Seasons

The season of running is over.  At least, for me it is.  I know there are some races in the area yet to be run, but all the ones for which I registered this year are finished. A few I did not start, for various reasons, and my last one was cancelled (thank the Lion), but overall it was a busy running season.  I was also privileged to be able to run some "firsts" with friends - a few races that were the friend's "first": first 5K, first 1/2 marathon, etc, and some others that were inaugural races in the area. 

I used to think that if I ran a race in one season, I should run it again the next year, and the next.  Thankfully I have realized that these things go in, well, seasons.  For example, I ran the inaugural "Gazelle Girl" 1/2 marathon (in the sleet, in April) and although it was a nice race with an interesting course (despite the weather, and despite the fact that being around so many other women gives me hives), I feel no compulsion to do it again (and again).  After all, I was there the first time.   I don't need to repeat it.  Unless I want to. 

There are varied sources for running information and advice, but one of the bits of advice I read suggested that after a long race, one should rest a day for every mile raced.  I took that to heart after my "episode" at the 1/2 marathon at the end of September, and today was the first day I have done anything resembling exercise.  It hasn't helped that this is day 10 of my (improving) head cold.  I hadn't been up to it before now.  But I did want to start getting back into some shape - I have an upcoming trip that will require some athletic ability/stamina (in hiking form) and I don't want to become too deconditioned.  So today I decided to ride my bike.

I haven't done a "long ride" in quite some time - in fact, probably not since last year.  Last spring and summer it seemed I was on my bike all the time, riding hither and yon.  Today was the first time back in the saddle, so to speak.  It might have been overzealous to be riding for a few hours when I'd not ridden for a while, but more about that later.   I was looking forward to it.  A lot.  I have been planning this trip for a few weeks now, weather permitting.  Since I had been to Lake Michigan earlier in the week, I decided to go north today, toward Rockford.

My actual goal (if you can call it that) was to get as far north of Rockford as possible, even to see if I could get to the end of the paved portion.  I have a road bike, so continuing on the gravel path was not an option.  I had a nebulous thought of checking out campgrounds up there for future trips.  My father went on a bike overnight nearly every fall when we lived in New England (bucket list for me:  bike camping in New England in the fall) and I would like to start to do the same.  I even had the wild idea that perhaps I would take my gear up and stay over tonight, if I could find a place.  I realized that might be a bit ambitious, since I've never even taken a nap in my camping hammock - the only place on our property to suspend it is under the deck, which is rather spidery.  My tarp is not yet ready, either.  Ideally I think I will find a campsite one of these days and drive up with my gear, thus giving me the option to sleep in the car or go home if all doesn't go as planned.

I made it past Rockford, but not as far as I originally thought.  As I said, I had intended to try for the paved trail's end, but my ischial tuberosities (seat bones) were telling me otherwise, so I turned it around.  I was also forcibly reminded by the same entities that I had to traverse the same distance on the way home, so it was probably just as well. I had my Camelbak hydration backpack on - didn't want to risk not having enough water.  It stayed cool for the duration of the ride, and even though it was heavy (70 oz of water plus the weight of the bladder and the pack), it kept my back warm in the morning without making it too warm later in the day.

One thing I really like about riding my bike as opposed to running is that I can think while I'm on my bike, whereas when I run, all I can think about (if you can call it thinking) is running - my pace, my mileage, my breathing, my form.  That's one reason I like to run with a friend, especially on long runs, because I don't do very well listening to music, although audiobooks are promising.  The conversation keeps me from long stints of boredom.  When I'm on my bike, not only do I not always have to move my feet to go forward (one can coast, sometimes), but I can also think about things.  And I do.  I am even able to store up words in my head for later, to be put into, say, a blog. 

It was a gorgeous day.  Gorgeous, gorgeous.  It was about 48 degrees when I started out.  The day was unbeatable.  Diamonds on the grass, brilliant sunshine lying on golden fields, mist rising from various bodies of water, reflections of autumn color, milkweed pods displaying their drifting gossamer contents; the individual whispers of leaves under the tires, incessant song of insects, the scent of fall - you know the one.  Geese, ducks, swans, herons; people out with dogs, strollers, on roller blades, bikes, tandems; running, walking, meandering, milking out the last wonder moments of the bright blue weather.  At one point there was a breeze, and a sudden multitude of yellow leaves rained lazily down along shimmering trajectories before alighting on the path.  Sigh.  So much glory contained in the tiny things.  It is a world of wonders.

Somewhere in there I stopped to eat and chatted with a couple of people about the bike trails in the area.  Although there is always room for more, we are blessed to have a solid system of bike trails, and a hearty thank you to the late Fred Meijer for many of those.  I also noticed on my way through Rockford that the big outlet was still having a tent sale.  I wasn't so interested in shoes, but I did manage to make my wallet lighter with the purchase of a shell jacket that the salesman said was guaranteed waterproof, not just water resistant.  I needed something light, breathable and packable to take on my upcoming trip, and the jacket I bought fit the bill perfectly.  I have to admit that what Imelda Marcos was to shoes I am to coats/jackets.  I find them nearly irresistible.  Not sure if it's because I like to be cozy, or merely independent.  Whatever the reason, I have a lot of jackets.  This one was blue; although I like blue, I would have preferred black.  I remember learning that certain insects like blue, although it might just have been tsetse flies, and I don't think there will be any of those where I'm going.  I even made a point to tell the salesman that in some African nations (Malawi, for example), they use blue cloth immersed in cattle pee to attract and trap the tsetse flies.  (See what an entertaining person I am.  At least I don't bring it up at dinnertime.)

I had a moment where I fell in with a herd of sweaty high school cross-country runners downtown, and finally had to holler to get them to let me by, because I was surrounded and they were determined. I was starting to tire as I neared the end of the journey, and wish I hadn't put my inhaler in a poorly accessible place, but I made it home all right.  I rode a bit more than 50 miles all told and although my legs are feeling it and my feet are very glad not to be in those stiff shoes anymore, it was a very good day.  So many impressions and thoughts to ponder, and sights to remember and treasure.

Plenty of bad poetry (and probably some that is reasonably good) is written about the spring, but I tend to wax philosophical in the fall.  (Certainly there are more out there like me.)  Right now there is a lot of change going on in my world - nationally, at church, at work, in my children, in social circles - and riding through the glorious fall day I was reminded of the seasonality of so many things.  The great thing about seasons is that even though they change, they also repeat.  Even something we think is irretrievable may only be waiting for the next season to reappear.  It may be in a slightly different form, but we can recognize it if we keep our eyes open.  It gives us hope, and brings us life.  Many thanks to the Lion for the spiraling of the seasons, in our world and in our hearts. 

blessing always
wb