Adding up the miles—and more. Part 3 of 4.

Parts 1 and 2 of Paula’s journey appeared in our last two issues.

Executive summary:

PJ’s Run, from Boulder, Colorado, to Petoskey, Michigan: six states, 57 days, 1,400 miles . . . but there is much more behind those numbers.

The details

Let’s start with zero:

Obnoxious drivers. Instead, the cars, trucks, RVs, trains, and horse-drawn buggies were piloted by universally gracious drivers offering an entertaining study in waves: index finger up from the wheel; waves from the wrist, elbow, or shoulder; the windshield-wiper wave; the limp wrist wave; the salute; the arm pump; the perfectly timed, synchronized, elderly couple wave; not to mention the you’ve-got-a-cell-phone-in-one-hand-pleasedon’t-take-your-hand-off-the-steering-wheel-to-wave wave.

Dog attacks (on my person; third-day support crew Joe did have a nasty confrontation with a couple of junkyard dogs that he then safely shepherded me past). On the other hand, I did have a few encounters with overly friendly dogs that I managed to coax out of joining me on the trip.

Runs called on account of tornadoes or lightning (the two weather conditions I promised my family I would not attempt to run through). One day in Minnesota, I ran with tornado warnings to the south, west, north, and east of me, but I was able to continue on in my little bubble surrounded by corn and billowing black clouds. And there was the midday break at the Mountain-Bay trailhead in Wisconsin where we were safely lunching in our RV when a gale-force storm blew through, knocking down trees

that we would later find ourselves climbing over during that afternoon’s tun. The Colorado sky, just after finishing the sixth day’s run and setting up camp in Julesburg, treated us to the most spectacular lightning storm of our lives. The next day, a fellow at the campground described it as a War of the Worlds show; son Paul countered with the thought that War of the Worlds wished it had been like that lightning display.

Motor home breakdowns. Whenever we thought it was broken, Paul figured it out!

Feedlots too stinky to run by (a concern I had after numerous Interstate 80 trips across Nebraska). Interestingly, pig farms proved to be the stinkiest and noisiest.

Moving on up the digital scale:

Day staying on schedule. Starting with day 2’s support-vehicle breakdown, the schedule was off. All of the daily maps’ carefully specified midday and end-of-day pickup points went out the window with the second day’s interruption. Compounding day 2’s shortened mileage impact on the daily maps, the planned pickup points were determined based on the assumption that our 30-mile days would be evenly split into 15 morning and 15 afternoon miles. In reality, the average morning mileage worked out to be slightly more than 16, and the afternoon mileage averaged just short of 14. Even the 30-miles-per-day plan didn’t quite work out that way: I ran more than 30 miles on 22 days, eight days totalled between 25 and 29 miles, and only 12 days ended up with exactly 30 miles. The basic running routine also drifted away from the plan. Rather than run 37 minutes, walk three minutes, drink every 20 minutes, and eat every 40 minutes, the routine became run if you feel like it, walk the steepest hills (don’t let anybody fool you—it is hilly ail the way between Colorado and Michigan), drink /ots, and eat as often as you can stand it when meeting up with the support crew (typically every two miles, seldom more than three miles between support, and as frequently as every mile if very hot or if my butt was really dragging).

Run cut short due to heat. Of the 51 running days, 13 of them made enough of a 90-degree or more impression to get recorded in my journal. Three of the 13 were during the first week of running (one of those days reached 106 degrees). But the day I called it quits at noon was in Minnesota, where in addition to the temperature sizzling between 94 and 99 degrees, there was no shade (the corn was tall—but not that tall) and it was humid. When I said something to husband Kendall about feeling guilty about quitting at noon, he responded with, “You’ve got to remember, dear, it doesn’t do anybody any good if you die.” That promptly put things into perspective; this is supposed to be a fun trip, after all! We substituted the afternoon run

with a drive to my cousin’s home in Minneapolis for a spaghetti dinner, air conditioning, and great conversation. Definitely the right choice!

1 Injury—the most “traumatic” event of the run. My foot started to hurt toward the end of day 15, and I thought it might be because I had tied my shoes too tight or had the knot in the wrong place. On day 16, I ran five miles and knew I had to quit and try to find someone to treat whatever the heck was going on with my painful and swollen lower right leg. We (me and friend Lysa who, with the qualities of mellow, competent, and extremely knowledgeable historian, was my superb support crew for the week while Kendall and Paul took a break back in Boulder) headed into the nearest largish town—Burwell, Nebraska—and found a physical therapist who could see me right away. He thought it was probably a muscle strain but couldn’t entirely tule out a stress fracture. Later, Lysa asked what a stress fracture would mean for the run. It was the only time I cried in response to this setback. After the PT visit, we found a great place to camp, and I spent the day icing and staying off my feet. The next day I tried running again but managed only two miles. When Lysa picked me up, I suggested we get coffee; that’s when we discovered that Friday is Pie Day at the Burwell Senior Center. We had a fantastic morning eating pie and chatting with the friendly folks of Burwell. (When we walked in, the person at the counter asked if I was the runner from Boulder. I asked how she knew, and she said that some of the “girls’”— looking over toward the long tables of gray-haired women— had fielded my Chamber of Commerce inquiry about the area and were expecting me!) After pie, I called Holly (aka Magic Fingers Beggsy), my

A Paula and the “girls” on Friday Pie Day at the Burwell Senior Center.

Boulder massage therapist. To better understand what we were dealing with, she asked how much skin I could pinch around the injured site. The answer was none; my leg was so swollen that there was no pinchability whatsoever. She gave me thorough instructions on a variety of massage techniques and stressed drinking water (which the Burwell PT had also recommended). Thus, the rest of my day was spent massaging, icing, and drinking. The next day, stubborn set in and I managed a very slow 15 miles, taking me past Burwell. The result was a lower right leg so swollen you couldn’t distinguish any tendons or anklebones. Kendall and Paul returned that night and did some Oscar-worthy acting to keep the panic out of their faces. We talked through a number of options, each factoring in our deadline of when Kendall needed to be back in Boulder to start his teaching year. Son Paul’s advice turned out to be the best: “Mom, when you get up in the morning, just take it one step at a time and we’ll see how it goes.” It turns out that the next morning “one step at a time” took me 12 miles followed by a 10mile afternoon—with no significant aggravation to the injury (but lots of icing with each rendezvous with the support vehicle). The following day: 28 miles. And the day after that: 31 miles! The mystery injury has subsequently become known as the Pie Lady leg. I truly believe somebody somewhere just wanted me to slow down and enjoy what our surroundings had to offer. We

A Paul is all smiles and thumbs up for “one step at a time.” It worked!

Photo by Kendall Miller

would have completely missed out on one of the most delightful mornings of the trip if not for that swollen leg in Burwell, Nebraska!

Island—Mackinac Island—whose circumference of 8.3 miles made up for the approximately seven miles I missed out on when I was denied permission to run over the Mackinac Bridge that connects Michigan’s Upper and Lower peninsulas. The Mackinac Bridge is a magnificent structure, but Mackinac Island, with its no-cars-allowed lifestyle and spectacular setting in the Straits of Mackinac (where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron meet) is one of my most favorite places on earth—so ’twas not a bad trade-off. Adding frosting to the cake, my logistics helper extraordinaire, Deb, and her friend Linda made the trip out for the grand finale and joined us for the trip around Mackinac Island. It was quite a parade: me and Paul running, and Deb, Linda, and Kendall on bikes with cameras snapping all the way around the island.

Significant mid-run route change. The route I had originally mapped out over Iowa’s country roads proved to be extremely dangerous: narrow, no shoulder, high traffic volume, hill-eliminated line of sight, and 60 mile per hour speed limit. So, despite the Department of Transportation’s advice to the contrary, we moved to the highway, where we enjoyed a four-lane road, courteous drivers, double-wide shoulders giving me plenty of room to maneuver, only 65 mph speeds, and not all that much more traffic than was zipping along the country roads. A good move, indeed. Because the highway provided a diagonal route from just north of Sioux City to the Minnesota border, my miles in Iowa were cut almost in half (from 138 to 76), and I got to see even more Minnesota corn, since we came into the state farther west than we originally planned.

Mapping snafu—in Merna, Nebraska, where the map showed our eastbound road connecting with the northbound road we needed. In reality, however, our eastbound road dead-ended at a railroad track. Fortunately, Merna has just a handful of streets and a whole bunch of helpful citizens, so our routing dilemma was easily remedied. To top it off, the conversations with folks about the roads led us to an excellent campground for the night (Victoria Springs)—just one of many examples of how extraordinarily friendly people were all along the way.

Rendezvous snafu. Paul was cycling with me along Minnesota’s Cannon Valley Trail and we were to meet Kendall at the “Welch” intersection. It turns out there is a Welch Cycling Station, the town of Welch, and two Welch Ski Area bases. Naturally, there was no cell phone service, and Kendall didn’t have his walkie-talkie turned on, the first and only time we really needed those talking boxes.

1 Lost toenail—left in Alton, Iowa. For some reason, the little toe on my left foot (never a problem area before) took a real beating on this trip… lots of blisters, blisters on blisters, and the trashed toenail.

1 Polka fest, in Pulaski, Wisconsin, right next to where we parked and camped. Great fun! We were directed to it by a farmer who drove up to talk to Kendall while the guys were waiting for me to run by. The farmer told Kendall we were welcome to camp in his field, but he recommended that we take in the polka fest instead. I’ve never seen so many light-footed polka dancers in my life, literally hundreds high-stepping around on two stages. A few days later, we ran into someone at another campground who mentioned he had run a 5K in Pulaski on Polka Fest weekend—and that there were radios blasting out polka music all along the course. Pulaski is quite the lively burg!

1 Donkey baseball team, in Le Mars, Iowa. Really!

1 Ostrich ranch (near Peshtigo, Wisconsin), with two ostriches, and ostrich eggs for $10 each.

A Kendall, Paul, and Paula ready to tour lovely Mackinac Island.

Photo by Deb Mooney

1 Alien. Well, maybe. There was this cow—a bull, actually—that stood head and shoulders taller than any of the other cattle in the herd and had a face that bore a remarkable resemblance to a Klingon.

1.5 Miles: how far away I could see Hedwig (our motor home) parked beside the road waiting for me along the Lincoln Highway in Nebraska. This led to the quote, “Objects on the horizon appear much closer than they really

2 Days of olfactory hallucinations (fried chicken on day 5, bratwurst the next day). Someone pointed out that such hallucinations could be due to inadequate protein intake. I made a concerted effort to up my protein (putting an egg in my noon tortilla soup worked quite nicely) and away went the hallucinations.

2 Containers of Glide finished off during the trip, saving me from chafing just about anywhere a body could chafe . . . spots that I had never dreamed could chafe until this trip.

2 Large pieces of sidewalk chalk used up while marking my midday and end-of-day stopping points so I would know where to start running again. Talso carried one of my dad’s golf tees with me to mark the spot, but often the ground was just too hard to push the tee into it.

2 Days to pick up enough Nebraska roadside flotsam to make a really stellar mobile.

2 Campground Christmas-decoration contests. Camping these days is very different from our old tent-camping days. Decorating contests, cable TV, Internet access, snack bars, water parks . . . what will they think of next?

2 Horse-drawn buggies sharing the shoulder with me in Wisconsin Amish country. Smiles and waves happily exchanged.

2 Boot fences in Nebraska (oh, and let us not forget the bowling-pin fence in Bowler, Wisconsin, along the Mountain-Bay trail!).

2 Sheriff stops. North of North Platte, Nebraska, just after I had stopped to retrieve a Popsicle from the crew, the sheriff asked if I was “going for a little walk.” Those guys must get a lot of straight-face training—not even a raised eyebrow when I told him what I was doing.

2 Nights of firefly magic . . . thousands sparkling above the grass at the Lion’s Club campground in Wayne, Nebraska.

2 Snakes (live snakes, that is)—one on the Buffalo River trail in Wisconsin (a bonus trail that got me off Highway 10, so I was more than happy to share), and the second on the next-to-last day of the run on the MackinawPetoskey trail (which was a very difficult trail, so I was not so happy to be

jumping over snakes in addition to the weeds and thistles while swatting mosquitoes in the 90-degree heat).

3 Road construction zones. I received a round of applause when I ran through the first one (the flag car knew what I was doing). The second was the most daring—many “road closed” signs, barricades, and a “bridge out” warning—but runner and crew made it through!

3 Running/trail clubs that really came through as road and trail guides:

¢ Randy of the Missouri River Runners cycled alongside as he showed me the way, via bike paths, from South Sioux City, Nebraska, to Sioux City, Iowa.

¢ Valerie, Helen, and Barb from the Wausau Area Running Club and the Marathon County Friends of the Mountain-Bay Trail met me at the westernmost trailhead for the Mountain-Bay trail and then cycled and ran with me the first several miles of the trail, sharing many nuggets of information about the trail and area.

¢ Tom from the Tip of the Mitt Trails Council met up with me on the last day of my run to guide me through the final miles of the MackinawPetoskey trail (the least- developed trail of the trip) and the connections to the Hiawatha Trail and Petoskey Wheelway . . . bringing me home. The day before meeting up with Tom was one of my most difficult running days because the trail was in such terrible shape (overgrown, thistles, tough to follow). Tom’s knowledge of the trail and how to work around the worst sections made this day’s trail run one of the best of the trip.

3 Unplanned runner sightings—the first not coming until Wisconsin. Where is everybody? (This “3” doesn’t count Mackinac Island, where no cars are allowed so everyone is walking, running, cycling, or riding around in horse-drawn wagons and carriages.)

3 Occasions when I got nary a wink of a midday nap, leading to three of the most difficult afternoon runs. Other factors (such as heat) contributed to the afternoon strain, but do not underestimate the power of naptime!

3 Songs that dominated my brain waves while running. First, the theme song from The Beverly Hillbillies ran through my head from Nebraska to Minnesota. While in Minnesota, my brain switched to “mamma makes shortenin’ shortenin’ bread.” (As near as I can figure, that tune got stuck there because its rhythm meshes precisely with the rhythm of passing trains.) As soon as I entered Michigan, my brain switched to Sousa, finally an excellent choice. If I needed more energy, pound the drums harder; if I wanted to be lighter on my feet, bring up the flutes; and, of course, if I wanted to march, I had the perfect tunes playing in my head.

Bottles of sunscreen polished off—and no sunburns!

Rescued turtles. Much to my amazement, the predominant roadkill in Colorado and Nebraska was turtles, snakes, and frogs.

4 Pairs of shoes in rotation at any one time. I changed shoes and socks at each midday break, so my feet felt fresh with each run and each pair of shoes had a full day’s rest between wearings. Despite this rotation schedule, my trusty Brooks were ready for retirement at about 330 miles per pair during the run, rather than the slightly over 400 miles they usually give me during training. 4 Rainy days—mostly a very light rain, with two days where it rained just at the very beginning of the run (one morning the rain stopped the moment I got out of the car at the day’s starting point), and one day burst open with a short but grand gully washer treating me to squishy shoes and drenched clothes—enough of a rarity to be great fun. 4 Significant river crossings: ¢ The Missouri, taking me from Nebraska to Iowa. The night before, as we looked out over the Missouri River from our campsite, Kendall said, “Tomorrow you’ll cross this river and run your way to Iowa; you should be proud.” “Stunned” is probably the better descriptor of how I felt upon entering Iowa after the 16 days it took to cross Nebraska.

¢ The Mississippi, crossing from Red Wing, Minnesota, to Wisconsin, was the scariest river crossing, with a teeny sidewalk on a really high bridge with very busy highway traffic zipping by.

¢ The Wisconsin River was the most difficult to find a route around/over. But with help from the Wausau Area Running Club and with running buddy AndyE as my support crew for the day, the Wisconsin River crossing was a great capper on a 32.5-mile day that got me pointed toward the MountainBay trail that would see me through my final push through Wisconsin.

¢ The Marinette River, marking the boundary between Wisconsin and Michigan, was the most monumental river crossing since this is where I first spotted my home state . . . after running 1,158 miles to get there. 5 Turkey spottings recorded (usually several gobblers at a time, many with roly-poly chicks). 5 State-line crossings—each with a personality of its own: ¢ Colorado to Nebraska (day 9, 204 miles into the run), where there was much joyous whooping, many pictures (me in my University of Colorado shirt—go Buffs!), phone calls to friends, and the flitting thought that this, in itself, was quite an accomplishment . . . but the run continued eastward.

¢ Nebraska to Iowa (day 24, 575 miles into the run). This, I felt, was a major milestone. For one thing, the second state-line crossing meant that the first state-line crossing had not been a fluke. Second, Nebraska, as lovely as it was for both people and scenery, went on forever (OK, not forever, but 371 miles is plenty for any state!). The lowa welcome sign over the Missouri River was a very welcome sign indeed. Unfortunately, because we were on a bike path, my husband and Hedwig the motor home were not there to witness this momentous crossing; odd not to have Kendall’s whooping cheer on hand to mark the occasion.

¢ Iowa to Minnesota was a bit of a struggle. My insides started to rebel about seven miles into the afternoon run, and I was making pit stops every mile or two. Consequently, I decided I would run only 30 miles instead of trying to make it to the state line. However, when rendezvousing with Paul and Kendall at Hawkeye Point (Iowa’s highest point, at 1,670 feet), the guys asked if I was going on to the state line—and pointed to it! (Silos right at the state line were visible from our vantage point about three miles away.) I asked if they could stand hanging out for another hour, believing I would be walking most of the way. They said sure, so I started out again—then began running, then running faster. Three miles later, mind over matter, and I was in my fourth state: Minnesota! Day 27, 645.5 miles into the run.

¢ Minnesota to Wisconsin (day 36, 863 miles into the run). Another river crossing into a new state. As mentioned earlier, this was one scary crossing, since I was ON photo by kendall Miller an itty-bitty sidewalk sharing a bridge with highway-speeding cars high over the Mississippi River. Kendall and Paul took a picture of me as they drove by—me with a white-knuckled grip on the bridge rail.

¢ Wisconsin to Michigan—by far the most emotional crossing. From the get-go, I figured (perhaps naively, but with every fiber of my being) that once I was in

p> High above the Mississippi River, a few steps away from the Wisconsin state line.

Michigan, being on my home turf and with Lake Michigan at my side, I would, indeed, make it to Petoskey. To add to the power of this state crossing, 12 World War II planes in four groups of three flew overhead the entire time Paul and I ran the bridge over the Marinette River that forms the boundary between Wisconsin and Michigan. If I had had any doubt that the spirit of my dad (a former World War II pilot who died at age 95, six months before I started my run) was watching over me during this adventure, it evaporated with the roar of those planes. Now 48 days and 1,158 miles in the books; only nine days and 242 miles to go!

6 Planned rest days with no miles posted. On one additional planned rest day, I ran eight miles to catch up on some miles. That eight-mile rest day culminated a 250-mile, eight-day stretch. My body was most definitely squawking by the time the next rest day rolled around on July 5—a one-day-delayed rest day so we could watch fireworks on the Fourth and sleep in the next day. This worked out well since we spent the night of the Fourth in Fairmont, Minnesota, which was celebrating its sesquicentennial with a spectacular fireworks display (almost as good as the Julesburg lightning show!).

6 Days when there were enough biting bugs to make a note of it in my journal. Considering that we went through three states (Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula) that like to joke that the mosquito is the state bird, we were extraordinarily lucky from a buggy point of view.

6 Newspaper interviews—often because someone would spot us on the road and strike up a conversation that would end up with a call to the local newspaper, making for a very fun diversion.

7 Days of less than 20 miles: three due to the Pie Lady leg injury (five, two, and 15 miles), the one eight-mile day that should have been a rest day, the one extra hot/humid day when I skipped the afternoon run, day 2 when the car broke down (resulting in a 19-mile day), and the last day when I needed to run only 16 miles to cross the finish line!

7 Great trails. The 34 miles on Nebraska’s Cowboy Trail were the most welcome since it was our first trail after leaving Boulder. Coming after three weeks and 453 miles of road running, my legs felt like they had been given a vacation after a day on that trail. Minnesota offered up three trails, with the Cannon Valley trail voted the loveliest of the trip. Wisconsin was the scene of the “bonus” Buffalo River trail, an ATV trail that we had not known of in advance but was discovered by Kendall and Paul while driving down the road—an excellent discovery, since it got me off Highway 10 for 34 miles. Wisconsin was also home to the longest trail of the trip: the Mountain-Bay trail that runs from Wausau/Weston to Green Bay. I ran it from Weston but jumped off at 67 trail miles, just short of

Green Bay, in order to head north. Trail mileage in both Minnesota and Wisconsin made up about 35 percent of those states’ total mileage. In the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, the Mackinaw-Petoskey Trail/Hiawatha Trail/Petoskey Wheelway combination meant that all but a few blocks of my final 30 miles were on trails. And, as an extra delight, every single one of these Boulder-to-Petoskey trails offered up at least one patch of wild raspberries for our feasting pleasure.

Days before I realized how much easier this would be if I were running only 20 miles per day!

Days before remedying my blisters by changing my shoe-lacing scheme. Days before seeing another cross-country adventurer—a cyclist traveling east to west. It wasn’t until reaching the Upper Peninsula of Michigan that we started seeing more cross-country cyclists, and all of those we talked to were going from Washington to Maine.

Days before defining the “things that make the run go well”: postrun ice, postrun feet up, roll legs with the Stick after each run, take a midday nap, and eat! And the things that make the run go poorly: skipping any of the things that make the run go well. The most successful noontime routine included: ice-cloth rubdown as soon as I climbed into the motor home, soak

Welcome to Pa

Ver nt METS EY

AT TIMES

Made it to Michigan—in just 48 days and 1,158 miles!

Photo by Kendall Miller

my feet in a bucket of ice water while eating lunch, eat and drink, nap 45 to 60 minutes, roll my legs with the Stick, put on fresh socks and shoes, then hop on out there with a smile! The successful evening routine was much the same, only at a more leisurely pace and with a (much-needed) shower added to the mix.

Hours: the battery life of our GPS/watch unit—much to my dismay. At first, | thought we were losing the signal because of cloud cover or hills, but it soon became apparent that the battery was dying every 12 hours. Harrumph. Because of the short lifespan, I wore the GPS unit only while on trails and relied on road mile markers, our motor home’s odometer, and our Gmap Pedometer route maps to determine daily road mileage. I was pleasantly surprised by how consistent those mapping methods were.

Minutes between cars on County Road 4 in Minnesota just north of Bigelow (“Home of Swampy Days”). The hours of mapping and the correspondence with the departments of transportation were really paying off. Such peaceful running…

Days before actually spotting a truck filled with corn, after day after day of seeing fields of corn, roadside scatterings of corn kernels, corncobs, and cornstalks, not to mention the corn-motif shower curtains in a Nebraska campground.

Days before Kendall asked me if I was feeling bulletproof yet. My answer: No way, and I probably never would because of the Pie Lady leg incident and the heat (always respect the heat).

Days for the corn to go from calf high (in eastern Colorado) to taller-thanme high (in Emerson, Nebraska).

Days and I’m tallying bizarre counts for the day: four dead skunks, three feather-spouting chicken trucks, two partial cell phones, and one strand of silver beads.

Days before seeing my first deer during The Run. Later, while in Michigan, T actually heard a deer; they make sort of a huffing sound.

Days without seeing a jet overhead—all the way from Wiggins, Colorado, to Mankato, Minnesota.

Days and I start running out of energy before finishing my miles, to the point where I send cycling Paul ahead to bring me back a cheese sandwich.

As in Highway 35 in the western portion of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, the busiest highway of the trip, followed by Michigan’s Highway 2, which took me the rest of the way east across the Upper Peninsula. If my run had been reversed, running from Michigan to Colorado, it would have been a very discouraging introduction to life on the road.