Sometimes a bad word serves a good purpose

Last night the training group headed over to Baxter Woods again. No resounding applause from the Coyle Street Drinker's Lounge this time, though I really could have used it.

Having not run all week, I expected to struggle. On top of that, I had stupidly forgone the afternoon coffee for a pop - er, soda - forgetting that Sierra Mist (Sprite's misbegotten cousin) is caffeine free. So I was drained of both natural and artificial energy.

Alas, we headed over to Coyle Street and began attacking that monster of a hill up to Beacon Street. Last week it was annoying...yesterday it was painful (emotionally, I mean). But our group made its way - with me bringing up the caboose and trying to withhold the complaints.

Baxter woods is a great local running spot - we ran here last year too (you may recall the 'Mosquito Guts Fiasco of 2007') and were lucky that the cooler temps kept the bugs mostly at bay.

The plan was to run the full loop (which is touted to be 800 meters...as opposed to the 1,000 it was touted to be last year. I blog these things people - if 200 meters suddenly disappear, I'm going to notice!). First half is nearly all downhill, which allowed us to practice our forward-leaning, downhill run. "Run like you're running on eggshells" John Rogers said.

I still have no idea what that means, but downhill running isn't where my problems lay.

Instead, I'm holding on to a deep-rooted hostility toward the incline. The uphill. The unending upward climb.

Make fun of flatlanders if you must, but those miles and miles of unwavering plains make for much easier running.

At any rate, it's a fair trade: half down, half up. Pause for water and mosquito attacks and then do it again.

My group ran the loop three times - and the hill triumphed over me each attempt. I just didn't have the stamina yesterday. Serves me right, I guess.

But the trip back to the Maine Running Company Store was flat and sweet (taking Forest Ave as opposed to the longer route through the neighborhood). Last week we returned via side streets. The group had spread out at this point, so Ann and I were on our own. Neither of us could recall which street to turn down to get back, so on we jogged.

Finally, Ann called out, "Oh, I remember seeing that pile of diapers on the way here." Sweet, I thought. We're heading in the right direction.

A few paces later and I, too, saw something familiar: "Oh yes, I remember that spray paint. We turn right just after the 'slut'."

Nothing like a little crass sidewalk graffiti to help you find your way home again. It really warms the heart.

Wild Turkey in the morning: Mackworth Island Trail

I admit it. I allowed that old foe Sloth to take over my weekend. He's a tough sort of fellow and isn't scared off by half-hearted protestations like, "You better be gone in the morning! I swear I'll be up crazy early tomorrow and I AM going to run - I MEAN it!"

I didn't mean it and he knew it. So he unpacked his overnight bag and we spooned on the couch for 20 hours straight.

But this morning I mustered determination, kicked his arse out and headed to Mackworth Island for some "me" time. The island is small, but it boasts the Mackworth Island Trail - an easy 1.25 mile loop with a constant view of Casco Bay.

The trail is open essentially from dawn to dusk, give or take. An there's no charge to use the trail. It does see some heavier traffic in the afternoons on nice days - so the small parking lot is prone to overflowing. But at 7:00 a.m. on a Monday you'll have the place to yourself...mostly.

So I take off at the trail head just off the the parking lot - and not one minute in I spot a pile of something in the path. A bag of garbage? A pile of leaves? Dad?

Suddenly the pile of whatever-it-is moves - spreads its wings out and starts walking. OMG - it's a turkey! I mean - a dang turkey! My first instinct is to laugh at the unexpected nature of nature. But then I realize that I don't know anything about turkeys. Are they mean? Do they give chase?

My knowledge base on large birds is limited to pond geese, which are completely different from turkeys, I know, but it's all I have to go on. And I remember being 10 or 11 and playing by the local pond with a friend and then hearing her shriek and take off running. And I watched in stupefied horror as that goose chased her for 30 or so yards before catching up and biting her good and hard on the rear.


So I stopped in my tracks. Am I destined to die by turkey on this cool spring morning? Is this payback for all those delicious deli turkey sandwiches I've heartlessly consumed over the last 29 years? Do the turkey and I need to talk it out?

I took a few steps, purposely kicking up gravel to make noise, and the turkey shuffled off the path into the open field.

Phew. Turkey brawl averted.

A staircase from the parking lot leads down to the small beach - an ideal place for a stretch or appreciating the Portland-from-a-distance view.

There are a couple of staircases on the island in case you're a glutton for punishment and want to sprint up and down them. I tried it once...it was hard so I stopped.

There are also benches scattered along the trail, though I'm not sure why. There's nothing at all scenic to look at. I mean, I guess there's the sun rising over the calm, early-morning water - but who wants to look at THAT?

Percival Baxter had more dogs than he probably should have - as evidenced by the pet cemetery that lists a dozen or so dogs (and a horse or two) that Baxter buried here. At some point somebody's got to say, "Listen, Percy, I just don't think yer meant to have a dog, seein' as they just keep dying on you and all. Why don't you get one of those fancy pinball machines?"


By far, though, the biggest draw to the island is the Fairy Village. Visitors are encouraged to build miniature homes out of whatever natural materials they can find: stones, bark, grasses, etc. My colleague Wendy and her kids have explored the dickens out of Mackworth and the Fairy Village. She does a much better job capturing the experience, too.

Having already confronted turkeys on the trail, my sensitivity to the birds was heightened. I was like a seasoned hunter (well, without the gun, gear or desire to kill anything). I could spot a turkey at a distance, with 100-percent accuracy. I could creep upon the creature with the quiet stealth of a jungle cat.

Of course, even we trained professionals sometimes mistake a tree stump for a turkey. Guess my Turkey Hunter dreams will never be fulfilled.

Mackworth is still recovering from last year's Patriots Day storm (which had the trail shut down for quite some time). The trail looks fabulous, but there are a few areas on the north side of the island that still bear the scars.

Ah, look! Portland! And the same Sprague tanks from last week's run. Thank goodness! I hate to be away from them.


Tanks aside, the trail is ridiculously scenic. It's a wide, mostly flat trail - making it easy to run on. I stopped to take pictures every 30 seconds so after going around once I decided to go around again for a 2.5-mile total. That's the nice thing about short loops - you're not committed to some long distance once you get started. You can stop after one mile if you're tired. But that's the bad thing about short loops - you can stop after just one mile.

But today's dramatic encounter with the mystic turkey of the northeast was life-affirming in the end. I fear the feathered beast no more, and I WILL be back to Mackworth (armed with a tranquilizer gun...you know, just in case).

The Bug Light at the end of the tunnel

Don't get me wrong, the Back Cove is a lovely place to run - the sun glinting off the calm water, Portland's East End rising proudly in the distance, the crunch of gravel, the blowing wind, the 295 traffic, the honking autos and of course all the sweaty attractive people.

But sometimes you need a change of scenery.

Seeing as the training group hits up the Back Cove on a regular basis, I thought I'd start running other trails on the weekends. You know, spice up my running relationship a little.

So yesterday I ran the Bug Light trail (otherwise known as the portion of the Greenbelt bike path that ends up at Bug Light Park). I jog/walked it a couple of times last year and recalled it being a quiet, easy and moderately scenic jaunt.

My memory didn't fail me - it was quiet, it was easy and there was plenty of visual distraction.

I picked up the trail at the Hannaford parking lot. It's approx 2 miles to Bug Light Park according to MapMyRun.com, though I think it's closer to 1.5 based on the time it took me to run it.



The view of Portland across the water is cool - though better later in the season when the trees are green and leafy and the water's not filled with a winter's worth of garbage.


There's a sign taped to a garbage can admonishing the local "youth" (aka "troublemakers," "hooligans," "ruffians") for tipping the can over and being all-around disrespectful.


The bike path cuts through a residential neighborhood most of way, though the last half mile is a serene, cement-laden trip through warehouse heaven. It's okay, the park is just ahead and will erase any impending industrial park nightmares.


Look. It's a ship-like structure.


The path gets hazardous here - so don't get too sidetracked by the pretty view that you stop paying attention where you're feet are going. You might end up with a pound of pavement in your teeth.


Ah, there she is. Bug Light - you've sailed past her during many a booze cruise, I'm sure.


The water, the grassy, kite-welcoming hill, the well-placed benches, the chain of Sprague oil tanks...nature!