Saturday Run LSD

in-som-ni-a [in-som-nee-uh]–noun. Inability to obtain sufficient sleep, esp. when chronic; difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.

 
I lay one inch above a concrete floor on the top of my fifteen-year-old Thermarest mattress. I reach my hand out of my sleeping bag and touch the floor; it's warm and gritty. A boiler pumps hot water through PEX tubing just inches below my body. The thermal mass of the concrete holds strong at 60 degrees F. I grab my cell phone, wipe the sand off the case and check the time...1:13 AM. I doze off...


Tick, tick, tick. The auto ignition on the boiler is clicking and then the propane burner roars to life. More hot water is pumped under my body in a closed loop of tubing. I doze off...

Drip...drip...drip. Water from a 3/4 inch PVC condensate line falls into the standing water in the trap of a floor drain. I'm clutching my phone on my chest. I push a button, the glow of the display reflects off the inside of my Marmot sleeping bag, the time reads 2:17 AM. I doze off...

Scratch, scratch...thud...click, click, click, click, click...the sound of claws and the rough pads of dog paws scraping the unfinished wooden steps, its 2:31 AM. I doze off...



those loyal, loving eyes



I open my eyes and stare into the darkness. My right hand is sound asleep clutching my phone. I really should get that EMG as my carpel tunnel has been killing me. I'm being watched by brown and gold eyes with flecks of blue. I pull out my cell phone and light the display to reveal a loyal friend, my nine-year-old Australian Shepherd. His head resting on his front paws staring at me. I note the time, 3:43 AM. My hands extend to cradle his fluffy brown and white face with tan trim. "It's OK Salomon, it's OK. You're a good boy, good boy." I doze off...

5:15 AM...I hear specks of sand and snow peppering the vinyl siding on the outside of the cabin. The North wind coming off Whitefish Bay sounds cold. Bloody cold. I doze off...


I see the state flower. It's simplicity is beautiful. White with rose colored highlights, surrounded by green leaves. The image fades to the sound of wind blowing through the majestic White Pines looming overhead. I wake up, remember the dream and say to myself, "the damn apple blossom dream again...it's time to go running."


The thermometer reads 5.5 degrees F and I estimate the North wind between 12 to 15 MPH. That puts the wind chill index around -10 to -15 degrees F. I know it will be painful...but I welcome the adversity. Dawn has fallen over the bay with the first signs of sunrise presenting in the East. The crescent moon hangs low in the sky and directly adjacent is a bright planet, maybe Jupiter?


Whitefish Point Road is covered with a thin crust of snow and ice providing an excellent biting surface for my YakTrax. Because of the temperature, my footfalls are loud. I love the squeaking of cold snow under foot. When I get to Whitefish Point proper I have a strange feeling. The grounds are empty and lifeless. The tower, fog signal building, old keepers quarters and adjacent out buildings hold maritime secrets of times past. Tales of tragedy, heartbreak and death. It's an eerie and lonely place to be in winter. I skirt the grounds and make my way to the observation deck overlooking the big lake. I cross several railing-high snow drifts to get my first ever look at Lake Superior in her splendid frozen state. Several hundred yards of heaved, cracked ice line the shore. The wind is biting hard on my uncovered face. I pause just for a moment to bask in the glory and wonder of this frozen landscape. Far in the distance I see steam rising off the open water of Gitche Gumee. I turn my back to the wind and head South, right on the double yellow line of the road. I won't see another living thing for the better part of 90 minutes and I know it. The rest of the run is filled with windows. Driveways and other cuts in the trees reveal spectacular glimpses of a lively winter sunrise over a frozen white tundra. I feel like I'm on Mars.