Ocean State Marathon

Newsletter for December, 2003

By Enid Burns

Going into a new age group, and reaching half a century, a few of us decided to take on a marathon. We decided to do Ocean State, in Providence R. I., only three hours away, it would be a cinch. Well it took us close to four hours with plenty of traffic, thank heavens for good company , good music and a cell phone. Wanda, Tina who was doing the half ,my cousin Evelyn first time marathon spectator and myself arrived at the Holiday inn on Saturday. There we met , Gary, Donna, Firdhaus, ,Alex and Charles.

Off we went to the expo, to get our numbers. There we met up with Dick Connley, and Carl Morrison. We had a nice size group from the Bronx. Alright VCTC.

I found Providence to be a beautiful town, with this great canal flowing thru it and a wonderful mall within walking distance from the hotel. I just did a quick scan of the mall and left the others to do the shopping as I wanted to get off my feet and save them for the marathon.

That night after dinner, we want back to the hotel and found out about the incidents at the Yankee game. Oh, Oh, I wasnπt sure if I wanted it to be known at the marathon that I was from the Bronx. But , hey, Iπm a Bronxite and proud of it. So on with my VCTC singlet. The next morning we got up early, to get ready, Tina stretch my hamstrings and massaged my back, Wanda braided Tinaπs hair and Evelyn gave us words of encouragement.

Off we went 5-6 blocks to the start, no lines, no craziness, and your support people are there with you at the start, to see you off.

Picture poses, drinking water, stretching and standing at the port 0 san line, made the start time come quick. The Marathon and the Half started together, so off Tina and I went. As we started through the neighborhoods, I was very excited to see the different, types of houses and the different ethnic flags I saw in windows. On the road I got some whispers, ≥Go Yankees!≤ and very quietly, ≥Go Bronx!≤ I smiled, nodded and kept running, as always you meet someone who says, ≥Van Cortland? I used to run Cross Country races, when I was in college back in the day. So they reminisce a bit with you and you tell them the park is better than ever.

At mile 9, I ran into Gary and I had company until mile 12 where the half turned off and I kept going. I ran through different neighborhoods. I saw. Victorian homes and hoods, that had salsa clubs and smells of Spanish coffee at mile 13. There was a wonderful park with rolling hills and a zoo, some strip joints in the industrial area and then a great run along the bay.

Though it rained most of the way, and pretty hard at times, I was in good spirits and felt pretty good that I was passing runners. At mile 20 or so the hills start in, they weren't too bad, but there isnπt much that compares to the hills of Riverdale and Yonkers . At mile 24 I was getting tired and wanted this to be over, approaching mile 25 I knew that I wouldnπt get my goal 4:30. Although I was a bit disappointed, I decided to finish strong. The last mile is on a down grade and I took full advantage of that. As I approached the finish line, I could see Wanda jumping up and down (what knee surgery) , and great smiles from my VCTC family. My cousin, Evelyn and Wanda grabbed me and gave me kisses and hugs . As a first marathon spectator, Evelyn was truly amazed at how humans put themselves thru that torture. Especially someone in our family. It was great being able to walk to the hotel 1 block away and get into the whirl pool .

This was the best marathon I have experienced, having my cousin and great friends around me and the incredible support, water stops and smiles the volunteers provided, I loved it. I definitely recommend this marathon again for next year. So thanks everyone for being there.

Is The Air Really Different At The Head of The Pack?

By Neil Leibowitz

As many of you may know, I represented the Bronx in this yearπs Foot Locker Five Borough Challenge in the NYC marathon. I along with one representative of each of the other 4 boroughs started 19 minutes ahead of the field, ran with them for the first 16 miles and then raced to the finish for bragging rights of the borough. Hereπs how it went:

6:45 AM: Just another marathoner on his way to Staten Island in Ken [Rolstonπs] ≥Marathon Mobile.≤ Of course, we had to wait for Firdaus to finish his breakfast at Shortstop before we could go!

7:50 AM Walking from the car to the start, I get several calls on my cell phone from the person in charge of the 5 boroughs telling me to hurry up. Of course at this point I am wearing sandals so even if I wanted to run, I couldnπt.

8:00 Locate my five borough team.

8:05 Brief interview on Channel 2.

8:10 Bathroom stop.

8:15 Bathroom stop.

8:20 Waiting for channel 7 interview.

8:30 Bathroom Break.

9:05 We go to the start.

9:15 Bathroom break behind tour bus at the start.

9:35 Elite women go off.

9:45 On the Verrazano Bridge talking to Mayor Bloomberg, just minutes before the start.

9:59 The next thing I knew, we have passed the 1 mile mark. We are all alone on the bridgeãjust us and a camera crew. It feels more like a training run than a marathon.

When we get off the bridge into Brooklyn the crowds cheer us on. It must have seemed strange for them to see 5 regular runners running with bike escorts. Until mile 8 it is just the five of us. Then the lead pack pass us in a blur. It seems like the crowd is cheering more for us than for them. We are supposed to be the commoners, the every day runners who have jobs, go to school, have a family and run the NYC marathon.

People in the crowd shout, ≥I saw you guys on TV,≤ ≥Go Brooklyn≤ with the occasional ≥Go Bronx≤ or other boroughs. Most have no idea who we are and why we are there. I see many familiar faces amongst the crowd and people I didnπt expect to see. A former classmate that I havenπt seen in 5 years is at mile 9 and yells that she saw me on TV and so she came out to cheer me on.

From miles 8-16 we are passed by the elite and then local elite runners.

Before I know it, it is mile 16. The race is on! I pick up my pace coming off the Manhattan Bridge and begin my ascent into the Bronx. My pace is strong, but Paul from Brooklynπs is stronger. It feels great to see the VCTC table at mile 21 and I thrive off the support. I grab my Gatorade from Ken and then it is onward toward Central Park.

Iπm still pushing the pace, but I can feel it was not to be. I finish strongly, but 2 minutes off of the lead (a 3 minute PR). Bragging rights would go to Brooklyn for another year.

Starting ahead of the field was a once in a lifetime experience. Looking back, I realized that the NYC marathon isnπt about the elite but the everyday runners. What makes NY special is that the crowds are there to support the ≥ordinary≤ runner. The course is challenging, the weather is unpredictable, and the logistics are a nightmare. Anyone who runs NY has complaints about it. However, the crowds make the race.

Everyone comes out to watch the ≥other≤ 30,000+ runners, the 3 hour runners, the 4 hour runners, the 5 & 6 hour runners. Whether as a runner or spectator, I will always look forward to being a part of the marathon.

It was a memorable day and one that I will always remember. Having said that, I look forward to returning to my place in the middle of the pack, surrounded by those of us who promise to never do another marathon again and yet year after year find ourselves at the starting line ready to put our body through hell.

VCTC was also a special part of my marathon day. All the group runs, advice and support helped make this yearπs marathon memorable. You were all there with me the whole way. I wanted to give special thanks to Ken for his tireless commitment to helping me achieve my goals.

As for coming in third, there is always next year!

Tales From The Tetons

By Dennis Burns

As the plane circled around Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the Teton Range rose up sharply from the green valley below. This jagged mountain range, devoid of trees, sent its sharp and crumpled spires into the sky. Unlike most mountain ranges, the Tetons have no foothills, and therefore rise directly out of the flat and green valley of Jackson Hole, giving them a threatening appearance, and making them appear much higher than their 12,000 to 13,000 foot altitudes.

I was attempting to climb the highest mountain in the Teton Range, the ≥Grand Teton≤ with my two climbing friends from the climbing gym, JC. Woodward and Bob Graziano. I would be spending 10 days with JC and Bob, in an attempt to summit the ≥Grand≤ and then when they returned home, Enid would come out and spend 5 days more with me, doing the sightseeing thing.

As we entered the Grand Teton National Park, we could see black smoke in the distance, and the road was closed, due to a huge sagebrush fire, forcing us to take the back roads to the ≥Climbers Ranch≤, where we would be spending the next 10 days, sleeping in the bunk houses with fellow climbers, and getting ready for our climb, mentally and physically.

The Climbers Ranch is an incredible experience. Run by the American Alpine Club, it is a collection of about 8 bunkhouses with plywood bunks, and toilet facilities, with wooden tables set outdoors to cook your food and eat. Every evening, like clockwork, at about 8:30 the calls of coyotes would ring out seeming uncomfortably close in the waning light. Everyone there was a climber, and shared food, as well as ≥Beta≤ or information about the technical aspects of the different climbs. As we sat outdoors, cooking our meals, the Grand Teton towered over us all, and we could see other climbers on the mountain with our binoculars. The weather on the Tetons always followed the same pattern. The summit was lost in clouds in the morning, was clearly visible during the day, and at about 2 pm every day the thunder clouds would roll in, covering the summit once again, in darkness, with an occasional lightning flash on the summit to brighten things up.

Our plan was to do some short hikes during the first few days, to acclimatize ourselves to the altitude, so we would have no altitude sickness once we mad our ascent.

There is a different sense of time and distance out there. An average hike would take about 6 to 8 hrs round trip, with an elevation gain of about 5,000 feet or so. As it worked out, I was the least experienced lead climber of the group, but was in the best physical condition, and least affected by the altitude, due to my running, I think.

On our first day out, we took a boat across a beautiful lake to the opposite shore; to climb a 4-pitch climb called ≥Cube Point≤. I was thrilled to see that we were sharing our boat with a group of climbers and guides, one of who was the great Nancy Fagan, whom I had seen on a climbing video of the Grand Teton. When the boat docked, we left the other group and started waking up a narrow and winding trail, with limited visibility, due to the thick vegetation. There in front of us, no farther than 10 yards was a huge bull moose, standing squarely in the trail. These animals are known to be hornary, so we had to wait, while he slowly meandered off the trail and down to the lake. As we passed by, he stood off to the side and stared us down. The approach to the climb took us almost 3 hours, and was a brutally steep hike up to the climb. The 4 pitches took another 4 hrs, as protection had to be placed in the cracks in the rock and the rope clipped to it, so if the lead climber fell, he would only fall down to the highest piece of ≥pro≤, that is if the pro held, and did not fall out. The exposure at the top pitch was breathtaking, with huge chunks of rock balanced in precarious positions, each weighing hundreds of tons. By the time we got back to the boat dock, we were totally exhausted, and this was nothing compared to the Grand Teton.

We would go on a long hike one day, and then spend the other day resting. Of course, on rest days, I had to go out for a run of about 3 miles in the valley. Distances are misleading due to the sheer immensity of the mountains, and I felt like I was running, but getting nowhere. The running loosened up my legs from the previous days climbing while carrying while carrying a pack.

One day, I felt like doing a bit more, so I followed a trail leading out to a big open area alongside a moraine. As I passÈ by a group of big burrows in the ground, the thought that they may have been made by coyotes crossed my mind, but I figured I was safe, since it was broad daylight.

I ran out to the adjacent ranch, and turned around at the corral. As I began running back to the camp, I spotted 2 coyotes crossing the trail, about 50 yards in front of me. They were clearly watching me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a third one, circling around me. I immediately turned around, and slowly backtracked until I got to the corral, and once I was out of sight, I ran the fastest mile of my life, back to the highway, and to safety. A 3-mile run turned into a 6 mile run. They say that coyotes donπt attack humans, but you couldnπt have convinced me that day. I wasnπt going to wait to find out!

After a few more hikes to higher and higher elevations, we were ready for the big day. We packed our climbing gear, food, winter clothing, tent, sleeping bags, and set off to the trailhead to climb. We started the approach at 6 am, carrying about 45 lbs of gear each. The trail was very steep and very long. As we hiked up through the switchbacks, we eventually rose above the tree line. As we looked down, we could see the lakes and highways in the distance below. We continued for about 6 hrs. Up through the mounds of broken rock from the cliffs above. As we ascended, the weather began to change, just as we expected. It clouded up, and got very windy, and the temperature began to plummet. We could see the ≥saddle≤ or ridge between 2 mountains off in the distance, about another 1,000 feet up, shrouded in thick clouds. Snow began to blow in our faces, as we continued up, feeling the altitude. We finally arrived at our ≥campsite≤, which consisted of a flat spot behind a big rock, with a 2-foot high wall of rocks piled around to block the ever-constant wind. This was a brutal place, with a cold and constant wind scouring the landscape. We quickly set up the tent, and held down the floor with big rocks. I was wearing everything I had, and I was still cold. I was dehydrated, but afraid to drink, because my water was cold, and I didnπt want to become hypothermic.

The wind kept blowing out the stove, so we had to heat water for meals and drinking inside the tent. We spent a sleepless night being blown around by the ever-constant wind.

We were afraid the tent would be shredded by the constant 50 mph gusts, but it held up throughout the night, though we had to get up once to tighten the tent lines.

At 5 am, my alarm went off, but I wasnπt thrilled with the idea of getting out of the tent after a sleepless night. Nobody else was stirring either. I realized that we would not be able to summit, since we would have to be down off the mountain by 1 pm or we would be caught in a whiteout and possible thunderstorm. Three weeks before we arrived, a climber had been struck and killed by lightning on this very mountain. Though we could hear the voices of other climbers in the distance, we werenπt moving.

At about 7:30, Bob woke up and asked why nobody woke him up. I laughed to myself, because I knew that he was also awake at 5 am. Bob wanted to climb, since this was his 3^rd time on the mountain, and he felt like he had to do it this time. I told him that I had no intentions of summiting, because we wouldnπt be down in time, but I would do half of the climb and then return. JC was feeling the altitude, so he wasnπt thrilled with the idea of a summit either, but Bob was desperate, and I knew that was dangerous. We quickly dressed and ate, and stepped out into the howling wind. As we approached the base of the mountain, other climbers were returning, complaining that the conditions were dangerous, as there was black ice and snow all over the climb. We climbed slowly and cautiously, following the footsteps in the snow.

The view was spectacular, as we could see Idaho off in the distance. Every handhold and foot placement had to be done carefully in these dangerous conditions. After about 4 hours of climbing, we were half way to the summit, but it was here that I decided not to go any further. I knew that if we continued, it would take another 4 or 5 hours, and that would put us in danger. Bob was angry and disappointed, but I didnπt care. I knew that I had made the right decision. I wanted to return. JC was too sick to care. He wanted to return also. We had a bite to eat, and then headed back down to camp.

We reached the tent at 3 pm, but the thought of spending another sleepless and cold night up here was out of the question. We quickly took down the tent, packed up, ate quickly, and descended. We knew that we would be returning through the forest in the darkness, and that was scary, so we moved as quickly as possible. We hiked the last 1-½ hours in total darkness, with our headlamps. It was a weird sensation, hiking the trail by headlamp, totally exhausted, but afraid of seeing eyes glowing in the dark. We talked loudly and sang, in case any bears were out there.

No, we didnπt summit the Grand Teton, but despite what the others felt, I felt a great sense of accomplishment. Just to be up there was an incredible experience, and to be back down safely was even better. That was a successful climb as far as I was concerned. Some day I will return againää

Hiking The Dolomites

By Naomi Marcus

I have trekked across tundra in Sweden and Canada, hiked up a glacier in Central Asia, and rafted down Alaskan Rivers. Iπve seen London, Los Angeles, and Mount McKinley and explored Mayan pyramids, Turkish Mosques, and the palaces at Versailles. But I had never been to Italy; I had never seen the Coliseum, the Tuscan countryside, or the Venetian canals. Venice with its canals and palazzi had always fascinated me. Northeast of Venice, near the Austrian border, were the Dolomite Mountains, reputed to be a Mecca for hikers and climbers. Unlike the Alps, the Dolomites were once coral islands in a paleozoic ocean. The ocean bottom sank away long ago, leaving stark rocky peaks towering above lush green valleys that shelter farms and resort villages. Although the Dolomites are not as high as the Alps or the Rockies (the tallest peaks are 10,500 feet, whereas Colorado climbers boast about ≥bagging fourteeners≤), the landscape of northeast Italy has a unique charm that attracts hikers from all over the world.

This region of Italy, known as the South Tyrol, is culturally as well as geologically separate from the rest of Italy. Part of Austria until the end of World War I, it was awarded to Italy when the war ended. Residents of the South Tyrol are more likely to speak German than Italian and their children are offered the choice of schooling in either language. The locals told me that they consider themselves to be neither Austrian nor Italian, but Tyrolean.

I looked on the web for a trip to the Dolomites that contained enough challenge to be interesting, but wouldnπt leave me too exhausted to enjoy myself. There didnπt seem to be much point to going to Italy without sampling the local cuisine; on the other hand, I didnπt need (and couldnπt afford) hotels that had fully equipped spas and a 4-star restaurant. A trip sponsored by REI, the Seattle-based outfitter, had one remaining space and fit my needs perfectly. I reserved my flight to Venice, got my passport renewed through rush order, and scheduled a vacation.

The trip began in San Candido-Innichen (every town in this region has both an Italian and an Austrian name), a small village a few miles from the Austrian border. Getting there from Venice required at least three trains ≠ from Venice to Verona, then to Fortezza, and from there to San Candido.

By the time that I finally arrived in Verona, it was obvious that the last train to San Candido would have left before I could reach Fortezza. I was advised to catch a train to Bessarone-Brixen and take a 50-mile taxi ride to San Candido.

The next morning I met the rest of the group and our two guides: Sigrid, a schoolteacher in Dolbiaccho, a nearby town during the fall and winter, and Manu (short for Emanuelle), a naturalist in a National Park in Tuscany. My hiking companions hailed from California (Mike, Chuck, and my roommate, Lisa), Tennessee (Scott), Colorado (John) and Florida (Woody, Ginny, and Corrina), New York (Shelly) and Hong Kong (Graeme and Debbie).

Sigrid and Manu planned a hike each day. One guide led those who wanted an easier route and the other accompanied the more ambitious hikers. The first dayπs hike began with a ride on the ski lift up the mountain behind San Candido. As many of us were jetlagged and unaccustomed to the altitude, the hike was planned to be relatively easy, but several of us decided to follow a longer trail to Haunoldkopfl where we could look down on the Puster Valley and San Candido.

Subsequent hikes were more demanding ≠ usually 10-12 miles over mountainous terrain. On the second day we began above the tree line and hiked around the Tre Cime de Lavaredo, a trio of peaks that form a spectacular landmark. We then continued across a barren landscape, scrambling up gravel-covered slopes to walk along ridges from which we could see a valley with two small green lakes. Across from the Tre Cime was the Via Ferrata, the ≥Iron Road≤ of pitons, cables, and rungs hammered into the mountainside built by the Austrian army during World War I to give their soldiers command of the peaks. The Via Ferrata is well known to alpinists and some of us returned to scale it ourselves a few days later.

On the third day, we started hiking at Braies Lake, said to be the most beautiful lake in the Dolomites. Hiking up from the lake, we emerged above the tree line to unfenced mountain pastures where oblivious sheep and friendly horses grazed peacefully. After lunch, most of us chose the more challenging trail, which, we were warned, was not for those with fear of heights. Some of the trail followed knife-edge ridges with steep gravel slopes dropping off on either side.

On other sections we found ourselves clinging to metal cables bolted into the rock as we crept along a foot-wide track cut into the side of the mountain. Passing on trails like this required some good-natured negotiation with the other hikers. Surprisingly enough, these included families with young children, some young enough to be carried in backpacks. As we passed we greeted each other with a friendly ≥Bon giorno!≤ or ≥Guten Tag!≤

We descended to a broad green pasture in which cattle grazed and children played ball. The sunlit and peaceful scene belied history, for this had been a battlefield during World War I. Once the smoke of gunpowder had clouded the transparent air, artillery fire drowned out the birdsong, and blood-soaked trenches full of frightened young men scarred the grassy meadows. An abandoned Austrian fort lay at the end of the road home now to no one but rats and crows.

Above the fort loomed the Durrensteen, which we climbed the next day. From its summit, we could see beyond the border into Austria.

For lunch we stopped at a rifugio, a trailside hut with indoor or outdoor tables where we were served home-made Italian and Austrian food ≠ polenta (corn meal porridge), bratwurst, pasta, and cannederli (knˆdeln ≠ similar to matzo balls). The most charming of the rifugi was a farm where chickens ran under our table, pigs rooted next to the outhouse, and cattle and sheep grazed calmly outside the yard. From her tiny kitchen, the cook managed to produce delicious meals with the new-laid eggs, fresh milk, and homegrown vegetables. Hiking in North America was never this civilized!

On our fifth day, John, Scott, Shelly, and I, accompanied by Sigrid, made plans to scale the Via Ferrata. We geared up in harnesses, ropes, and carabiners so we could follow Micki, a local mountain guide, up the rock face. Micki showed us how to keep one carabiner hooked to the cable at all times. Our feet felt for the tiny rock ledges and our hands sought the projections that gained us purchase on the steep mountainside. Another group reached the top of the mountain just after us, and we shared our Speck (Canadian bacon), cheese, crackers, and chocolate with them. The barren alpine landscape spread out below us, but thick foreboding clouds limited the visibility. The threatening weather encouraged an early descent. I went first, extending my leg over what seemed to be a smooth rock face with a 20-foot drop. The sole of my foot engaged a tiny ridge in the rock, and I let myself over the edge. Taking my time, I ensured that I was secure at each step. So that was how it was done! Once we had descended to level ground, the Via Ferrata continued through tunnels bored into the mountain. Some of these had windows onto the valley below, whereas others were so dark that we had to feel our way down uneven stairs cut into the rock.

Our last stop in the Dolomites was in Cortina dπAmpezzo, a famous ski resort and site of the 1956 Winter Olympics. As the day was rainy, we had an easy hike and spent the afternoon shopping in town. After a farewell dinner in a local restaurant, we were driven to Venice, where I spent three days touring.

I am convinced that no one actually lives in Venice; even the Italians there seemed to be tourists. Before 1797, Venice was the New York of the Mediterranean, an international marketplace with political and economic power far beyond its borders. Now it is, in the words of Mary McCarthy, ≥part museum, part amusement park, living off the entrance fees of tourists.≤ Everyone from Lord Byron to Thomas Mann has already written about Venice, and I have nothing new to say, so I will say no more.