My New Year's Day ritual

Fully realizing that this post will confirm what a weird, nerdy, party-pooper, boring person I am, I must confess I don’t really care about New Year’s Eve celebration.

That’s right. New Year’s Eve for me is just another night.

Sure, I’d go out to dinner with hubby and friends, just make that reservation no later than 6:30 pm, please.

Perhaps it was my upbringing in Indonesia where we didn’t, still don’t, have the ball drop a la Times Square. In my tiny hometown, any gathering of people past midnight would only attract the cops or neighborhood crime watch patrollers. Or that in College, New Year’s Eve was during a break and none of my friends were around to party with me. Or that working in restaurant and catering business, New Year’s Eve has always been the one last job I have to do before I finally get a few days off after 60-hr workweeks since Thanksgiving.  Perhaps I’m just not a night owl, except when I cater a party.

At heart, I am a morning person. One of those chirpy, sunny happy people who annoy everyone else who need a venti caramel latte with extra triple espresso shots before they can utter “Good morning” that sounds genuine.

My definition of sleeping in is to set the alarm clock for 8 am, but awaken by my circadian clock at 5:30 am, the exact time I go out for a 5-mile run three times a week with my similarly annoying happy morning buddies. When I do set the alarm for 5 am, my internal clock wakes me a few minutes before the actual alarm would go off.

Tony and I started running in the summer of 2000. We moved to our current hometown of Richmond, VA the following year. I remember the 2001 New Year’s Eve party at the Bull and Bear Club where I was working at the time. After a full day of cooking, I was stationed at the raw bar with my colleague Matthew. There were around 300 guests that night. Matthew and I were shucking close to a thousand oysters. We had shucked a couple hundreds before the party started and managed to be ahead of the gulpers through the night. I was tired, my wrists and hands sore from prying open bivalves, but adrenaline and dopamine kept me awake and cheerful to the guests. When I got home around 2 in the morning, I was still buzzing with the party energy. I think I finally fell asleep around 3 am.

I woke up around 7 am. Woo hoo! I slept in!

I must still have some adrenaline coursing thru my veins because I laced my shoes and went out for a run. I was just gonna go for 3 miles or so.

The neighborhood was deserted. No cars on the roads, nobody on the streets. Other than squirrels scampering up the naked trees, there was no one else but me. Richmond was still asleep in oyster and champagne stupor. About half a mile into my run, the snow started to fall. Light and few at first, gradually thickened and muffled my surrounding even more; I could not even hear my footsteps. I was mesmerized by the snowfall, by the peacefulness that enveloped me. I was running in heaven, high, high, high.

I didn’t even remember how long the run was. Probably 5 miles, but that’s not the point. I just remember how happy and peaceful I was by the time I turned the key in the front door. Since then, every New Year’s Eve, I look forward to my solitary New Year’s Day run. I love starting my New Year on the right foot.

However you ring in yours, have a Happy New Year, friends!

The Right (of) Way

Saturday was a gorgeous running day: sunny, blue sky, temperature in high 30s edging into the 40s by 7 am. We laced our shoes, hooked the leash on Biscuit's collar, and we trotted out the door.

We wound our way thru the still-sleepy neighborhood behind our house, finally emerged on Patterson Avenue, a major 4-lane road with a parking lane on each direction for those of you not familiar with my fine city Richmond. We crossed the avenue, heading West downhill towards Willow Lawn. Tony was in front of me, Biscuit right next to me; the gravity pulled us faster, our cadence increased, our lungs expanded and filled up with the cool, crisp air. I felt almost weightless, runner's high approaching...

Then I saw an SUV aiming toward us. Tony saw it, too. We both slowed our pace, trying to make eye-contact with the driver thru his large, tinted windshield, making sure the sun was not shining directly in his eyes, trying to determine his driving intention with his humongous vehicle. We were on the edge of the curb, still on the street, there was not a car on the next lane over. Tony and I waved our brightly colored arms, just in case the driver did not see us (yeah right!) At about 10 feet in front of us, we realized "it was one of those" drivers trying to get us runners off of the parking lane.

Sure enough, he came to less than two feet from us before he braked and swerved away, yelling to us to get on the effing sidewalk. From his tall seat, I could only see his shoulder and mid-50s Caucasian face with bleached blond hair. He seemed like a nice guy, could pass as a golfer type from his WASPy polo shirt and beige SUV, and the fact that he may be living in the affluent Westhampton/Glenburnie/CCV area. I don't know why I automatically assumed he was going to be a frumpy old man or a college punk. I guess I'd been optimistic that everyone living the City of Richmond, by now, knew that runners run on the streets where the asphalt is more forgiving and smoother than the concrete sidewalk. After years of the colossal Monument 10Ks and Richmond Marathons, don't they know runners have the rights to run on the streets, so long we obey the rules?

We stopped and gave the universal shoulder shrug of WTF?!? as SUV Man braked, swerved, and cursed. He cowardly sped up the hill. What he didn't notice was that there was a lady in a sedan behind him who had thought SUV Man was going to slow and park, he was straddling the parking lane for the last block as far as we could see. As SUV Man braked, this woman had to brake and swerve her car to the left lane to avoid colliding with the jerk SUV.


We resumed our run, not willing to let the jerk ruin it for us. It just made me sad and annoyed that there are non-runners who do not understand the term "Share the Road".

So, here are some of the "cardinal rules" to remind everyone, runners, walkers, cyclist, and motorists, as most of us engage in our interchangeable modes of transportation:


1. RUNNERS: on sidewalk or no sidewalk, ALWAYS run facing traffic, as close to the curb as possible, single-file or two abreast at the most. When you see a car coming, be alert and anticipate the vehicle's moves. On a stop sign, when a car is on a side street, always make eye contact with the driver, or go behind the car (make eye contact with the next car behind the first car before stepping in front of the second car).  Just because you run on a "parking lane" doesn't mean you can take over the whole lane. Don't clog up the traffic lane, please!

2. RUNNERS: when you see a cyclist coming (they are supposed to ride WITH traffic), move out of the way, especially when there's a car behind the bike. Cyclists CANNOT easily look back nor it is advisable for them to move into the traffic! I know this because I have a lot of cyclist friends and I used to think they're selfish that they wouldn't move a couple inches into the traffic lane when there wasn't any car behind them. They pointed out to me that split second decision and sudden movement on a bike often lead to serious repercussion for the rider(s). D'oh! See #3.

3. CYCLISTS: ALWAYS ride WITH traffic and obey traffic laws. Don't weave in and out of traffic and parking lanes, a.k.a. try maintaining a straight line of riding so cars know what to expect of you. Same rules of making eye-contact with a driver when you come to stop-sign at an intersection.

4. DRIVERS: you have to share the road with runners and cyclists. We know how to "operate" ourselves in most situations, but if we do clog up your lane, we deserve a light honk. I've done that to other runners when I was driving and encountering runners recklessly running 4-5 abreasts and endangering all of us. We runners appreciated your moving over to the empty next lane and we usually waved, although we did not expect you to do that, but that's very nice of you. Thanks!

5. DRIVERS: please don't aim at mowing us down. That's just not cool with everyone, including the cops.

Share the road. We all have the right to use the roads, and so long we all operate within the boundaries of our rights as motorists, cyclists, runners or walkers, I believe we can coexist peacefully.

A brief and wondrous encounter with a black bear.

"The mountains have always been here, and in them, the bears."
- Rick Bass (in The Lost Grizzlies, page 97)

A couple weeks ago, Biscuit dog, (my friend) Mila and I stayed at a cabin in Smith Mountain Lake State Park, in Huddleston, VA. I had never been there before, but heard it's a beautiful place. It was!

I took Biscuit as my trail running buddy. Every morning we headed out the door around 7 and spent the next couple hours dodging roots and branches alike, wiping dewy spiderwebs off of my face and arms, wading into the cool clear waters to enjoy the vista, and transporting ticks from the woods onto the cabin's porch where I would pick dozens of them off of our bodies. After breakfast and a quick shower for me, we either go back out for several more hours of hiking and swimming, or we chill for a few hours and pack a picnic lunch for later. Mila would join us on this latter excursions. We ran or hiked all the different trails in the park by the time we left.

On Thursday, Biscuit and I set out to do our long run. I'm in the midst of the marathon training season. Having signed up for an Oct 16 marathon, I needed to run a 8 - 9 miler as my long run. With Biscuit in the back seat, I drove the car and parked it at the Visitor Center. The plan was to run the 1.75 miles Walton Creek trail, cross the playground/picnic area at the turn around point, and pick up the Striper Cove trail loop for 6 miles, then take Walton Creek back to the Visitor Center, totaling about 9.5 miles. 

The park trails were very well maintained, but Walton's Creek trail had more than its fair share of dropped Virginia pine cones threatening to roll my ankles. A canoe launch area gave Biscuit a chance to wade in and play fetch for a few minutes. We finally made it to the picnic area. We crossed the playground and saw the Striper Cove trail head. On a whim, I decided to cross back to the opposite side to hike the short .80 mi loop of the rocky Osprey Point trail, not wanting to miss the promised view.

We completed the loop and walked back to the playground. As Biscuit and I were cresting a hill to reach playground, a juvenile black Bear walked toward us, or rather, toward a trash can. 

 

"Whoa!" I shouted and stopped on our track. The Bear stopped, too, and looked up. There were about fifty feet between us and I thought about how far away 1.75 to my car was. Biscuit was thankfully right beside me, panting softly from his swimming earlier at the canoe launch, the hill hid him from the Bear and prevented him from seeing the Bear. 

Time stood still as the Bear and I stared at each other. My mind raced with every information I'd read about what to do when encountering a bear. Problem was those very information were all jumbled up and I couldn't remember if I was supposed to play dead now or when I was under attack; I was supposed to look bigger and threatening or was that for grizzlies encounter?

I knew for sure I was not to turn around and run because that would make me look a prey vs. the currently clueless and defenseless runner. I was also aware that Bears could be curious of pets and I had one very friendly Golden Retriever attached to my hip at that very moment. 

As clarity crept back into my mind, I quickly scanned the area for defense: the metal trash can might have been the best thing to hurl at the Bear and use the can's lid as an armor a la Captain America. But it was closer to the Bear than to me. Rats! 

Or, I'd take off Biscuit's leash with his prong collars attached and wield it ninja-style, aim it well on the Bear's head. Yeah, that's it! Bring it, Bear. No, go away Bear. Go away!

Thankfully, the Bear decided I was no match for him. He turned around and run back into the woods. I think I finally inhaled my breath. I looked down at Biscuit, who was still panting softly and looked up at me with his smiling googly eyes, "Why are we stopping?"

I tugged at his leash, "Heel, boy. We're not going on THAT trail." 

Instead, we raced down Walton Creek trail back to the Visitor Center.  Adrenaline coursed through my veins, I was fleet and nimble like the dozens of deer we had met that week, I didn't even notice any Virginia pine cones on the ground. 

The Park Ranger took my bear sighting report and said this was the first report in the State Park in his 4-year tenure. I said, "Well, it's definitely thrilling and exciting, but I don't think I want to repeat it."  We agreed on that. 

Biscuit and I then picked up a different trail system from the Visitor Center, away from the playground, to get our 9 miles in. I made sure I talked loudly to Biscuit about the weather, what's for breakfast, how I realized being human and having opposable thumbs didn't mean squat that morning, and I sang loudly whatever songs came to mind. Better to look like a crazy runner than accidentally sneak up on a black bear again. Biscuit just panted, happy being outside doing the thing we both love: running.