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This is a brief ode to sitting in my garden. After a long and very busy day, there is little more satisfying than sitting in my garden. The last bit of light from the setting sun is fading from the sky. The heat of the day is gone, but the humidity stays on. The cicadas loudly vibrate their tymbals, making their familiar droning chorus as they try to draw in a mate. Traffic noises are rare. Although mosquitos are around my insect repellent seems to be working, thankfully. It is peaceful in my garden.
A group of my friends and I are heading to the woods soon for three days of backpacking. Conflicts make stories. Classic conflicts are man vs man, man vs himself, and man vs nature. Added to that can also be man vs society. I am referring to people, not a specific sex. I am not anticipating any significant man vs man conflict as we are a group defined by our equanimity. Not to say it couldn’t happen, but I feel confident we can work out any difficulties. Man vs himself is certainly possible. Taking on a rugged hike, setting up a campsite in the woods, one does look inward and face doubts. Age and infirmities take their toll, and a person will wonder if he or she is up to the challenge. Knowing that one has prepared, trained, and come equipped to handle emergencies helps overcome these doubts, yet still there is a fear that must be ignored. To me, man vs nature carries the implication that nature is working to defeat man. However, nature is just there, and man must adapt to it. We have constant natural challenges, but to go hiking in the woods, or take on any adventure means facing sometimes extraordinary and difficult challenges. I can think of many that are specific to backpacking, such as not getting lost, scrambling up and down steep hills with a heavy pack, keeping warm, well hydrated and nourished, avoiding injury, dealing with wild animals, including insects, knowing one’s limits, to name a few. The rewards of taking on these natural challenges are many and they are enriching to the body and spirit. I’m very excited to be going on this trip, and many more in the future.
Fungus is a kingdom, in the biologic sense. Roughly 100,000 species of fungi have been identified, although an estimated 1.5 million species exist. These organisms range from single-celled invaders of the bodies of humans and other animals, such as candida, to massive connected life forms thought to be the largest living things on earth. An example is the Armillaria ostoyae, which covers 3.4 square miles of forest in Oregon, and has been living for more than 2000 years. Fungi are eukaryotic organisms. This means they have a nucleus in each cell which contains their DNA. They are more closely related, genetically, to animals than to plants, and the earliest fungal life arose about 450 million years ago.
A Fairy Ring
This is a fairy ring. Depending on your culture, it can be evil or good, but evil, witchy or hedonistic elfin seems to win out. If you look carefully, you will notice the darker ring of grass where the mushrooms are popping up. The mycelium, an outward spreading network of hyphae, causes this appearance. Hyphae are the strands of multicellular growth of fungi, in this case, underground, which allow for propagation. Where the mushrooms are popping up, the hyphae are secreting enzymes which digest nutrients outside the hyphae, allowing them to diffuse back into the hyphae and support growth. As part of this, nitrogen compounds are released into the soil for the nourishment of the hyphae, but are also available for grass roots to use, making the grass taller and darker.
Not intending to write a treatise on fungus, I want to display some of the amazing forms mushrooms take. Mushrooms are the fruiting bodies of fungi, which spread spores and enable fungi to propagate to new locations. Many are deadly poison to humans, some only a little poisonous and some edible. All, to me, are fascinating.
Trees can get sick, too. Since the descent into quarantine, isolation, social distancing, buying weeks’ worth of groceries at a time, and many other anti-communal activities, I have run solo a lot. In doing so, since conversation is limited to my occasional Tourette’s outbreak, I find myself admiring the scenery. Looking at trees along a run, one cannot help but be amazed at the way they grow, spreading branches, leafing out, producing flowers and tons of pollen. Yet they, too, are often victims of infection. Diseases that infect trees include bacteria, mycoplasmas, fungi, viruses, insects and other plants, like mistletoe or ivy. Some of the names of these diseases are whimsical, such as Drippy Nut of of Oak, Crown Gall, and Lucidus Root and Butt Rot. The American Chestnut has been completely wiped out by Chestnut Blight, a fungus. Dutch Elm Disease, another fungus, has killed a large percentage of Elms in the U.S., by obliterating the tree’s vasculature. My purpose here is not to do a treatise on tree diseases, but to appreciate these tall, sappy plants that provide awe and shade as we run.
Redbud in Bloom
Trees have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But they have developed amazing defenses against nature’s tree enemies, allowing them to survive, some for centuries.
Sugar Maple leafing out, with a fig just beginning to leaf out in the foreground.
Some can be old and massive.
On Bancroft School Grounds, Haddonfield, New Jersey.Some get modified to fit our environment, and manage to thrive.Some modify themselves. Here the trees are reaching for sunshine.Reflected trees with a family of geese, goose, gander and goslings, in Newton Lake Park.Some are home to birds; see the horned owl?Or provide an egret a roost.Not all trees have green leaves.A domesticated tree turned wild, uprooting a sidewalk and caving in a roof.The same storm took down many trees in our neighborhood.Some just collapse. Perhaps this was a sick tree that died. Trees grow where they’re planted, and some, like this one, are awe inspiring. The ducks and I share the path.
Admiring the trees, their hardiness, beauty, longevity, and variety are inspiring as I run alone, waiting for Covid to be gone.
East side entrance to Newton Lake Park, Collingswood, NJ
We’ve been encouraged to continue to exercise in this time of Covid. For a runner, it means getting outdoors and running familiar routes, but staying clear of others out on the trail. I’m fortunate to have some rather beautiful parks to run in, and thankfully they have not been closed. What I’m finding, is that, for the most part, walkers, strollers, families with baby carriages, and other runners are definitely aware of the rules of separation, and are complying with them. As I approach a person or group, we give each other wide berths, more than six feet, and continue on our way. While I am a strong proponent of wearing a mask while in public, one just cannot do that and still run. Plus, the mask would soon get wet with the humidity of my expired air (perhaps I should have used a different word than expired…). I have seen far fewer people out on the trails than normal, and that, too, helps with social distancing. There is the occasional yahoo who walks right down the middle of the path without a mask and without moving to an appropriate distance. Those I give even more room.
I think the most common person I come across on my runs now is a fellow runner, followed by a dog walker, then a single person walking, then a person or couple pushing a stroller. It must be particularly frightening to be raising a young family at this particular time.
The trees are in bloom, with cherry and pear blossoms everywhere. Other trees are just now starting to leaf out, which of course means a great deal of pollen everywhere. I learned in an obituary today of the death of William Frankland, at age 108, scientist and renowned allergist, who developed the idea of the pollen count, among many other accomplishments. I highly recommend reading the linked obituary, which is very interesting and entertaining. Pollen makes my nose run like crazy, and makes me cough when I finish a run. It makes me a bit of a pariah today. Fortunately, my wife is aware of this and does not get scared.
In the course of my run I came across this beautiful egret in the bushes.
Egret in Newton Lake Park, with a nice reflection in the water. There is also a goose in the photo. Can you spot him?
Today, these plants bursting from the ground had a paleo-biological look to them, in the wet runoff leading to Hopkins Pond.
Plant life in early spring, Hopkins Pond, Haddonfield, NJ
Now for the reward. Running has its benefits, good health, cardiovascular fitness, the opportunity (when this is all over) to participate in races, but one of great importance is breakfast. After I ran this morning I treated myself to pancakes, made from Gormly’s Buttermilk Pancake mix, and, of course, some Vermont maple syrup.
A good friend of mine, Simon, who lives in London, contracted what is probably Covid, although he was not tested, just told to hole up in his flat until he got better. After being inside for more than two weeks, and suffering a lot, he took a walk along the Thames today in the sunshine and said it felt great to be outdoors. A bit of good news, to counteract the really bad news we’ve been inundated with.
One of the most pleasant times to run is as the sun is setting on a cool autumn day. This evening was just such a run.
The first stretch takes me through Saddler’s Woods. This is a 25 acre square of old growth trees right in the middle of a well-developed suburban area. It has a fascinating history. Joshua Saddler was an escaped slave from Maryland, who was sheltered here by a Quaker family. They bought his freedom, and he established a small farm, ultimately repaying the cost of his freedom. The tract called Saddler’s Woods is now a conservatory, dedicated initially by Joshua Saddler as an area where none of his offspring were allowed to cut down any trees.
This giant old tree in Saddler’s Woods was felled by nature.
Back on the road, having passed through Saddler’s Woods, I had to cross a busy boulevard to get to the next park. Newton Lake park is a beautiful chain of lakes bordered by running trails and weeping willow trees. There are lily pads along the littoral edge, ducks and geese, and the occasional heron or egret can be spotted. The paths are well-used, as this is a great place to walk, push a baby carriage, run, ride a bike, or throw a ball for a dog.
Fishermen in Newton Lake.
A pleasant aspect of running in autumn, especially in the evening, is that the cicadas are quiet, and the cricket’s songs can be heard. There are leaves on the ground, and they crunch a bit underfoot. Other than the padding of my shoes, and the occasional chat of walkers as I pass them, it is pretty quiet along this route. While I am no fan of the hoards of geese we see in our parks, watching them as the pass with a subtle throbbing noise in their “V” formation and alight on the water is a beautiful sight.
Geese in the distance, lily pads.
When I got a little past three miles into my run, I turned and headed back along the opposite side of the lake. Getting close to the end of the path I could see a three-quarter moon rising.
Heading back towards the east, as the moon rises.
I got my six miles in, but a lot more, having enjoyed the run tremendously.
Yesterday, it was kind of typical. Woke to around 34 deg. F and the temperature reached a rather comfortable 64. Some at the local Walmart had on shorts, but still long sleeved shirts.
Today, something completely different. I was awakened very early to the sound of howling wind hooting down the chimney in our bedroom. It is not a working fireplace, and the top is covered by a heavy steel plate. Nonetheless, the sound was dramatic. It was also very cold. I had turned off the heater, since we were comfy without it. So, I turned it back on, and peered out our front door window. Oddly, the glass seemed frosted. Looking out another window, I saw why. There was snow on the ground, tiny ice droplets were flying around, and the bare tree branches where whipped up in frenetic motion. I made a pot of coffee, poured a cup for my wife and me, and snuck back under the covers to wait for daylight.
The day dawned in mixes of dark and light grays, blues, and white. I got dressed, layered well, put on my Iceland jacket, grabbed my camera, and headed out to hopefully capture the feel of a bitterly cold and windy day on the ranch.
Looking West, from the yard.
Trees plastered with snow on the north side of their trunks.
The steers looked a little unhappy.
This frisky filly did not stay still.
The birds kept moving about, too.
Sugar-frosted maxi-wheats (or rather, alfalfa).
The “Crust Buster” sits idle, awaiting spring.
Still hanging on….
The cabin in the cold.
Last November, we planted bulbs amidst the crape myrtle trees we planted earlier, along the north side of the house, and in a bed along our front porch. Some of the bulbs got fooled into sprouting early, with thin, green shoots already 6 inches long. Hopefully, the cold will put a hold on their development, and they will still blossom in true spring.
I was in the airport in Munich. My flight was scheduled to leave in about three hours. I made my way to the proper check-in area, checked my suitcase and walked to the passport check. The line was very long, and I had a small concern about making my flight. As slowly as the line seemed to move, it did move, and soon I was passing through. I was traveling with a group, but oddly, they were not in line with me. I’m not sure how I got separated, but the people around me were all strangers. Once through, we all made our way to another waiting area. There were seats, but the room was remarkably devoid of other features. No wall posters advertising vacation spots, No overhead signs showing gate numbers. After a short wait, we were led through a door to waiting buses. People jostled with their belongings and carry-on bags for room. Our bus was tightly packed and had only standing room. There was a small half-sized bench seat for a few older individuals. The bus would take us to a boarding area away from the main terminal building. It pulled out and everyone tilted backward for a moment, then righted. There was some soft chatter in the background, in languages I could not understand. It wasn’t German. After ten minutes the bus slowly came to a stop in front of a concrete building, two stories high with the part facing us all glass. There was a glass door leading in, and inside one could see an escalator. There was a small standing desk inside a few feet from the door. A man was standing at the desk. He was wearing a blue uniform-type shirt and had a reflective safety strap at an angle from right shoulder to left hip. He was looking down at the desk, and did not appear to look up when the bus arrived. The bus doors did not open. I looked around the bus, and realized I could see out the windows I was facing, but not out behind me, as there were no windows on that side. I also realized the bus got here without a driver, some kind of automatic transportation system. In the bus, we waited for something to happen.
After ten minutes when nothing had happened, people started to rustle and look perplexed. Another ten minutes went by. The man behind the desk walked to the door and stepped outside. There was a man in a wheelchair rolling up, and he went through the door held open by the man in the blue shirt. Inside, the man in the wheelchair, who did not look young, by the way, demonstrated remarkable wheelchair handling. He spun the chair around to back on to the escalator, and held it front-wheels-up as he ascended. We could only see the bottom part of the escalator and he was soon out of view. Another several minutes went by, and I started to wonder where we were and what was happening. Was this it? The end? Was this our exit from our existence? Who was the guy in the blue shirt? Why did I not know anyone on the bus? Suddenly, the middle door of the bus opened, and we were led into the building, through the glass door, and onto the escalator. The escalator seemed longer than I expected, but it did end and we streamed off. In the corridor at the top, again, with no signs, no posters, just off-white walls and a tile floor, there was the man in the blue shirt. He was directing some people to the left and some to the right down separate halls. Again, I wondered, are we being directed according to our ultimate destination? And if I died, would I know it? Would it feel different? Shouldn’t I feel nothing, and not be aware? But there is no one to tell us.
We walked a bit farther and I came to my senses. There was a waiting area which looked familiar. We had to pass through another security check to get there. My traveling companions had already made it through, and there was a loading gate manned by airline personnel. A sign above indicated our flight and time, and through a window I could see our American Airlines Airbus waiting for us to board.
Hi, Buckaroos. Marathon training time again. Gonna try to slide one by once more.
Yes, I got out early this morning. I hit the pavement at 5:45 AM, to start my 20 miler today. My plan was to get around seven miles in before our 7:00 AM group run, which is 12.5 miles, roughly, and have a half mile extra to do at the end. I am training for the Twin Cities Marathon, Minneapolis and Saint Paul, October 1, 2017.
When one starts out that early on a Sunday in late August, the sun has not yet come up, and it is nice and peaceful. No lawn crews with their gas-powered leaf blowers sending dust up into the air. Very little traffic. The houses are silent as the occupants slumber, completely unaware of the runner going by. Even the locusts have dimmed their din. A couple of crickets are still at the party.
What does occur is the senses, hearing, smelling and seeing, picking up little things that would ordinarily get missed. As I stepped out on my front porch, I took a sip from my water bottle, set down my back pack and second running shirt on top, switched on my Garmin, waited for it to register the numerous satellites it follows, and headed out. For the first mile and a half, things were very quiet. At about that point, though, the first big olfactory hit came my way, which was the smell of someone starting up a barbecue. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but guessed it must be someone planning to do some serious smoking, maybe beef brisket or a pork loin, and needed to get things going early. It would be pretty nice to be around when the cooking is done.
I noticed a few birds and squirrels, but not the usual number one sees later in the morning. Clearly, these were those looking for a competitive advantage. I wondered if they also were selective favorites for procreation, or did the lazier of their ilk happen upon willing mates while the others were out foraging. While the early bird gets the worm, the later bird may ultimately contribute more to the gene pool.
I could hear each foot strike on the pavement. If one focuses too much on that, the monotony becomes mesmerizing, and takes one’s concentration away from important acts, such as looking for potholes in the road, and listening for the occasional car. Should cops need an opportunity to fill their monthly ticket quota, I suggest they set up very early on Sunday. While there are few cars on the road, to a one, they were all exceeding the speed limit by a hell of a lot. I had on my reflective vest, with a blinking red light in the back, but when I heard a car coming from either direction I hopped on the sidewalk, since they invariably came speeding by, ignoring road signs and the double yellow line. One car I saw this morning was a Corvette, driven by a guy with a reflective vest of his own on, but there our similarities ended.
I saw as I ran down Park Blvd. that the giant trees that had been uprooted by our last major storm, pulling the sidewalk to a 90 degree angle, had finally been removed. Where they had been was now dirt, awaiting sidewalk repair. This is a narrow street, with cars parked along the curb, and neat homes from the 1940’s and ’50’s. Normally, I would need to run on the sidewalk since it is too narrow and busy to run in the street. But this morning, I made it a full mile before a car approached. I darted up on to the sidewalk as it passed, then got back into the street. As one runs farther down the street, the houses get older, into the 1880’s and even earlier. It is a measure of how the farmland got transformed into housing developments. This part of the run is through Collingswood, a town named after the Collings family. Collingswood was their farm. Being Quakers, the town has always been dry.
Heading into Knight Park, I passed close to the Collings-Knight Homestead, the home of Edward C. Knight, benefactor who donated the land for Knight park. One week earlier I ran through this park early Sunday morning, when a large dog, saliva dripping from his jaw, ran at me barking and snapping. I turned and faced him, palms up and facing the dog. Its owner was nearby, a woman standing with a couple of other dog owners, all of whom let their dogs run leash-less. She called to the dog to “c’m’ere”, reassuring me that the dog was a friendly dog and would do me no harm. The dog did stop a few feet from me, then turned and went back to her. She repeated several times what a friendly dog it was, and how I shouldn’t worry. So, this was on my mind this morning, and fortunately, I had arisen early enough to beat this woman and her “friendly” dog to the park. I was certainly relieved.
Reaching the end of the park, I headed to Haddon Avenue, and started to run back towards my starting point. For anyone not from this area, Haddon is a common name. Elizabeth Haddon was the daughter of John Haddon a Quaker in London who purchased 500 acres in the area that is now Haddonfield and Haddon Township. He bought the land to escape religious persecution, but due to ill health, could not make the journey. He sent his daughter, Elizabeth, instead. She arrived, a single, young woman, apparently confident, and in 1702 asked John Estaugh, a Quaker minister already in this colony, for his hand in marriage. Elizabeth Haddon was the founder of the towns of Haddonfield and Haddon Township.
Running up Haddon Avenue, I passed the numerous shops and restaurants in Collingswood. While a dry town, there is a very vibrant restaurant scene, since one can bring wine or beer to the restaurant. The restaurants have turned Collingswood from an aging, decaying town, with out of date stores like vacuum cleaner repair and hardware stores, to a busy, hip place, especially on Friday and Saturday night. I pass the parking spots. These used to be meters, but now are marked with poles labeled with notices that one must pay at the pay station. Parking is paid seven days a week. This morning, there are no cars parked here. Leaving Collingswood and entering Haddon Township and Westmont, one enters the bar scene. Capturing the revelers which Collingswood missed, this stretch of Haddon Avenue has numerous bars which are busy usually every night. Again, in the early morning, they are shuttered and quiet, awaiting the opening gong much later in the day.
I turned back into the neighborhood streets for the last mile or so of my run. I was again aware of a strong olfactory stimulus, this time, bacon. The smell of bacon cooking is, first of all, unmistakable. We have two eyes which can see various colors. We have two ears to hear a wide range of sound. But we have about 800 genes in humans each coding for a different olfactory receptor. Most scents stimulate multiple receptors, which is how we can be so discriminatory identifying different odors. The smell of bacon also is a strong motivator. It motivates one to eat bacon, which I was, unfortunately, not able to do at that moment.
By this point, the birds were starting to become active and sing to each other. To us, it is an entertaining bird concert, with different songs coming from different directions. To the birds, it is the result of sexual selection at work, a subset of Darwin’s natural selection, establishing the male’s dominance for his territory and mate.
I made it around the last corner back towards my house, the sky now a mix of grays and rosy pinks. I stopped by my house briefly, to change to a dry shirt which I had left on my front porch, grab my backpack and water bottle, and head out to meet the usual Sunday morning runners at 7:00 for our 12.5 mile loop, with 7 miles in already.
By the finish of the morning run, I got my 20.2 miles in. One of my good running friends, Kealan, ran the 12.5 miles with me, and even the extra half mile I needed to get to that 20 mile mark. Our conversation the whole way made the run seem much shorter.
I’ll leave you with a link to the song running through my mind as I was running the dark streets in the early morning of last Sunday:
Frank relaxes at Starbucks with his running friends, 20.2 miles in the training bank.
As I was digging up our carrots from our garden, having left them to grow the whole summer, I was pleasantly surprised to find the above carrot couplet you see on your left. Why, it looked like an adoring couple, snuggling together, spooning. I was quite taken by this natural representation of love, so I set the carrots on our counter in the kitchen. There they stayed for some time. When I again discovered them, hiding out behind other stuff that got piled around them, they had changed. Yes, they were still in that loving, gentle embrace, but they lost their hair. They became shriveled. Their bright orange color was gone. The embrace had lost some vital turgor. In a matter of a few weeks, they went from being youthful and attractive, to stereotypes of the aged.
I am feeling this way, struck by the evil vicissitudes of my aging body. It seems to have come on rather suddenly, as if a switch was turned. I was still able to manage a decent marathon in 2015. But this past year, my times for various races rose like hot air balloons. What happened to the speed? Also, I’m feeling pains I used to only feel the day after the marathon. Now, when I wake in the morning and head downstairs to make coffee, I find myself relying on the banister, as my thigh muscles put out little protest yelps of pain.
I suspect some of this has come about due to my daily schedule and obligations leaving less time for training. I know, people say, “you have to make the time.” “There’s no excuse.” But long work days and, during the winter months, short daylight hours, make challenges to getting out there and maintaining the fitness. The other aspect, though, is what to expect as we get older. Listening to the broadcasts of the Australian Open tennis tournament, the announcers stated over and over how shocking it was that the finalists, men and women, were all older than 30(!), and some over 35 (shocking!). One can only imagine the losses in strength and ability to recover when one is over 60. One estimate I read is that one loses about 0.6% of one’s overall strength and fitness for each year over 30. I think that percentage applies to the previous year’s fitness, so that the 0.6% is subtracted not from the level at 30 each year, but from the last year’s level.
When I was 48 I got a book by Joel Friel, called “Cycling Past 50”. While published in 1998, I think it has a lot of excellent information and advice which can be used in any sport, and certainly beyond 50. He starts with some graphs showing how our bodies lose muscle, strength, and aerobic capacity as we grow older. He also shows, in graph form, what happens if one allows extra body fat to accumulate, and it is not a pretty picture. V̇O2max drops much more by the age of 70 if the percent body fat is 30% as opposed to 15%. He addresses “task creep”, which he states refers to accumulating more work and responsibility as one hits the peak of one’s professional years in the 50-65 age group. Beyond cycling specific information, he addresses recovery, nutrition and injury avoidance, all taking on greater importance as we get older but still wish to train and compete. I also just ordered “Running Until You’re 100”, by Jeff Galloway. That’s the way to take the long view….
While I feel like that carrot on the right in the top photo, I believe I can persevere and even get a few good races in, in the coming years. At the same time, I want to continue to enjoy the benefits of aging, such as more freedom to travel, offspring who have become successful in their own lives, and an appreciation for life in general. Anyway, see you out on the road.
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