Moonlight Run

Sunday, November 5. Just two weeks from our goal of running the JFK 50 Miler.

Today was to be my last long run; fifteen miles. Dave, Andrew and I are tapering. In running parlance, that means we're cutting back on the length of our runs, on the frequency of our runs, and on the number of miles put in each week in getting ready.

I'd planned my route. Add 5 to my normal 10 miles by including an extension through the village of Unison to Poor House Road. Take a left. Run it to Furr Rd and then back along Willisville and Wellbourne Rds.

Running is a lot like life; although when you are preparing for running 50 miles it may get stuck in your head that this is larger than life. It's really no different.

I'll wait to start until I write just a few emails. I'll wait until the weather warms up to 40 degrees. I'll warm up with my short-run training buddy Fielder, our border collie, with a half dozen laps around the yard before going out on my own. I'll just clean out the pepper and tomato plants and.. oh! look a big carrot and two whole rows of beets remaining in the vegetable garden.

Unfocused.

It is 6:20 PM before I walk out the door, in 42 degree temperatures for the 15 mile run that is now a 10 miler. It is night. But it is bright.

The moon is full. Energized by a CLIF bar, a bottle of Gator Ade and a favorite meal of pasta and tuna that Jean is going to have waiting for me when I return, off I go.

With no winds and brilliant moonlight throwing shadows of the now leaf-bare trees, the ten miles went fast and smoothly. And those miles were magical.

Images:

Sway-backed horse silhouetted in front of a big oak tree near historic Wellbourne.

The baying/cheering/jeering of Middleburg Hunt's foxhounds as I rounded the bend in the road close to their home place.

The chittering of flying squirrels that responded to my not so accurate attempt to whistle up eastern screech owls near the great house above Catesby Farm.

A group of 6 deer, at first running parallel in the pasture to my right and then jumping stone walls, crossing so close I could smell them and then disappearing into a dark stream bottom woodland.

The smell of fresh horse manure and horse fog coming from the just-fed mares, colts and fillies at Beaverdam Farm.

The warm yellow light filtering through the trees from homes well set back from Willisville Rd.

The honking of the resident geese on farm ponds near and far, settling down for the night, settling flock squabbles and assuring young of the year.

Through the miles, the moon shadows of oaks and hickories, elms and red maples. No reds and oranges. Just black, white and moon glow.

Crazy Craig