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Tag Archives: Wissahickon

Swept Away

Earlier this week, when the latest round of storms passed through Philadelphia, Brent and I both found ourselves stuck at home, with all roads leading out of northwest Philly – and all area highways – shutdown due to flooding, mudslides, or, in one instance, a giant boulder in the middle of the expressway.

So after spending the morning plowing through work, we did what any two adventure racers in our situation would do – we took to the trails to survey the damage.

We knew that Forbidden Drive, the 5.5-mile gravel path that is one of the hottest running spots in Philly, had been covered with water earlier in the day, but we weren’t sure what to expect when we left the solid ground of the high trails and crossed the Wissahickon Creek.

Still, neither of us was quite prepared for what we found.

What had been the day before a smooth gravel path was now a mess of rocks, the dense dirt that used to cover them having been washed clear downstream.

The dogs, generally wary of creeks and rivers, were so fascinated by the scene that they threw themselves into the deep puddles that covered their usual path.

There were fish, stranded on the trail as the waters began to recede…

We threw this guy back in the creek, but a lot of his buddies weren't so lucky.

…and once buried sewage lines, now towering over the rocky remains of the trail.

We ran/walked/hiked/waded for a couple miles toward the paved section of trail, the only part of the road where cars are allowed to pass.  Instead, we found this:

          

We left the Wissahickon then, and as I took to the treadmill for some speedwork, Brent decided to head further into the city, to check out the famed Kelly Drive loop.

Yep, somewhere under all that water is the Philadelphia Marathon. The city’s got a lot of work to do before November!

Holy Hills (Alternately titled Of Racing and Relationships, Part V)

A confession: Biking with Brent makes me anxious.

We had enough minor snafus early on in our experience racing together that I still get a bit gun shy when it comes to training together.  I’ve gotten past it, for the most part, with running, but the prospect of riding – especially on trails – still brings with it bouts of uncertainty and sends my confidence into the gutter.

Which is why, after a fair bit of back-and-forth about plans for this morning, I decided to join Brent for a tough hill ride in and around the Wissahickon Gorge…

…and also why I spent last night tossing and turning as I worried about what the ride would hold.

We left the house just before 10 AM (an extra dog for the week and some small house repairs delaying our start a bit) and headed straight for the trails.  In the heart of Wissahickon runs a 5.33-mile gravel path, appropriately called Forbidden Drive as cars aren’t allowed to pass through it, and jutting up on either side of that path are steep, sometimes technical, hills into the neighborhoods above.

I hadn’t ridden outside since November, hadn’t ridden on trails since September, and hadn’t done a serious hill workout since August.

I was shaking in my bike shoes.

We rode down to the half-mile point of Forbidden Drive and started our first climb, the hardest of the day – a steep, long, technical ascent with tight corners and protruding pipes and rocks.  The park was muddy from snow melt and my tires slipped and slided as I pushed my way up the hill.  I was struggling to find my balance as I navigated the twists of the trail, and I unclipped three times before making it to the top.

Brent reached the top before me, but he, too, came off a couple times during the ride up.

“That’s the hardest one,” he said.  ”And you did great.”

I’m all about positive reinforcement when I mountain bike.

We headed back down the way we came, and I surprised myself with my ability to go easy on the brakes and ease my way over the rocks.  I got a bit tripped up on a particularly tight turn, but otherwise I made it back down unscathed, and we headed down the path to the next hill.

That’s when I remembered one of Bruce’s nuggets of advice that I’ve been collecting over the past couple years: when riding on trails, always keep your tires soft.

We paused to let some air out of my tires and then took to the next hill, not nearly as steep but far more technical a climb.  ”If you come off here,” Brent had told me, “it’s going to be really hard to get back on.”

Bruce’s suggestion worked wonders, and my tires glided over the craggy rocks and gnarled branches.  I came off once, briefly, but jumped right back on, and made it to the top with relative ease.

“I did great!” I exclaimed when I popped up at the top right behind Brent.

I’m also all about self-congratulations when I mountain bike.

“Seriously!” Brent replied.  ”I’ve never seen you ride this well!”

We continued on the trails until we’d backtracked to the first hill, and then rode back down that one to the path.

“This time, try not to let so much distance get between us on the way down,” Brent coached before we began the descent.

I focused everything I had on my fingertips, willing them not to squeeze the brakes, and sure enough, when we hit the bottom, I wasn’t far off of Brent’s back tire.

Progress!

The third and the fourth went similarly smoothly.  I was keeping up with Brent on the ascents and descents, and feeling strong on the rocky terrain.

“It’s official,” Brent joked after we flew down the fifth hill. “By summer I’ll be the weakest rider on our team.”

“It’s the tire pressure,” I told him.  ”All about the tire pressure.”

I’d never felt so comfortable on my bike.

We tackled a total of 14 hills this morning over 3 hours and almost 25 miles: 10 horizontal miles and nearly 15 vertical (map and elevation chart here, since I can’t seem to paste them into this post).

By the end, my quads were yelling, my throat was dry, and my shoulders were tight.  But I was still pushing the pace, and still climbing strong and steady right beside my husband.

As we were heading down the last stretch of Forbidden Drive to our final climb, Brent said, “So do you feel better?”

“I do.”

“Do you feel more confident?”

“I do.”

“Do you feel more ready to race this year?”

“I do.”

“Do you feel less anxious about riding with me?”

“I do… at least for today.”

Baby steps.

An Epic Weekend

When we began to put together the race calendar for this year, we set our sights on a two-day snowshoeing/orienteering race in New York the first weekend in March, and a 12-hour adventure race in South Carolina a few weeks later.

I’ve done both of these races in the past and loved the experiences, both as targets for early-season tune-ups, and as built-in training days in preparation for longer events.

In recent weeks, though, we’ve learned that:

(a) the snowshoeing race was moved to another weekend, conflicting with other plans, and

(b) the South Carolina race doesn’t line up with spring break as it did last year, making it too expensive a venture with the added costs of flights and bike shipping.

This means that our first real event of the year won’t be until the middle of April, and it’ll be a doozy – a 26-hour adventure race in the Shenandoah wilderness.

At this point, I feel reasonably confident that unless something goes wrong, I’ll be able to complete the distance.  Still, I want to be as well-prepared as I possibly can, taking into account the wintry conditions we’ve been facing in the northeast.

I may not be able to mountain bike, and I may not be able to get in any true bushwhacking with the trails and off-trails covered in feet of snow.  But I can go hard.  And I can go long.

Enter: The Epic Weekend in the Year of the Extreme.

In the past two days, I spent:

5 hours snowshoeing

2 hours climbing

2 hours biking

1 hour running.

Saturday morning kicked off with a running reunion with a good friend.  We began running together in January 2009 but haven’t logged miles in several months, and this seemed like as good a time as any to pick back up.  It was an easy out-and-back along a snow-packed trail, miscrospikes securely fastened.

Shortly after, I pulled on my snowshoes and left my house for the wonder that is the Wissahickon Gorge.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I feel so lucky to live within eyeshot of the biggest intra-city park in the nation.  We’ve got more than 50 miles of trails at our disposal, and on a quiet snow-covered Saturday morning, there’s nothing better than a few hours in the woods.

For some reason the road leading into the park is the best-plowed street in the city...

I went out on my own for a bit before linking up with Laurie for what’s fast becoming a routine out-and-back over the rolling hills and across the melting creeks of Wissahickon.

We didn't see many other hikers, but we did, indeed, share the trail with horses.

Laurie and I parted ways after a couple hours and I continued on a bit before heading home, eating my body weight in hummus, and promptly passing out on the couch for an hour.

When I awoke, Brent and I took off for the hot date we had planned for the evening – a couple hours at the rock gym, followed by dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.

Brent started graduate school this semester and, in trying to balance that with training and teaching full-time, we haven’t had as much time as usual to spend with each other.  When we have been together over the past few weeks, we’re either out with friends or curled up on the couch watching tv-on-dvd.  We thought a little quality time was in order.

This was my first time doing upper-body work since I tweaked my back earlier this month, and between that and the hours I’d already spent in the woods that day, I was pretty tired when I began ascending the indoor walls.  After a little while, though, I found my rhythm and even managed to fight my way up a tough 5.7 grade route at the end of the night.  May not seem like much to seasoned climbers, but I felt good about it.

We had intended to go from there to a local wine bar, The Wine Thief Bistro, back in our neighborhood, but when I called to find out whether we’d be able to get a table, I was told that there would be about an hour wait.  It was nearing 8 pm by the time we left the gym and we were both mildly famished, so we ended up at another local favorite, Sabrina’s Cafe.

A couple hours later, thoroughly satisfied, we drove home and crawled into bed.  I had another full day of activity to get ready for.

On Sunday morning, I linked up with my friend Patty for another couple hours of shoeing in the woods.  Last year, Patty and I ran together a few mornings a month, so we met at our usual spot and headed for the trails, joined by her eight-month-old daughter, Ellie.

How's that for hardcore?

We started out along the same route that Laurie and I had taken the day before, but after we crossed the second creek, we veered off on a smaller trail to the right.  A quarter mile later, we found ourselves on an off-trail adventure.

There was a bit of slipping and sliding, and a healthy dose of scaling and clawing, but eventually, Patty, Ellie, and I made it back to the trail unscathed.  We crossed over a newly-constructed footbridge and finished off with some bigger hills before weaving our way back to the road to complete a nice little neighborhood circuit. 

This is what happens when you try to take a self-portrait with your phone

The rest of the day was a mix of eating, dozing, and cheering on Brent’s students at a high school basketball game.  Brent and I had talked about going out for more snowshoeing together, but the afternoon got away from us.

We returned home at 9 pm and I wanted to get in one last workout before calling it a weekend.  So, I took to the bike and Brent hung out on the couch with the dogs and the four of us watched a few episodes of Glee, trying to catch up before this weekend’s post-Superbowl homage to Michael Jackson.

All in all, a productive weekend.  Certainly not the hardest or longest training sessions I’ve had, but it felt good to be out, and I felt tired by the end.  A few more of these and I should be in good shape, come April!

Everyone's enjoying the snow!

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