Time To Get My Butt Back In Gear

I hadn't run in over a week. I ran a few times since the marathon, once for Thanksgiving Day and once the day after with my dad, but frankly, I decided to give my knees a rest. So after 5 days of doing NO exercise at all and making a lot of unhealthy food choices, I went back to the gym for a training session. At which, I learned that I lost some muscle strength in spending so much time working on running and doing interval speed drills and the like. So yay for overall fitness, but not so good when it comes to being able to lift any weight or do endless sets of push-ups like I used to.

Then on Friday I went to the gym to the same trainer for an hourlong bootcamp session, and struggled through what is usually tiring but fun. I mean, my muscles were super sore just a few hours later, and normally I've got pretty good recovery time. So many squats and planks and pushups. I know it is all about getting my muscles to remember what they used to be able to do, but these first few sessions were killer. If it wasn't for all the chaturangas at yoga class, I'd be in even bigger trouble. 

And then this morning I got out and went for a run. Just a 5k, but a pretty hill course at a park near my house that has a pretty lengthy uphill that I managed twice. While my legs were questioning my sanity (as I was wearing shorts and it was cold), particularly since they were still sore from all of the squats and mountain climbers, it felt good just to be able to do two loops around the park without worrying about time or meeting any specific distance goal. I was considering a third goal, but my inappropriate clothing made me opt to go home before my legs actually froze off. 

Then, I spent the rest of the day on the couch... 

Now, this isn't the worst thing, but I've got a to do list of chores a mile long (some that I put off because training for a marathon and then road tripping to Maine took up so much time). It was the first time in goodness knows how long that I didn't have plans, and it was rather... relaxing. Even though my kitchen is disgusting and there are still bags unpacked from Maine and laundry that is piled higher than me. 

I decided that it can all wait a day, and tomorrow I'll be focused. Well, if I survive my first Hot Yoga Bootcamp with my awesome teacher Adrienne. I've heard legends told about her new class, and well... it sounds like torture, but I think I need it. 

Especially since I'm sure I've put on 5 pounds because of junk eating and a nearly a week of slothhood, and because my brother just called me to told me that he was going to sign us both up for a Tough Mudder as my Christmas gift. Given how much I really want to do it, I'm super excited. And now I've got a reason to focus on getting my diet back in gear, and to keep going to the gym and running... no matter how much my muscles hate the idea.

So tomorrow is for chores, hot yoga bootcamp and a nice trip to Trader Joe's to stock my fridge with foods that don't start with the word Reese's.

So Now What?

For the first time in the last couple of years, I don't have an upcoming physical challenge scheduled in the future to keep me on point. First it was my adventure filled trip to Costa Rica, then my first sprint triathlon, then my half marathon, mud run, longer triathlon and marathon. Sure I've got weekly yoga and bootcamp planned, as well as some general running in mind, but nothing really mandatory. Nothing that I've signed up for and committed to. Nothing that can't be changed to another day. I'm a little worried that I'm going to get complacent and sit around all winter...


So obviously I've been looking at upcoming events to do. I'd like to try a Tough Mudder this year and have started saving my pennies accordingly. Isabel drew the cutest picture for me to put on my "workout" jar to incentivize me to save up for it. (In case you are wondering, it's me on the monkey bars, me in an arctic enema, me on top of a Berlin wall, me crawling under a net and me with a giant hand trying to get up the curved Everest wall) But Mudder is more a logistical thing with my brother than anything else.

I'd like to do an Olympic length triathlon or two this year, maybe some half marathons or 10Ks. I've started looking at events, but my finances are tight until after the new year (that's what happens when your kid's birthday is two weeks after Christmas). I even looked at another marathon. I know, I said I would never do another one. But this is the Pocono marathon and it is almost entirely downhill. I do love running downhill. And you can do it as a relay, so I'm trying to gently persuade my dad to either do the full run or the relay (where we'd each do half) with me.

I looked at a few jingle bell jogs and such, but they were all a little pricey to be doing this time of year and hard to juggle schedule with everything going on. Oh, did I mention that there was a guy JUGGLING for the entirety of the Philadelphia Marathon... and he passed me? Yeah. Well, that's a challenge that for sure won't be on my list next year.

Any suggestions/ideas for what should be next on my list (funds permitting)? Let me know.

Gobble, Gobble... It's Turkey Trot Time

So it's been a whole four days since I ran a marathon. That's totally enough time to recuperate and run another race... right? Well, even if not, its become my new Turkey Day tradition to get my run on before I stuff my face. Hence, my running of the Thanksgiving Day 4-Miler in Portland, ME with my family. 

While I wanted to better my hour long "run" time for last year, mostly I was just happy to be moving in a general upright position, given that my knees were still killing me and I'm sure driving six hours to get to Maine didn't really help matters at all. I did beat my time from last year by a few minutes, but before I even got to run, I got to cheer on my six year old, who was doing her first 1K.

Isabel ran around the loop in six minutes and took off with such determination, I couldn't help but scream like a loon. She proudly told everyone at Thanksgiving dinner that she "dragged" Grampy through the race. She's nothing if not confident, and I'm just glad that she's happy to be out running and sharing my newfound interest in the sport. I only wish I'd been more into running as a young person, it would have been a lot easier to start running as an adult. I don't want to force her to run if she decides she doesn't like it, but right now, you hand the kid a shiny little medal and she's good to go. She wore it most of the day and happily showed it to every family member who walked in the door.  

And she wore her turkey headband, so she could blend with the rest of us wearing weird Thanksgiving hats. Last year, my dad and I were among the very few people wearing hats for the race. This year, there were a ton of wacky turkey hats (in all its various states of being cooked) as well as some people in full pilgrim costumes... and one guy in a gigantic moose outfit that stuck out about three feet behind him. To admit that the moose passed me going up a hill like I was standing still, is a little bit depressing. Much like the guy in the marathon who juggled while running and still crossed the finish line well before me. Oh well. 

So this year my dad decided to stay with Isabel and my brother and I decided to run. And I even talked him into wearing a stupid hat as well. And before we raced I met up with my new friend Matt, who I met while waiting for the Philadelphia marathon to start. He was from the DC area and had family up in Maine he was visiting as well. Such a small world! 

Anyway, the actual run was mostly enjoyable. I didn't actually move all that quickly, but I enjoyed the actual distance. Only 4 miles! What a delight. And I ran the whole time, though I couldn't really keep up with my brother with all the crowds and whatnot. I still didn't appreciate the silly cobblestone streets that got in the way of my running. I mean, honestly, who mapped this out and thought it was a good idea to go up streets that were entirely made out of uneven bricks? While running? Really, its just ridiculous if you think about it. Someone told me it was quaint. 

But on the plus side, I survived both loops without twisting my ankle, so that's a bonus. And other than the wonkiness, its a nice little run up and down some hills, and unlikely last year I ran the entire time. So glad to be done with the whole run/walk thing. I mean, I credit that for getting me to where I am, but I just feel so much more awesome when I power up a hill while people around me are walking and huffing and puffing. I'm not competitive, but things like that make me appreciate how far I've come, instead of focusing on how slow I am and how far I have to go. And the downhills make me wish I could find a race that is entirely a slow and steady downhill. I actually get a nice stride on and smile. I'd PR in no time.

Around mile 3, I was greeted by a couple who saw my Philly marathon shirt and told me they had the same one. I asked if they had run on Sunday too, and they said they had... and that's why they were standing on a street corner cheering other runners on instead of running themselves. That made me feel a little bit better... and confirmed my thoughts that this was probably a crazy idea. As I was enjoying the last quarter mile downhill to the finish line, I was greeted by my daughter and brother who had come to run me in to the end. That brought a total smile to my face. So much for knee pain when you've got a smiling little face cheering you on. She's definitely what I'm most thankful for this holiday.

Unbelievable As It May Be... I Am A Marathoner

After months and months of training, I finally earned the title of marathoner at the Philadelphia Marathon. Phew! While the race didn't go the way I'd dreamed, or nearly as smoothly as some of my training runs, I crossed the finish line without being forced off by the sweeper trucks, and there were still even a hundred or so people behind me. And the announcer, who was rattling off stats while I was coming down the last .2 miles, said that only something like  less than one percent of people in the world have completed a marathon, so I feel pretty happy that I was able to finish at all.

Race day started out great. I got up at 4 am, and left the enormous hotel suite in Valley Forge that Jeff got with his magical points, and headed into Philly proper. Driving in, I  saw signs for Manayunk (an area towards the end of this race), and it started to sink in just how far this run would actually be. I'd done 18 miles in training (which was what my book recommended) so I tried to just trust that it would indeed be enough. Most people say the rest of the way is mental.

I arrived in Philly, found a place to park and wandered over to the Art Museum, where the "Rocky steps" are, and the statue. Naturally I took my picture with Rocky and looked at the steps for a while, before opting not to climb to the top. I was saving my legs for later. But a visit to the port-a-potties before they got to busy, I went to my corral... and it was empty. They'd said to start lining up at 6 and I was confused why no one else was there. I'm always one to follow the rules. But by 6:30, the crowds started rolling in and I started to get excited. I met a bunch of people running their first marathons, a bunch of half marathoners as well. And a lot of these friendly faces I saw later in the race and they remembered me. I guess, its that Madison gene that my dad passed down, that gives me the chatty ability to make new acquaintances. The nerves were a buzzing, and as I positioned myself next to the pacer for the 5:30 finisher... even though that ambitious time wasn't in my plan, I figured I'd keep them in my sights as long as I could. While I was chatting, I even met a guy from the DC area who is also randomly going to be in Maine for Thanksgiving and is planning on running the Portland Turkey Day Race. Out of 20,000+ people, that seemed like a very strange coincidence.

But at the official start at 7... we didn't move. Even at 7:15, our corral hadn't budged at all. It wasn't until about 7:25 that we even started edging forward, at which point I stripped off my silly old knit hat, the cheap Wal-mart sweatsuit I'd purchased just for this occasion and my mittens and placed them along the side for the donation pile. By the time our group actually crossed the starting line, it was close to 7:40. That meant that every time I passed a mile marker, I had to mentally subtract about 40 minutes in order to get a sense of my real time. Math. And without coffee? It's a bad idea.

The race for the first two miles was pretty jammed, as I tried to find space in the crowd and still see things like LOVE park, but I did manage to stick with the 5:30 group for a while... until we got down by the waterfront, and I lost them around mile 3. But by then, the field had spread out a little bit, so I was able to focus on my own pace and enjoy the smiling and enthusiastic crowds. As I neared mile 4, I met a guy named RJ, as we commiserated about the sticky shoe syndrome, caused by all the spilled gatorade on the ground. He was from Jersey City, and had a kid around the same age as mine, so we chatted and jogged for a few miles together. But his plan was to pick up the pace each mile, and so as we headed over the hilly bridge to University City, we parted ways. But all of that chatting and whatever, distracted me so much that I actually had a pretty great first 10K. Turning up the road towards Drexel, there was a pretty steady incline, but at the top was a row of frat houses, with some rather enthusiastic frat boys dolling out beer. I opted out of the beer, not wanting to puke halfway through the race, but I appreciated how excited they were banging together all of their pots and pans. Like giddy drunk children.

But after that area, at about mile 8, I stopped to take a quick bathroom break because I'd just had far too much water by stopping to take a drink at every beverage area, which was probably more than necessary given the moderate temperature (in the low 40's) and my slow but steady speed. But it was a quick pit stop and then I got right back into the run... which turned out to be the big incline of the race, up a large hill past the zoo and into Fairmount Park. Now, the park is beautiful. Really lovely. And I'd be thrilled to live close enough to run here for fun... but that's one monster of a hill. Still, I powered up it without walking. I even impressed one of the Team In Training coaches, who were with a group behind me. And then it was down a hill and over to the Please Touch Museum... where I made what turned out to be my fatal mistake. I had some Gatorade. Now, I haven't been training with Gatorade, and when I was a little kid fruit punch used to make me so sick. Why did I decided to do this? Well, when I went to wipe the sweat off my forehead, I got that unmistakable white salty powder all over my sleeve, which meant that I was losing salt, and fast. I used to think this was good, but its not. Since they didn't have pretzels, like I thought they would (they were handing them out the day prior at the Expo), I thought the Gatorade would help boost my electrolytes. So I took some and kept on running.

Around mile 11, there was a great troupe of costumed people doing some weird dances and playing music, who brought quite the smile to my face. After that, there were hardly any fans along the waterfront, so maybe I obliviously started started singing out loud. Yeah. I know. Embarrassing. I didn't realize it, until a group of three women started singing along to some Lady Gaga "Born This Way" with me. They were doing the half, but one of them had done the full in 2011 and gave me some tips about where the inclines were and where there weren't crowds, and she gave me a big hug and told me to keep singing.

But at mile 12.5 there started to be all these signs, where you could go right and finish the half marathon, or go left to continue on. I stayed to the left, but there were VERY few people with me. In fact, I saw a lot of people with full marathon bibs (they were different colors), opting to go that route. I started to wonder if I'd been doing my math calculations all wrong. But, I knew that I was just under 3 hours for my half, and that my goal of finishing the marathon in under 6 hours, without walking, was well within my reach. I realize that 6 hour marathon isn't exactly speedy, but I've only been running for a couple years, and I'm just not that fast. I'm working on it, but its a slow process.

Anyway, I stayed to the left, and then was rewarded by seeing my friends Jennie and Jeff who had trekked down from NYC to see me run this foolish thing. Jennie is eight months pregnant, so I ran over to her and rubbed her belly for some good luck. I was feeling great, and told them I'd see them in three hours.

So I ran about another two miles down the course, but during this stretch, it is an out-and-back area, so I was seeing all of the people who were at mile 24/25, and finishing in well under 4 hours. Nothing like that sort of intimidation to make you feel like the slowest person on the planet. But still, kept on trucking... until right after the mile 15 water station. Now, at a few other water stations, between the one at the Please Touch Museum, and this one, I'd had some more Gatorade, washing it down with water. Well, let's just say that after about five miles, the Gatorade hit me. I had the most insane stomach cramps I'd ever had, and I have a pretty high tolerance for all things pain related. I honestly thought that perhaps my appendix was rupturing. I had to slow down to a walk, and was holding my side and trying all of my breathing techniques to try and get rid of the cramping. At some point, one of the volunteers asked if I was OK... I might have been crying... quite a bit... and I said I just needed to puke and I'd be fine. So I did, and I kept power walking.

Right after that I met Wandy and her daughter Cassi. They gave me some pretzels around mile 16, and that made me feel a bit better. Wandy's shins were killing her, so she was also power walking/running. Cassi, who was on a bike, was heading back to the finish to see her father at the end, so left us together and said she'd see us in a bit. After the pretzels, I tried to start running again, but could only make it a quarter mile or so, without taking a minute or two to walk. See, my knees have been bugging me since I've started doing these longer runs (yes, if I ever do another run this long I WILL buy compression socks) and once I started walking to get rid of the cramping, my knees just froze up. I was upset, to say the least. I've been running so consistently, and had run longer than 16 miles in training. Then the knee pain and my anger at not being able to do a steady run made me upset that I was crying again for a while, and while feeling slightly better, my stomach still felt questionable... at best.

So I ran for a bit, and walked for a bit, but mile 17 to 24 were so boring, that if I hadn't had Wandy to talk to, I don't know what I would have done. I learned all about her daughter, son, husband and battle with breast cancer. She's an awesome woman, and she was excited to learn about me as well. Amazing that in the course of 10 miles you can really get to know someone, even if you never learn their last name. I just know she's Wandy from Clinton, NJ, and she totally saved my race. We both wanted nothing more than to finish, and every time we saw one of the sweeper trucks, or little vans offering to pick up people who were struggling, we picked up the pace and told them to go away.  The actual sweepers/marathon end, were a good mile behind us, but we feared for the worst. We'd come so far, we agreed we'd be upset if we couldn't finish.

At some point Cassi returned, and she told us funny stories to keep our mind off of the pain, and Wandy's husband (who had finished in four hours) met up with us as well. He was cool, when I told him that I had done so well on my half marathon split, nearly 40 minutes faster than my previous half marathon finish time. He said that meant I got two PRs (Personal Records). One for the half, and one for the finish... since just finishing meant I had my best marathon time ever. That made me feel a lot better, considering how much I wanted to lay down and rest at the point.

I stuck with them until I saw the 26 flag waving in the distance and said I was going to run it in as best as I could. At 26.1, I saw Jeff, who asked me how I felt, and I said, loudly "like shit", with a big smile on my face... and realized he was video taping this classy moment. And the cop, who was next to him also found this amusing. And right in front of the finish line was Jennie who had her camera at the ready (all the pics here are hers) and was cheering very loudly.

As I crossed the finish line, I got to shake hands with the announcer, who read my name off my bib and pronounced me a marathoner. Then I said it was my first time and he happily shook my hand. Bet you don't get that kind of treatment if you finish with the big mobs in the 3/4 hour range. Maybe being a straggler paid off. Again, the time was about 40 minutes off, so my finish was around 7 hours... but it was still a finish. And considering the awful stomach incident, and the amount of people I saw being removed from the course via medics, I'm just happy I had any sort of time.

Me and Wandy with our medals!

After I crossed, Wandy crossed behind me, and these adorable eager young volunteers up to give us our well deserved medals. My triathlon medal from this fall might have been for a faster race, my Princess half marathon medal is a lot prettier, but this one is super special, because it was quite the personal accomplishment for me. Never did I imagine that two years ago I'd be able to run at all. Much less finish 26.2 miles. And finish it without quitting when it got really hard. It is definitely a medal that I'm super proud to display, and while there were thousands of people who got their medal for going a lot faster than I did, I know that on this day, I tried my hardest and did my very best.

I'm super grateful to my trainer Tara,  who worked with me and got me going faster and hillier on a treadmill than I would have ever imagined. And my dad, who gave me nearly daily guidance on running via phone from Maine. If only I'd started running with him earlier. I'm also thankful for Jeff and Jennie, who made such an effort to be there, even with the pregnancy. And to all my other friends and family who provided such encouragement to me whenever I got down or questioned why I was doing this. I feel lucky that I've gotten in shape and can do these things, and when I showed my daughter my medal, she was beaming with pride. Well, at least until she asked how many hours I ran for. When I said 7, she said, "That's longer than you were supposed to." Yeah, she's pretty much made to be a personal trainer.

I keep saying this will be my only marathon. And it might be. This was quite the grueling experience. I love the 10K (6.2 mile distance), its a fun length to run. The half marathon (13.1) is a bit of a challenge, but still kind of fun. Somewhere around mile 15, the running here stopped being fun. And maybe that was because I got sick, but maybe just that distance is really, really long. So I do think that for the foreseeable future I'm sticking to the half or shorter to work on my speed and endurance that way. That will leave me more time to train for triathlons (which I love) and the Tough Mudder I've been longing to do, and maybe have a life instead of spending so many hours of every weekend running up and down the same old paths. So will I do another marathon? Most likely not, but I'd never say never. All I know is either way I've earned the right to put one of those 26.2 magnets on the back of my car... and that's what really matters.

Still the Run

On Saturday, I did my last pre-marathon "long" run. But long is by the standards of this training plan I'm trying to follow, so my short-long-run this weekend, is still 8 miles and that's still a sizable distance in my book. That, and I have to run the whole actual length of the marathon on November 18th. All 26.2 miles of it.

But my run on Saturday was a strange one. With my NJ community still suffering power outages in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, there was an odd hum of generators, entire areas that were completely powerless and lines of people waiting for gas that snaked for miles. The path I've been doing my long runs on was in an area totally without power, and it floods in a normal rainstorm, and its a place I have to drive to, so not taking chances and in an effort to conserve fuel, I decided to run by my house instead. But I forget that running on a path means no traffic, it also means running on an evenly paved surface. Running on the street meant a lot of me jumping either into the grass or onto the concrete sidewalks and having to stop and start a lot at intersections.

It also meant that given the amount of down wires in the area, that my pre-planned route had to be altered a bit here and there, but I still made it 14 miles. I was scheduled to do 18, but I didn't have time before I had to pick my daughter up from her father's (if only daylight's saving time had been a day earlier). Still, I'm thinking 14 is great for me, and I'll take it as a win. While I may be sore post-marathon, being able to run more consistently lately makes me confident that I'll be able to finish the marathon in under the 7 hour cutoff time. Maybe even in 6 and a half! (Though I don't want to get too confident). I'm going along with my slow and steady mantra.

Anyway, my run on Saturday was difficult, and while I did get a lot more honks than normal, I got a lot of odd looks. I couldn't help but wonder if people were judging me for being out running while people were still without power, but honestly, I looked at the people spending three hours sitting in line to get gas for their cars and angrily shouting at each other (and getting in fender benders... I saw two during the course of my run) like they were crazy, so I guess the feeling was mutual.

Still, I finished and happily waved and thanked every power person I saw along the way for how hard they were working, and even got to see an amazing sunrise over a very distant New York City in the horizon. So it was a beautiful day... even if my knees STILL hate me for all the running on the hard concrete sidewalks in my not as supportive shoes. Thankfully, the marathon is back on tar, which should make my aging knees happy.

Tonight I squeeze in a training run with Tara, who felt in the mood to do some interval sprinting tonight. Or at least she felt like I should do it, while she set and controlled the speed on the treadmill. While I still felt like I was going to puke afterwards, I did four high level intervals before I felt like I was going to die (and a few moderate level ones), as opposed to the one high level one I struggled through a month before. And she didn't give me long walk breaks like she used to. She thinks that I'm making progress, and I know that after the hill training treadmill workout she gave me for the last couple sessions, I am running up hills A LOT better. So something is finally kicking in.

And when I returned home I had my confirmation email from the Philadelphia Marathon. I looked at it and had a good laugh when I realized that months ago when I registered, I put down to finish in under 6 hours. While that's the goal in the back of my mind, the bigger goal is just to finish my first (and possibly only) marathon. It might be doable, I can run a couple miles way faster than that pace, but my time starts to trail off the longer I go. But I'm not going to worry about time, so long as I keep ahead of the cut off. I'm just going to take it step-by-step and focus on crossing the finish line in a relatively upright position. And maybe even enjoy the scenery along the way... maybe.

I May Have Caught Running Fever?

Something is definitely wrong with me. There is an impending hurricane striking our area any minute, I ran 18 miles yesterday, I could barely move this morning and only thanks to a yoga class can I even bend my legs, and yet... I'm sitting looking out my window wondering if I can squeeze in a short 5K before the rain comes. I've already done my required runs for the week, am feeling on track for the marathon, and now just want to do an extra run ... for fun? Who the hell have I become? I don't even really like running, but I do love being outside and I saw a few other people out running when I was coming home with a few supplies from the grocery store. Perhaps its just a normal reaction to the idea that I could be cooped up indoors for the next couple of days if there's flooding, or maybe I've just lost my damned mind and actually have reluctantly become a kind of person who runs... for fun. This might actually be a sign of the apocalypse. Be warned.

No Sympathy From the Devil: Hiking the Devil's Path in the Catskills, NY

In the few weeks since my brother and I hiked for 23 plus hours straight over Columbus Day weekend, I've gotten a lot of the same reaction from people. First they make me repeat that I hiked for 25 miles for 23 hours. Then they say, "no, really." And then they shake their heads in confusion and ask why anyone would do such a thing and if that was our plan all along. The more details of hike that I start to give them, the more horrified they look. And then they begin to ask things like, "and you did this... for fun?" or "are you two completely insane?" Well, probably. And yes, though really difficult and it nearly turned me into a zombie (for real), it was sorta fun, in a way. I'd even do it again, with slightly different weather conditions. I'm sure that makes me sound totally nuts, but pushing my body to these limits is somehow rewarding. And at the end of the day, it was just walking in the woods. It's not like i'm Fearless Felix, jumping out of a plane 25 miles above the earth.

Here's how it started. After hearing about the Devil's Path, and how it was reported to be on of the most difficult hiking paths on the East Coast, my brother (who is a super avid hiker) and I decided to give it a whirl. But neither of us particularly like camping out, so we decided we'd do this nearly 25 mile hike (which was reportedly so named because people in the olden days thought that only the devil and his cloven hooves could walk it) in the course of a day or so, just stopping occasionally to rest in the lean-to's along the path and doing some hiking through the night. While the actual terrain may not have lived up to the hype (my brother has done some longer and harder hikes in the White Mountains of New Hampshire), it certainly was a challenging hike to be sure and endurance really came in to play. But what made it a hard hike on this particular weekend, wasn't going up and down six mountains, but instead, the fallen leaves that had recently been doused with a lot of rain, and that combined with our choice to hike in the dark for 12 hours, which combined really upped the difficultly level.

It started out pleasant enough, we started around 12:30 in the afternoon and hiked quickly through the first 4.5 miles or so, up and over Indian Head Mountain, meeting a lot of day hikers who were going up to Twin (the second peak) and back. Along these miles there was some rocky, but not too tough terrain, and a few spots that involved some scrambling. What was cool is that a lot of the rock outcroppings in this range, had trees that grew around them, so truly solid roots made welcome handholds for pulling myself up, and my little brother, being the sweet guy that he is, even happily offered out a hand when I was having trouble navigating over a few rocks, with my 25 lb backpack (filled mostly with water, as that isn't really available along the way outside of streams, and neither of us owns one of those nifty, but pricey filters that turns fresh water into drinkable water. Maybe Santa will bring one one of these years.)

We caught up on work and life as I tried to smile through the fact that I was huffing and puffing along the way. Despite my hours at the gym, going uphill with a heavy backpack takes a bit of getting used to. But a few miles in, and I had gotten my breathing under control and was enjoying the adventure. And we saw a little old woman with a poncho (though no bag) who had to be well into her '70s hiking along with her husband and I thought, if this woman could make it up to the top of the second mountain, it should be cinch for me. And honestly, for the first 5 miles, it wasn't so bad at all. It's the sort of hiking that I really like, and we were making pretty good time.

It wasn't until we were approaching the third mountain, Sugarloaf, when we started losing the light. I vocalized my wish to get to the top of the peak to see the sunset. And my brother did his damnedest to set a good pace to make that happen. But we were just too far, even though it looked so close. Like a mirage off in the distance in the desert, it wasn't to be. But we did get some pretty spectacular sights of just foliage for miles along the way, so it was really hard to complain. My whole goal was to be outside (which I was), see the leaves change (which I did), spend time with my brother (check), not worry about phones and social media (done) and relax (well, 4 our of 5 ain't bad). But still, I would have liked to have seen the sunset. Instead I mentally decided that I wanted to be at peak five (Hunter Mountain) by sunrise the next day, and maybe, even get to the fire tower there to get some fabulous photos, though it was two miles out of the way. This would have actually been four miles out of the way, round trip, had we done it but (Spoiler Alert), we didn't make it in time... or to the fire tower.

What the Terrain of the Path Looked Like

As we realized we weren't going to reach the top by sunset, we stopped to put on our headlamps as the dark came mighty quickly. We figured get up and over Sugarloaf and maybe rest at the Mink Hollow lean-to. But once the night fell, the hiking got a lot harder. The damp leaves were damper, and it made walking over slippery rocks a lot more difficult, since you could only see a few feet ahead. If you look at the pics of the terrain, we're not talking a smooth trail here. There was quite a bit of mud, a lot of scrambling, large rocks to shimmy up and over, with steep edges on the sides and generally unstable terrain all around that was covered in those aforementioned slippery wet leaves. At one point, I couldn't believe the trail was actually going over what looked like the edge of a mountiain. In the daytime you can sort of see your way to hop around them, but at night, it makes for some slow going with a lot of baby steps. And it didn't help that every time I looked to the side of me, it seemed that two steps off the path, the ground disappeared and went straight down for hundreds of feet into pure blackness.

Still, for the first couple hours, it was kind of an adventure, and after we got to see a ton of stars and a gorgeous orangey half moon (which wasn't helpful in terms of light, but at least pretty to look at), we headed down Sugarloaf and were treated to the sounds of a Native American pow wow happening. At first, I was confused by the drumming, but as we got closer we heard the chanting and it actually added a whole really amazing effect to the hiking. For close to two miles we heard them and saw their fire off in the distance. It wasn't until we got really close that we realized the were at the Mink Hollow lean-to we'd planned at taking a break at. We debated for a bit on if we should go check out the pow-wow, as it was about 10 PM or so. And Mike was really curious, as was I, but I was worried it was a religious sort of ceremony and didn't want to intrude. The fire was tempting, as it was getting a bit on the chilly side, but with a sigh of disappointment, we decided to continue. The next morning, I regretted not going to check it out, and Mike said that it was probably good we didn't... so we were still inconclusive. But even though we didn't get a closer look, hearing them for a good two hours was quite a highlight to this hiking trip.

So we pressed on, thinking it was only up and over one more mountain (Plateau) before we'd reach the Devil's Tombstone campground, where while we'd be too late (and without tents) to camp, we might be able to rest a spell near a fire. Or at least use a bathroom  or an outhouse (OK, that was more my hope, since I not only had to deal with the awkwardness of being a girl and peeing in the woods, but also had my "monthly visitor" to contend with as well. I realize this is TMI, but it added a whole weird level of difficulty to the experience that I hadn't really anticipated.) So up and over Plateau we walked. Or slogged. We'd been hiking for close to 12 hours, with only a few 15 minute or so breaks, so my legs were getting a little bit worn out. And every time we saw a landmark and realized we'd barely gone a half mile, despite constant movement, I personally started to get a little bit down. But what are you going to do?

This Kind of Path Looks Even Harder at Night!

At one point, when it got really cold about 2 AM or so, and I started to get a little dizzy from lack of sugary food, my brother sat us down on some stone slabs and we tried to rest a bit... but it was cold. And attempts at starting a fire (even with his fancy lighter) weren't met well with all of the wet stuff around given the rainfall earlier the day before. But we did sit for about 30 minutes or so, myself wrapped in the little tinfoil emergency blanket I'd packed, and with an extra hat, a thick layer of sweatshirt and gloves. If the weather had dropped five more degrees to the freezing mark, it would have truly stunk, but in the high 30's it was just bearable. And after a rest, we got moving and got our body temps back up. But while the top of Plateau was a breeze (a nice smooth path, at one point I even jogged), with a clear view of the valley, the backside down was more rocks.

The Devil's Tombstone

But we finally made it to the Devil's Tombstone campground. Or, we thought we did. My brother really wanted to see the Tombstone that marked the place (some old legend about it falling off the mountain or something, that I never read in any of my research, but he saw). But the campground was a half a mile down the road, and there were signs saying that it was closed to arrivals after sunset. Where we were was near a lake/pond thing that had some picnic tables and those little barbecues that you see when you go to the park. Not really all that useful, and definitely no outhouses. So after looking at some closer maps and realizing we weren't near the tombstone (we went back the next day by car to see it), or the campground, without having to walk a mile out of our way, we decided to trudge along. My constant life mantra "just keep swimming" ran through my head. Well, that and Kansas' "Carry On My Wayward Son" (because we were talking about the leeward if a mountain, and somehow this song just popped in my brain and wouldn't leave).

So we headed up Hunter Mountain about 4 or 5 am, it was far too cold to be digging out my phone to turn it on to see the actual time, and I still thought there was a chance we might see the sunrise. But again, the toughness of night hiking should not be underestimated. Each step took twice to three times as long as it would in the daytime, and while I did get to see the sun rise through the cracks in the trees from about 3/4 of the way up the mountain, it wasn't the breathtaking sight I would have imagined. My brother, who might have felt like he was dragging me along, but never complained about it, had long written off the trip to the firetower, while in my brain, I was thinking if I could just set my pack somewhere and walk there and back, it would be feasible. And then, I looked at my map and saw there was a path behind the firetower that went down to the road where we'd parked, but it was still the same distance (about 9 miles at this point), so we wrote off the side trip to the fire tower (I can always go to the ski resort that is on Hunter and see the same view with a lot less hiking!) and kept going, with the plan to stop at the lean-to. I was leaning against trees for a few minutes to rest my eyes, so the lean-to and the promise of a power nap was keeping me going.

But here's where I found I sort of lost it a little bit. While I've been hiking a lot in New England, through most of the mid-Atlantic states and throughout Texas, I've found my fellow hikers a friendly bunch. Most willing to chat about where they are from and where they are going, and always looking out for their fellow man, making sure people are OK. But while we'd mostly just exchanged nods with people with the scarce few people along the way, the crowd at this Devil's Acre lean-to were pretty much just jerks. I am normally extremely positive, but when we arrived, we were both exhausted. It was about 8 am or so, we'd hiked since noon the day prior and were dead on our feet. When we got to the lean-to there was a large group of about 10 guys and girls there, sipping coffee and leisurely getting ready to hike for the day. They were doing the Devil's Path as well, but in three days, which seems to be a sane person's way of doing it. I beelined to the outhouse, which honestly was just as gross, if not grosser than the woods (thank goodness for Purell), and heard them ask my brother what time we'd started hiking that day. He replied that we'd hiked all night, and then I was too far to hear the end of the conversation. But here's the thing. There was room in the lean-to and near the fire. There was still a tent set up, but there was room in the back for two people, especially since the group was leaving, and they didn't even offer to let my brother sit down on the ledge for even a few minutes. They all just stared at him standing there, and glared at me when I returned. It was like we'd crashed their private hotel room instead of walked into a shared outdoor space. I looked at a girl with a cup of coffee with a murderous glance, as my brother and I exchanged a look of let's get the hell out of here, before we kept going. The group had apparently told my brother that they'd hiked the opposite way the day before (over the final peak we had to summit, West Kill, and that it was a good seven miles or so to the car). So we kept going. It was totally spent, as I'd mentally only planned on getting to the lean-to before a break, but probably would have punched someone in that group for being so loud if we'd stopped and attempted to rest.

So we kept going. My brother's only goal was to get back to the car before night fell again, because neither of us could deal with the possibility of putting those headlamps. Given that my feet felt like lead,  seven or so miles could very well have taken nine or ten hours at that point. But I actually got a bit of speed when my brother grabbed my backpack for about 45 minutes. I felt so much lighter, even though in the middle of the night I'd started eating and drinking everything in there in order to take some of the weight out of it. He didn't even flinch, and we made up some ground. I took it back, and we made it to the Diamond Notch Falls. Where my brother realized there was an escape route. There was a path of about a mile, that led to the road, which was then four miles to where we'd parked his car. (My car was 20 odd miles away at the start of the path) Otherwise, it was 5 to 6 miles up and over West Kill mountain and more of the slippery rocks and climbing. I didn't want to take the easy way out, and knew my brother would be disappointed not to complete the path, since (even though he was tired), he could still have hiked all day without problem. But, I felt like crap with a stomachache and dizziness, and I looked it too (Mike kept looking at me concerned). So I made a deal. I'd go the almost as long, but flat way, and he could do the final mountain. He was totally game, and said that he thought he might even beat me. So he didn't give me his car keys, in case he needed to come get me. I laughed this idea off, as five miles on relatively flat path and road should be no problem... but whatever.

So he ran off (actually ran) up the mountain, and I leisurely started walking towards the car. The path was gently sloping and with only a few muddy parts, I was quickly to the road. It was still brisk out, but the cool air kept me awake. When I hit the dead end road (only a few farms and access to hiking paths down here), I saw some people heading towards the waterfall. These people were friendly, unlike the lean-to folks who I was still angry at.

Had there been a bench here, I probably would have laid there for several hours, but there wasn't. So I kept on going, because I knew that while it wasn't the same as the hike Michael was finishing up, that if I made it to the car, I could still have gone 25 miles in a day with my pack and over some killer terrain and feel like I'd accomplished something. The lead feet were still in play, but one foot in front of another, and I felt like I was getting close. But I was also getting tired. It was about 11 am, and we'd started at 12:30 the day before, and I'd only managed to shut my eyes a few times against trees. So I was walking down this road, looking like a creature from The Walking Dead when I shut my eyes for a second... and slipped off the side of the road into the ditch. Yes. I'd hiked through a night over terrain that required me to slip and shimmy off rock cliffs and walked on unstable ground for 20+ miles, but a two inch paved road was what did me in. Some nice woman (who owned the yard I'd nearly landed in), came over to check on me. She offered me water and a place to sit down, but after the jarring wake up call of landing on my knees in the dirt, I was suddenly feeling more alert. I said I was just tired (not drunk... she laughed) and that I only had to go up around the corner to my car. She asked where I was parked, and I told her, she said it was still a ways away, and offered to drive. I tried to refuse, but she was pushing me into her Hummer before I knew what was going on. Is this how people get abducted? Exhaustion leads to taking rides with total strangers? But she was such a good Samaritan, and if I'd had my wits about me, I'd have asked her name and sent her a thank you card. Instead, I send well wishes to her in my prayers for really saving me that day because it turned out I was still more than a mile from the parking lot. Good lord.

Once there, I cleared the coating of pine needles off my brother's car. I napped for 20 minutes with my head on my backpack while tucked between the front of his car and a tree (a true dirt nap?), and then woke when I heard someone coming down the path. It wasn't Mike, as I'd hoped, but a group of three guys and their big old shaggy dog. I'd asked if they'd finished hiking the Devil's Path, and they said yes... sorta. Turns out that they'd also begun hiking on Saturday, with the plan to hike through the night and just take a few long breaks at the lean-tos (see, we aren't the ONLY weirdos), but when they'd reached the Devil's Tombstone campground, they'd hitchhiked a ride, and got dropped off at the base of West Kill (the point where my brother and I had split up) and hiked the rest of the way out. Having heard that these very fit young guys (they looked to be in their late 20's) had struggled and had opted out of as much of the path as I had (though I'd at least walked most of the distance on foot, with only a short ride), I felt a little better about what I'd accomplished. Then I started giving directions to some lost day hikers, looking for the waterfall, until my brother came bounding down the path at about 1 PM. Just over 24 hours after we'd started this journey.

I have no doubt he could have done it many hours faster without me, but it was quite a bonding experience. And aside from the unfriendly jerks at the lean-to, the experience was overall positive. Sure I couldn't feel my legs and didn't fully function until after we'd taken pics with the tombstone, gotten my car and found giant cups of coffee. But still, it was kind of fun. Crazy... sure, but still fun. And as I saw some stunning views and spent all that time in nature, I really felt blessed, because the 25 miles that  we went was something that few people really get the chance to do, and some of the overlooks are just places only accessible on foot. So I'm grateful I got the opportunity to see them, and still made it home happy and healthy.