share the trail

the only thing separating maine from kentucky are rebel flags, phonetic stress put on the letter "r", and about 3 feet of snow.

rednecks are heavily camouflaged up here; subarus, ski poles and a kilo's worth of expensive puffy jackets make them hard to spot, especially as the breed native to the northeast never actually develops a mullet.

in the southeast, sharing single track with equestrians is tedious and riddled with rather large and fibrous turds, but far worse than ticks, rattlers and mountain lions- even bubba on an ATV- are the fact that maine's trails are on 'guns and ammo lock down' august through november, showcasing a different weapon of the month. november is the crossbow.

in maine, a home owner must post signs on their property stating that they have had endless meetings with the bank, some lawyers and a plethora of annoying real estate people for the privilege of having hundreds of thousands of dollars withdrawn from their checking accounts every year. should the happily mortgaged choose not to nail garish plastic message boards at the perimeter of their property, then it is within the jurisdiction of any redneck worth his blood alcohol level to take a fire arm onto said property and shoot at will in the direction of anything deemed worthy of sharing that evening's dinner plate with some mashed potatoes and A1 sauce.

for women only

in an effort to squeeze one more event out of 2009, i found myself at the women's half marathon in "almost new hampshire" last weekend. this is not generally recommended as part of a post-marathon recovery plan, but a friend was running her first and needed the moral support, and i needed to make sure i wouldn't require full-on body support hose now that the two biggest eating months of the calendar year have arrived.

fashion no-no's abounded- as they tend to at foot races- shortly after the energy bean stop was "hot pink tights" and "brown shorts with sweaty crotch that looked like she'd wet herself". of course the first water station saw a mother of three, a former power lifter and body builder (yes, the ones in those tiny bikinis) and myself getting down to the sport's bras in order to trade clothes for an ensemble that allowed for a little more armpit ventilation and temperature control.

while it is easy to complain (no gatorade until mile 11, and a 'serve your own water' station around mile 5) stunning views of the atlantic, old churches, quaint lobster shacks and other new england paraphernalia brought me to my knees long before fatigue was able to.

hansel and gretel should have just taken a slash in the woods

7 dogs, 5 humans, all in varying degree of shapes, size and breed, and lots of wide open trail provided a backdrop and supporting cast for 'axel's big adventure'. fortunately there was a veteran kennel owner, ER doc, accountant, dentist and mental health worker to manage the increased potential for canine carnage. as it happens, none of our four legged chums needed to consolidate their petco account, get a transfusion or root canal, let alone discuss their beef about being locked in a cage as a 'training tool'.

and so the first 30 minutes passed with much noses down/bums in the air as axel enjoyed the freedom to pounce and mount assorted poodles, sans leash. which begat 'sans big yellow dog'. which begat panicked humans, really only two; the ones responsible for refilling his waterbowl. trails past, future and non-existent were canvassed to no avail and much frustration (again, only two hand wringing humans). however, it would appear that a steady diet of flourescent lightbulbs, batteries and fireplace logs does the brain good, because basking his golden fur in the driveway waiting, was our little pee sniffer. it turns out that chugging a bowl of water before heading for a long hike is significantly cheaper, and more reliable, than a garmin.

as his first birthday approaches, axel also commemorated the excursion with an inaugural coming of age "leg lift on a bush".

i love a man in uniform

nothing brings americans out in droves like a 2 for 1 deal at subway, or desert fatigues and flags. the 34th US marine corps marathon attracted 30,000 endorphin seekers and equal amounts of their screaming, gesticulating and cowbell ringing nearest and dearest. and while many distance foot races rely on relatively d-list mile marker "entertainment", there was very little need for the usual cadre of cartwheeling elvi or jitterbugging jugglers on this very historic, scenic and heavily testosterone lined course.



this particular 26.2 miler provided a complete multi-sensory experience. the visual being fairly obvious, was nicely accented by an auditory "hoo-ra!" (it's a marine thing, you wouldn't understand), mocha clif shots (the sports bean monogamy is finally broken), and of course the smell of rancid armpits, port-a-loos (or some unfortunate who didn't quite make it in time), mixed with the suffocating pong of tiger balm.



perhaps more motivating than seeing "grandma" and "cotton shorts with walrus butt", pass me at mile 23, were the numerous soldiers in wheelchairs/pushing wheelchairs/running on prosthetics. it really is beyond humbling to run up on a young woman with a picture of her fallen brother, and hero, on the back of her singlet.



disappointingly, the 18 minutes shaved off from my last marathon time was in direct disproportion to sustaining any black toenails at this one. and the only chafing issues came as a result of some armpit stubble that was left one day too long.

long runs are my laxative

the low mileage training week preceding "marathon sunday" is typically a source of extreme frustration for a heretofore regular morning tryst with the toilet bowl.

sadly, not even coffee can combat "tapering".

staying classy in the 04240

small(er) town living means being on a first name basis with your mail carrier, facebook friending- and donating farm animals to- the postmaster at the down town building, and being given your very own nickname ("fred") by the postal workers in the back sorting office. it also means contributing to the max. capacity for fire safety statutes at 'maine's very first gay bar's last night in business'.



preconceived notions that a new england drag show is just an endless stream of leggy blonde lovelies twirling ski poles on their adam's apple, or at the very least a puffy jacket striptease down to the long, silk undies, are about as false as their fleece lined implants.



these are: thepeopleofwalmart.com(afterhours).

tucked or untucked?

these boots were made for walking; the dog; to pick up piles of steaming, snow dusted poo.

the temperature has recently changed from 'mostly flip flops with a slight chance of a cute closed toe' to 'heavy periods of gloves and hat' just to pry myself out of bed.

"fall" is indeed here, something that brings americans to such a state of seasonal rapture that they forget two weeks of pumpkins and red leaves, inevitably gives way to months of frozen petrol caps and blue fingers. however, the opportunity to wear boots more than makes up for it. so i'm told.

thanks to people magazine, i know to wear fur lined boots with a pair of carpenter shorts, and PVC thigh highs with even less. however, the winter wardrobe poses more of an opportunity to get my own, never-been-worn, boots in a bind. there are just far too many variables to contend with when trying to co-ordinate colour, texture, height and the 'what to do with the trouser leg' dilemma.

next on the agenda is a trip to the l.l. bean outlet- "bean's" to locals- for a pair of snow shoes.