Packing for Uwharrie

You can learn a lot about someone by how they pack.

Some folks use a list. Others have perfectly-sized bags and containers for each item in their travel case. My brother wrote a whole blog post about his suitcase (his blog documents his life-long search for the best quality everything–luggage, glassware, ketchup. I swear we are blood related). Some people read internet articles on packing.

[On a related note, I have never understood some people’s excitement about The Container Store. These people don’t need The Container Store–they are already hyper-organized (“but Steph, now I can be hyper-organized in coordinating, stylish containers!”). People like me have no use for The Container Store. The retail organization concept I need? The Dumpster Store.]


This. This is what I need.

I’m highly visual. I need to put everything out where I can see it, in one place, or I’ll forget something important. I once relayed the White Lake Half Ironman with Andrew–he was swimming and biking; I was running. The morning of the race, I searched in vain for my running shoes–they were at home. $50 later and I was one lucky kid to score the last pair of shoes in my size at the expo. [The painful slog in new shoes, on what seemed like the surface of Mercury, is a story for another time.]

Is it any wonder I gave up triathlons? I couldn’t handle the stress of preparation.

When I pack, I start a cache. Often it’s on the dining room table or the bed, setting out everything I might want. Like a jay hoarding food or shiny trinkets, I spend a day or two adding items to the cache. When I can see it all, I’m less likely to forget things. When I can’t think of anything else to add (or when I run out of time, whichever comes first), I shove it all in a bag and am ready to roll.

The Uwharrie cache is telling. Foam roller. Compression socks. Roller stick. First aid kit. Tennis ball and golf ball. Ice wrap. I am not a hypochondriac, nor am I especially safety-conscious (see Why Running With Scissors?). It’s Uwharrie, after all. If you don’t like to at least flirt with danger, this is not the race for you. But my body feels beaten. I have no problem with that either (see above), except that the race hasn’t happened yet.

The not-injured ankle is aching (but don’t tell Gyro–there’s nothing really wrong with it). My hip flexors are tight. My ITB is cranky. The massage therapist I see occasionally tells me it’s all caused by tightness in my left foot, which has a touch of plantar fasciitis. It feels like overtraining, but I’ve really taken it easy, so it can’t be that. Right?

I had a good taper run last Saturday, though, doing my favorite 8 mile figure-8 loop of Sycamore and Company Mill Trails at Umstead. I knew that I should stay off the trails and not risk an ankle roll, but I packed my trail shoes anyway. To my delight, the fire roads were even icier than the trails. I hated to waste the rare opportunity of running through the woods with a little snow on the ground, so off I went to my happy place.

It was a good packing experience too, as I let my mind prep for the much longer and harder run ahead. I laid everything out–every ache and pain, all my worries and fears, and then added some of my goals and hopes, so I could see it all and be satisfied I hadn’t missed anything I really needed. Then I stuffed it all back into my head and finished my run, feeling better prepared for this coming weekend.


Running out here helps me pack for something much tougher. Don’t forget the brain.


Uwharrie 2012. I can’t wait to run this trail again.

Despite not feeling 100% ready, I’m completely excited about running Uwharrie again. It was my favorite race of 2012, and I can’t wait to get back out on that crazy trail and run 20 miles. Something I didn’t say in my report last year was that I wanted to whoop along the way but was worried that other runners would shake their heads and think, “another Uwharrie newbie–see you at mile 18 when I trample your broken spirit.”

If I’m feeling good, I won’t hold back on the whoops this time around. I’m grateful for the chance to run. See you at the campfire at the finish!

Classic Crazy Fun at the Little River Trail Run

Overheard conversation at yesterday’s LRTR:
Scene: medical tent, post-run. Anonymous woman walks in and waits for the PT guy to finish his conversation and notice her.

PTG: “How are you? What can I do for you?”
AW: “Hey, I’m fine. But I was wondering…if you’re not busy, could you help me wrap my ankle up the right way with my Ace bandage?”
PTG: “Sure thing. What’s wrong with your ankle?”
AW: [cheerfully] “Oh, there’s nothing really wrong with it.”
PTG: [smiles] “And yet, here you are.”
AW: “Well, I turned it pretty hard a couple of weeks ago and it was swollen for a week. But it’s fine now. I was really careful today and didn’t roll it. It’s just a little sore.”
PTG: [clearly amused] “How do you know there’s nothing wrong with it?”
AW: “Well, Uwharrie is in two weeks, so there can’t be anything wrong with it.”
PTG: [knowingly] “Ah. Well, I’ll be helping out at Uwharrie, so look for me there.”

I bet PTs see wackos like this all the time.
Conditions were wicked for my 5th running of the Little River Trail Run. I concur with the Running Down theory that the race is always held on the coldest day of the year. I’m a scientist, so I view any hypothesis with skepticism. However, I have long-term data to support this hypothesis:

2008 – OK, truthfully, I don’t remember the weather. The race was 9 miles then.
2010 – 17 degrees at the start. Had to squeeze the water cups at the aid stations to break the skim ice.
2011 – Temps in the mid-20s with snow on the ground.
2012 – Temps around freezing. And the rest of the winter was a big joke.

According to the usual scheduling, LRTR is typically held the 2nd weekend in January. Well, last weekend’s weather (foggy and nearly 70 degrees) would have been wrong. It can’t be mere coincidence that the race was scheduled a week later. When it rained for three straight days last week, and Winter Storm Iago rolled in on Thursday night, I knew it was time to trek to Rougemont. And while not much snow accumulated, conditions at the start were classic Little River: temperatures just below freezing, snow on the ground, icy bridges, and slippery mud from the overflowing creek.

As for the rest of 2013, I predict a pretty mild winter. Let’s face it, LRTR is a better predictor than that sketchy Sir Walter Wally (Raleigh’s answer to Punxsutawney Phil).

I would have been even more gleeful (for some reason, ugly trail conditions make me happy—even if I have a horrible run, there will be good stories), but the conditions were not optimal for someone (yes, me) who has a slightly sore ankle and Uwharrie 20 in two weeks.

And, there’s something about doing a favorite race each year that makes it hard to hold back. I’ve bettered my 10 mile time every year, and crept up the age-group rankings. Last year I knocked 9 minutes off my PR and pulled into 4th AG. I knew I couldn’t do that this year and needed to take care not to turn the ankle. It annoyed me.

But in the end, I love Little River: the race, the people, the course, the awesome volunteers, and the post-race breakfast at Foster’s with the Peeps. And I was happy and grateful to be out there with some of my trail buddies on Saturday.

This was my son Stephen’s second time running the 7K; my friend Aimee’s daughter was also there for her second year running. Awesome to see them loving running and single-track. Lots of Peep friends signed up so we had a great crowd toeing the starting line for both the 7K and 10 miler. The first stretch is always fast, jumping off the road and onto a dirt road, which spreads people out. Typically I run this as hard as I can, but I tried to take it easy. My mantra for the day was “Uwharrie in 2 weeks! Uwharrie in 2 weeks!”

Race organizers sent an email out the night before that had a barely discernible edge of panic about the trail conditions. Among other things:

  • Every wooden bridge and walkway will be slick. Slow down. Walk if necessary. We want everyone to return safely and without injury, a goal that is largely under your control.
  • The river flooded with the recent rains, washing silt onto the trail along the river. The trail along the river is extremely slick and there is standing water in some places. Slow down, watch your footing, allow space between you and the runner in front of you, and heed the advice of the course monitors.
  • For 10 milers: The trail along the river beginning at marker 38 is especially difficult.  The trail runs very close to the river. We’ve placed traffic cones and additional course monitors in the area to remind you of the danger.

They weren’t kidding. The trail was very wet and muddy, and the stretch along the creek was laughably slick. Every bridge and boardwalk was glazed with frost. I kept my stride short and tiptoed through the muddy places—not to keep my feet dry, because they were soaked before mile 2, but to keep my footing. Even people who walked the the slippery creek corridor were falling, but I managed to stay upright and start the long switch-backed climb away from the river.

Still, I was grinning because there was a bagpiper near the top and the music, combined with the sun shining through the bare trees, the fast-moving river, the chill, and the dusting of snow were all so perfect.

The pre-race email also had a contest that I was sure I could win. They attached a photo of the trail and we were supposed to try to figure out where it was taken. Before the race I heard people saying that it looked like 100% of the trail, and I figured I was a shoe-in. I happen to be a forest ecologist and the photo did NOT look like 100% of the trail to me.  For one thing, the photo was in a hardwood forest, not pine. The trees were not large, but the tree density was low. There was a lot of snow, so it was probably on a north-facing slope or somewhere where it wasn’t getting direct sun. The trail was muddy, not rocky. And it was definitely in an upland, not along the river. So I watched carefully, but that was easier said than done. I ran through 3-4 sections where the photo could have been taken, but it was so slick and muddy that I had to focus on the trail and missed the spot. Apparently none of the guesses were anywhere close, either, so I guess we all adhered to the race directors’ advice to be careful.

LRTR is also fun in that the later miles have looping sections where you see groups of runners nearby yet have no idea whether they are in front or behind you.  It’s a huge game of chase through the woods. I tried to stick with my plan, but it wasn’t easy. I found myself rationalizing that I did, after all, have TWO WEEKS before Uwharrie, so as long as I didn’t hurt my ankle, I could run pretty hard. [Note: these are conflicting goals.]

Shout-out to the volunteers at the race, who stood in the cold for hours and cheered us on. The aid stations seemed especially enthusiastic this year, especially the last one, which is 1.7 miles from the finish and had a festive Mardi Gras decor. But I’ll stand by my assertion that the second-to-last mile is the hardest in any race. It seemed like ages after we passed the aid station that we started hearing the cheers from the finish line. By this point I was running with just a few others and we were spread out. My friends Audrey and Kerry cheered as I came out of the woods and around the corner to the finish line in 1:33 and change, a few minutes off my PR from 2012.

Just after I arrived at the finish I heard the race director paging two of my friends. With a sinking feeling, I went straight to the tent and found my buddy Richard, the dubious recipient of the Trail Love award for the greatest contact with the trail. He had fallen down the embankment near the last aid station and had a gruesome-looking cut on his eyelid that was bleeding profusely. His teammates collected his pocket first aid kit prize and traipsed him off to the ER for 12 stitches.

Several of my fellow Peeps took home awards, including Missy winning Master’s, Karen and Audrey winning their respective AG in the 7K race, and Kerry winning her AG in the 10 miler. Ken and Bob both completed their longest trail races, and Carolyn did her first trail race. Stephen had a great run as well. Many reasons to celebrate at our post-race Foster’s breakfast! Another classic Little River Trail Run is in the books. And Uwharrie really is in two weeks. Hopefully, I will be visiting the medical tent afterward only to say hello and assure the PT that there really was nothing wrong with my ankle.

Some of our Peeps post-race. Great day!

Some of our Peeps post-race. Great day!