Post #3 68 days 13 h 02 m 19 s

Due to my wife Robbin’s new job I have in the past month had the opportunity to run in the beaucolic and varied countryside of Northeastern Pennsylvania. Farm fields, cow pastures, wooded trails and rolling country roads offer varied and challenging running terrain. In my first visit I concentrated on the hiking trails through the woods behind the house where we were staying. Although well maintained the trails call for careful footing over rocky and rooted terrain. With care it offered a fast run through the fragrant, lush hillside. The pleasantries of Prospect Park Brooklyn pale in comparison. The lush green and dampness beneath the canopy, punctuated by the startled gaze of a buck creates a spirited connection to the natural world. A hike on these trails would be equally splendid, but for me running offers a closer bond to the woods and its inhabitants. These runs are both physically and emotionally exhilarating.
I returned again to Pennsylvania for a few days last week. This time I decided to head out on the roads. Two lane country roads dip and rise, and weave like ribbons meandering their way over the countryside. This is motoring as I described it earlier. Running up to the crest of a hill I could look out over the fields to a point where the weaving road reappears at a distant turn. Judging the distance I could make an educated guess that in about five minutes I would be cresting that distant peak. My safety concerns on this terrain was to listen for cars that might appear from around a blind turn. Otherwise I was free to motor, take in the vistas, moo at passing cows or marvel at a gaggle of wild turkeys that would suddenly burst forth from the greenery at the side of the road.
Day one I headed out on a road that Robbin and I had walked for a few miles the previous evening. I decided I would run out for forty-five minutes and then turn back. A pleasant but undulating stretch, it made for excellent hill work. On day two I discovered it to be the single hilliest stretch of that road. It tested muscles I typically don’t use.
Day two I decided I was up for something more. Two miles up this road was a sign indicating that Honesdale, the town where Robbin works was ten miles distance. I wasn’t sure just how precise those mile markers might be, but felt certain it was doable. It turned out to be quite accurate as we clocked it by car at twelve and one half miles. It was another pleasant run and an opportunity for new discoveries; lakes, turn of the 20th century architecture, a farmer selling eggs, beef and pork. When I’ve run a long distance through terrain such as this I can’t help feeling that I now own it. I’ve traversed the distance under my own power and in so doing rendered that space to a scale that I can physically understand and relate to.
Day three turned out to be entirely different from anything I could have imagined or had ever experienced. Having run something close to twenty miles of hill terrain in the past two days, I decided to return to the hiking trails and enjoy an easy jaunt in the woods. I had noticed some trails behind the house other than those I had previously taken. They were in close proximity to the routes I knew and I assumed that they would link up. It took a few attempts to find a route into the woods. The first one proved not so much a trail as twenty minutes of delicately maneuvering a deer path through brambles that led back to where I had begun. If I had run it I would have been ripped to shreds. As it was I used two sticks to navigate through the thorns.
My second attempt in was on a cleared path that lured me with markings. But the red marks soon vanished and several dead ends latter, rather than back track, I decided I knew the general direction and would head on. Through lush woods and pine forests with no undergrowth, over streams, up embankments, continually turning in what I was sure was the correct direction, listening for foresters I knew where working in the vicinity, I finally emerged on the edge of a farm field. None of this looked even vaguely familiar. Emerging from the woods I ran across the field to the top of the hill where there appeared to be a road and perhaps a view that might offer a clue to my whereabouts. I decided against running into the middle of the field to wave down the farmer atop his tractor haying the fields. I could be wrong but didn’t think most farmers would take kindly to a crazy, waving mad man running across their land and keeping them from their work.
The road at the far edge of the field led down hill to a pond and another dead end. It also now meant another backtracking up hill. Heading further up the road in the other direction I suddenly saw well off in the distance, against the soft curves of leafy greens, the unmistakable rectangular shape of a street sign. It was a small one lane which led to another and another and finally to a two lane road with a yellow dividing line. Surely a familiar landmark would appear. Instinctually I turned left and up the hill. But it was this same instinct that had led me on a crazed run through what now seemed like an elite Marine Corps, special ops, extreme training course. I stopped at the top of the hill and tried to reason my location. Back in the other direction was the wood from where I had emerged into the farm field. I turned around and headed back down the road. A few miles and a couple of attempts of waving down cars for directions, which returned only a friendly country wave, a young man stopped. “Was this the direction to Boyds Mills”, I asked. He assured me it was. I was afraid to ask him how far I still had to go. Delighted that I was on course to home I thanked him and proceeded running. With each turn of the road, or crest of a hill still nothing looked familiar. After about twenty minutes of this the good samaritan, returning from the other direction pulled up beside me. “I got to thinking” he said, “I didn’t know if you where looking for Boyds Mills Road and a circular running route, or the town of Boyds Mills as the crow flies.” I’m not sure if it was the wilting look in my eyes or the sag of my body across his fender that clued him to my desperation for the crow’s route. “Because the shortest way there” he concluded gently “is in the other direction.” So much for instinct versus reason. It turns out he was a biker who does circular routes in the area. He read my body language signaling I was physically spent. “Why don’t you hop in. I’ll give you a lift.” It turned out I wasn’t so far that I would not have made it on my own but was most grateful for the lift. He dropped me off at the ten-mile sign and I finished the two-mile run back to the house.
So concluded my “easy jaunt in the woods” two hour, half marathon, boot camp morning outing. After food and a shower I was certain that I would not have passed it up for anything and would gladly repeat the ordeal again. I’m not sure I could say I owned that run. Respected it perhaps.

Post #2 72 days 15 h 21 m 06 s

Running for me is a solitary sport. Friends will often comment to me how boring running is. I will admit that I too found it so in the beginning. It took years of casual running before finding true enjoyment. When I’ve tried to describe the exhilaration of a long run, I always return to the same word; “motoring”. As that word suggests I feel as if I’m being transported by means other than my body’s locomotion. Not the mechanical, combustion propelled power of a car, nor the human powered mechanics of a bicycle, “motoring” is a strange hybrid. There is the sensation of a machine even though I know it is my legs and their muscles that are transporting me. But I have no sensation of this. There is no way to feel my brain sending its electrical signals to my legs to lift the right foot, stretch out the right leg, balance with the left foot while pushing off and propel my body forward, plant the right foot absorbing the weight of my body in motion, levering over my right foot and then repeat all of this and more, much more, with the left. And repeat, and repeat, and repeat. My body is on its own and I am watching the scenery go by. I’m motoring. Perhaps this is what others may refer to as runner’s high. I don’t feel it every time I run or for the complete tenure of a run. It’s more prevalent on longer runs and is especially acute when running in new places. It is then that I’m a solitary tourist in a strange land, discovering new places, seeing the sights go by, enjoying beautiful vistas. My own steady breaths and metronome of footfalls are my company. Running is freedom.

Thank You from Abilis

Abilis would like to extend an enormous THANK YOU to Jeffrey for coming up with this fantastic idea. We are thrilled to be supported in such a creative and interesting way. As an introduction to those of you who don't know, Abilis provides services to people of all ages with autism, Down syndrome and other developmental disabilities and their families in lower Fairfield County, CT and parts of upper Westchester County, NY. Just a few of the services we provide include: early intervention for young children, training to families of children with autism, employment services, residential services and recreation opportunities for children and adults.

Over the coming weeks we will continue to post updates on the important work that Abilis does every day, but if you wish to learn more now, we do encourage you to visit our website at www.abilis.us. In the meantime, we're excited to learn more about Jeffrey's journey toward the NYC marathon. How's training going, Jeffrey?

POST #1 - 86 days 10 h 02 m 26 s

BACKSTORY
Unless it proved to be a most grueling and horrible experience, I can’t imagine running a marathon and not wanting to repeat the feat. It had been five years since my previous marathon and the juices had been percolating. If you are a serious, serious runner, waiting five years to run your next marathon would be ludicrous. I’m not talking about the fanatics who run more than one a year or have run one in every state of the union and a few foreign countries. If you’re a long distance runner who runs regularly, one marathon a year would be de rigueur.
Last year I was in a state of marathon contemplation when a relative came to run New York for his first time. We live in Brooklyn where at about the eight mile mark the marathon passes within twenty yards of our front stoop. Most every year, along with our neighbors, we eagerly await the front-runners and stay for a while to cheer the following masses. Add to this the extra layer of excitement of watching for someone you know and I was ready to sign on once more.
Getting charged up was the relatively easy part especially compared to the training regimen and luck of obtaining entrance to the run. There are a few ways to “get a number” for the New York City marathon. One may choose to run a series of qualifying races the previous year. But the most common way is through an online lottery. Even though 38,000 runners get a number, it’s no easy feat. For my previous marathon it took three years of trying at which point having not been picked you are by default given a number. This is somewhat less than ideal, as one has to be in the early phase of training, to say nothing of the proper mindset by the time the lottery is drawn. I had been running regularly this past year and felt prepared should I gain entrance.
About the time of the NY marathon in early November, charities step up their fund drives. If family finances allow I will do our once every five-year contribution for a membership of the local NPR station and some other charity to which my modest donation might make a difference. Around this time I received an invitational email from a colleague in the film industry, Dan Edelstein, for a charitable walk for Abilis, an organization that serves people of all ages with autism, Down syndrome and other developmental disabilities. Abilis offers support to Dan’s son and his family. I will leave it to Dan or others to post their personal experience of the fine work Abilis provides. I was not able to attend the charity walk. But should I get a marathon number it sparked an idea of how I might offer some aid to the organization. Many large charities sponsor walks and runs of every variety. Until this point I had been thinking of the marathon on purely personal terms: could I do it again, could I best my time, etc? Why not put my run to some other use that could do something good for others.
The numbers were drawn and on April 8 the email arrived. I’m in. So quite simply, that is what this blog is about, an effort on my part to not just run 26.2 miles but ask for sponsorship in support of Abilis. There will be more details on this to come but for now consider the options: one dollar a mile, a bonus if I finish, double pledge if I beat my previous time or simply pledge what you can.
Training is essential. Nothing can replace getting out there daily, putting in the miles, building stamina and plotting strategy. One can never underestimate the importance of will, determination and mind-set. What better motivation than to know that I have the support through your sponsorship to this worthy cause.
Please check back regularly to monitor my progress, read some thoughts on running and learn more about Abilis. Thanks.