1:30 pm, and my reactions aren’t done. There is little a chemist can do to
speed the work in the lab, so I pick my best friend and first option –
heat. The vials go in an aluminum
block at 40 C, slightly over my core temperature, much warmer than the ambient
air. I have a few hours to wait
before the endpoints are reached.
The day before Thanksgiving - I’m not supposed to be here
anyway, a vacation day placed on the books long before. I leave the building, step into the
frigid outside. Rain and sleet
pelt my face, but I don’t pull up a hood.
Moments later I’m in the rented Chrysler, climate control set to 75
degrees, engine pulling me along the busy, slushy streets. Soon we climb, leather-wrapped steel
beast and I, up the flanks of the Watchung Reservation, skidding dangerously if
slowly up the unplowed roads to the head of the Sierra and History trails.
Changing clothes in the driver’s seat of a car is always a
bit entertaining, even more so mid-week in cold weather. I toss slacks and shirt to the back seat;
drop loafers into the passenger foot well. Replace them with shorts, tech shirt, merino wool
long-sleeves, trail shoes. Add a
shell, wool cap, and gloves for warmth.
A camera for the moments.
A deep breath and I’m out in the snow. The cold isn’t as bad as I thought it
would be. The snow on the ground
holds together. It doesn’t
immediately soak my feet, and I’m glad for the reprieve. I snap a photo of the trailhead then
run through the image. Frozen
water and iced tree limbs, the bridge over Blue Brook’s unnamed tributary. Rocky steps up the embankment. Drooping branches, weighed down by the
snow. White planks of the
swamp-passing boardwalk.
Glistening bushes, covered in ice and thorns. A laurel tree, holding
fast to green, snow-covered leaves. I snap photo after photo, until the freezing wind on bare
legs reminds me that I’m here to run, not to attempt, however futilely, to
capture the first beauty of winter.
I stow the camera in a pocket and run onward.
The trail drops down to Blue Brook, skidding along a
slippery path. I practice the
sliding gait of the mountain goat.
At the bridge I turn left, eschewing the crossing. Crossing leads to miles of rocks and swamp
and memories of bruised, battered feet.
Instead I climb the steep ridge back to the Sierra trail. A fork greets me at the top. I muse on the road less traveled by;
how can you tell which it is, when yours are the first footprints in the snow? I plunge down the rightward path,
downhill and away from the cozy seat of my rented car. Whether less traveled or not, this is
the path to longer running.
The Sierra trail drops back to Blue Brook, then turns away. I abandon it, cross the footbridge, and
climb up the Northern embankment. On the climb I find my legs have little strength in
them. Is it the cold, or the trace
of flu haunting my lungs? Have
sleepless nights, courtesy of job stress and life, robbed me of my vigor? I patter onward, maintaining
cadence. I realize that the slow
pace doesn’t bother me. If nothing
else, the short strides and light footfalls protect me from the uneven ground
hidden beneath the snow. I act and
react, act and react, constantly recalibrating my position on the trail, climbing
upward to the ridge.
The weakness persists on the Northern ridge. I realize, despite the joy of running
in the snow, that I’ve been moving tensely, worrying about a slip or fall. I focus on relaxing. I focus on spreading my toes in advance
of the footfall, preparing to catch the ground rather than stab it. Subtly, my pace increases and my effort
drops. I start to float over the
sodden ground, then fly. I soar
over fallen trees, dodge past leaning thorns, splash through slushy puddles,
glissade down steep embankments.
The distance ticks by in an effortless stream.
At Surprise Lake I pause, struck by the singularity of an
empty bench by the water. On
warmer days this is a place to rest and reflect, a place to let the mind wander. A place where children sit while
parents fish, or where parents sit while children play. Today it is abandoned and covered in
ice. It is forbidding and
unwelcoming, alone. I imagine my
spirit perched beside it, a fair partner, unrealized, then I run onward. A piece of me, however small, stays
behind. Somehow this place, frozen
and silent, seems just about right.
Another climb and I’m back to the car. A meager half dozen miles, a few
hundred feet of climb. An entry in
my log book that wouldn’t garner a glance by its metrics, but a run that,
shrouded in snow and mystery, holds a special place. It’s the first run of this winter.
I drive back to the lab, chat strategy, attend to
business. My feet are still
cold. The reactions, heated, are
predictably done. I work them up,
record the data, purify the mixtures.
I place the products in a freezer, awaiting further use. They cool, and my feet warm. Balance, however boring, is restored.
I look out through the window, the landscape dark but for
the few streetlights. I finish my
reports. I will leave now to go
back to my family. A part of me,
however small, sits on a bench overlooking Surprise Lake. I feel strung out.
This weekend I will return to the trails. I imagine that the snow will still
shroud them, despite the many footprints placed in the interim. I will wear spikes to make sure I don’t
fall. I will run with happiness
and joy, and I will search, however futilely, for the part of me, left
behind.
A side note on food
In “Eat and Run”, Scott Jurek mentions a raw-food dish
derived from Lacinato kale, avocado’s, tomatoes, lemon juice, salt, and
vinegar. The full recipe is
apparently available in the book “Raw Power”, but as an experimenter in the kitchen (and a cheapskate!), I’ve avoided buying the book and instead created my own recipe for
kale guacamole. It turned out
remarkably well. Here’s what I
used:
½ pound Lacinato or tuscan kale, finely chopped (note: if
your hands aren’t tired, it’s not chopped finely enough)
1 table spoon sea salt
Juice of two lemons
2 table spoons rice vinegar
Mix these ingredients into the kale, press, then let the
mixture age while you prepare the guacamole
4 avocados, diced
1 and ½ cups tomatoes, diced (preferably a mix of roma and yellow
heirloom)
2 shallots, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, pressed
Juice of two limes
Diced jalapeño to taste (note: children don’t like
jalapeños)
Add these ingredients in a large mixing bowl, then add the
kale. I use a pastry blender to
homogenize the mixture.
I serve the resulting guacamole with celery sticks,
red and yellow pepper slices, and carrot sticks. It works best as an hor d’oeuver or side rather than main
fare. The dish is vegan with a
high fat/carbohydrate ratio and reasonably high calorie density, ideal for
low-inflammatory recovery from a long, intense cardiovascular effort. It is not a complete protein, so it
should be served as a side to a grain/legume or meat-based dish.
