon. I didn't run as fast or as far as I have run before, but there are other challenges, such as tackling a relentless climb, scrambling over rocks, mastering the art of a controlled slide downhill. And other rewards. I've never run up a hill looking for bears. I've never just stopped on a run to admire the natural beauty with no regard to time. I've never filled my water bottle from a natural spring. I've never joked around with sandwiches and beer and a group of runners as fanatical as myself (even moreso) after a run. I've never run for the sheer joy of it.

Like running with scissors, doing something you're not "supposed" to do and that others will warn you away from (such as running up a mountain) can have risks. You can fall and scrape yourself on a rock. You can break bones. You can get swept away in a rushing river. You can land on a pair of pruning shears. But it can be beautiful too.

So go ahead. Run with scissors. Do something you've never done before. Do something others think is crazy. And have fun.