“Saturday’s long run” or “The view from a WV State Police patrol car”

HANGING ROCK, W.Va., Jan. 25, 2012 — Normally I do my long runs each Wednesday evening. It just fits better into my schedule. But last week, Wednesday was extra busy and I pushed it to Saturday. Bad move.

Little did I know, as I began my planned 16-mile run down 29 South east of Augusta, that I would not only not finish the run but end up in the back seat of a West Virginia State Police patrol car.

And let me make this clear: I couldn’t be more thankful.

Sometimes, I have good running days and don’t know why. And sometimes I have bad running days and don’t know why. Saturday was something of the latter.

I chose the route — Route 29 South from the intersection of U.S. Route 50 to Delray and back — for multiple reasons. First, there’s often little traffic on 29 (as was the case on Saturday). Second, thanks to Friday night’s ice storm, I figured (correctly) all my side roads were too slick to run on and that WV DOH would have 29 South, as a major thoroughfare, pretty clear. I was right.

The plan was to go south 8 miles from my house, located across 50 off North River Road. That would put me about 1 mile south of Delray. While I had completed an 18-mile training run 10 days earlier at 8:26 pace, I knew I didn’t want to go faster than that.

Mile 1 was great. A nice and easy 8:41. Mile 2 and 3 — 8:15 and 8:11 and still feeling just fine. As I’d started the run, I figured I would use Mile 3 as a gauge whether to keep going or not. And my body gave me no indication that moving forward wasn’t a good idea.

Mile 4 — 8:13. Mile 5 — 8:26 (with a hill). Mile 6 — 8:32. Now, Mile 6 had a hill, too. But something felt different. I wasn’t as “loose” or “springy” as I usually was. Yes, it was cold, but no colder than any other recent long run. Plus, it wasn’t raining or snowing. Not knowing if the issue was a simple mental roadbloack, I pressed forward.

Mile 7 — 9:01. I knew I was done, folks. All of a sudden, I noticed that I was cold. Not my head (I had my hat). Not my hands (yet — I had gloves on). Yes, I was wearing shorts but I always do. That wasn’t unusual for me. But for whatever reason, on this day all the wrong — read: sensitive — parts got cold. Very cold. And though my legs, arms, chest and feet said “ready to roll” my … sensitive area said “hold the phone, you’re finished.”

Which presented a problem. I was 7 miles from home. Well, I knew I wasn’t going the last mile south, so I turned around, figuring I’d head back as far as I could and, well, see what happened.

Mile 8 — 9:00. OK, not bad.

Mile 9 — 9:47. Crap.

And then my body said “Kevin, you’re finished. You’re not running another step.”

And I didn’t. But with 5 miles to go until the warmth of my home, I suddenly realized I was cold — from the core. It hurt. My hands — well, yes, I was wearing gloves. But only one pair today. Normally I wear two pairs and shed as necessary. Saturday was the first time this winter I decided to wear just one pair of gloves (if deciding to wear any at all).

I sure regretted that. The cold moved up my body. My stomach was cold. My hands were freezing. Reduced to a walk, I didn’t stop. Kept moving forward. Towards home.

At about 18 minutes a mile.

I hurt.

After about 2 miles of walking (11 total, and still 3 miles from home), I  tried to flag down a passing vehicle and ask for a ride. After all, it was starting to get dark. Had I run even 30 seconds slower than normal, darkness wouldn’t have been an issue. The light blue van slowed … and then kept going.

A few cars passed in both directions and I decided to try again. I was honked at. Twice. I’m not sure what that meant, but it didn’t mean “OK, I’ll pull over and see what’s going on!”

The fourth car was different. A Jeep drove southbound and as there is no shoulder on 29 South, I pressed against the guardrail because I also heard a vehicle coming from the south. I didn’t want the Jeep, coming from the north, to have to swerve into the northbound lane to avoid hitting me.

I also didn’t want the Jeep to hit me.

Didn’t know it just yet, but I was in luck. There were two northbound vehicles. The first happened to be a West Virginia State Police cruiser. The trooper asked what I was doing.

By this point, I was cold. I kind of just looked at him — I imagine I appeared pretty stupid, but I knew my mouth, cold as it was, wasn’t going to annunciate anything so well anyway … After a pause, he asked me, “Were you out for a run?”

Yes, I nodded.

“Did you cramp up?”

No, I nodded.

“I’m just cold,” deciding not to elaborate on which parts of the body became cold first and started all the problems.

“You want a ride?”

“Yes, please!”

Instant warmth in the back seat of the cruiser. Within a moment, I was able to talk well enough. Told him where I lived, and that, at this point, we were only about 2.5 miles away.

“I don’t usually see runners on 29,” the trooper said.

Uh-oh, I thought. I figured this would be where I’d get the speech that I shouldn’t be on 29. That it was unsafe. Boy, was I wrong.

“When I run up here to 50 and back, I never see anyone else,” the trooper continued.

Turns out, Trooper Eric Vaubel is a runner. And he regularly runs from his home, between Rio and Delray, to the Xpress Stop along 50.

We talked during the short ride back. We covered the 2.5 miles in a matter of minutes, where as it would have taken me closer to an hour.

I thanked the trooper as often as I could on the ride back to my house. I also let him know there’s a new running club in Hampshire County. If we’re lucky, we might see him at the starting line of the Red Bud Distance Run in April, or maybe the Capon Valley 50K in May.

Regardless, my faith in public servants — at least, in this particular public servant — has been restored. The trooper didn’t have to stop. And when he did, he didn’t have to offer to help. Chances are he was on a schedule, and his helping me took him off his schedule.

Still, I’m thankful just the same.