Every time I think of the very beginning of spring, the subtle transition from endless waiting for windshield heat to melt just enough of the ice to see 6 square inches of road in front to the first army of mosquitos impatiently waiting to be the first to strike, I think that before all this happens, I have to break winter completely by doing the Tammany 10.
Sometime around December I remember that “winter weight”
(which I fully subscribe to, overindulgence in an exponential form) is always
just temporary, and is actually a perfect opportunity to make you feel sluggish
enough to spend the next couple of months slowly, weekend by weekend,
attempting to adapt the body to increasing numbers of “Tammany laps”.
The Tammany lap is well known in a certain region of the
northeast. Mt. Tammany, an odd shaped weathered remnant of a Himalayan peak
from 100 million years ago, is actually on its final erosion and will be gone
in a short geologic time. Today, it stands in contrast to the nearby rolling
hills and farmland of the NJ/PA border. The trail leading to its peak is only a
few feet off of the windy portion of route 80 that was bore out of the rock
sloping down to the Delaware River. Just driving past Tammany and its sister
Mt. Minsi on the other side gives you a momentary feeling of entering the
Colorado Rockies, and that you passed a driving test of some kind.
A single ascent of the mountain is a tough endeavor for the
average person (1100 foot of climbing in a mile and change, and much of it
around boulders and up uneven steep passes, and due to the easy accessibility
of the trailhead, many people pack the red trail up to the expansive peak
overlooking the river and the valley (the distant highway sound contrasted with
the silence of the mountain is eerie and you can feel both modern and ancient environments
at the same time). The descent is equally tricky, anyone not used to dodging
foot-sized pointy rocks will find themselves judging every step. A single loop
back to the start could take 3 hours.
And that is why I am compelled to return to do 10 of these
laps (plus the 5 trips to the other side of the highway, as this race is held
partially on the Appalachian Trail the start/finish is safely tucked under a pavilion,
perfect for Dennis to cook up perogoes and bacon and hang out at the end
watching other finishers come in) every year in the hopes of having 10 Tammany
10’s completed one day. Since I always aim to finish in 10 hours or less, I
have to run as much of it as I can, even uphill. I’m not talented enough to run
up hills and make it look like running, it often takes the form of running but
as slow as hiking, a habit I formed assuming I would one day be quick enough to
make use of it.
With an average of 50 minutes per lap, you encounter a lot
of hikers twice, even three times. They actually count the laps for you, but
are almost always wrong. Sometimes they just stare at you. Sometimes they smell
like weed. Sometimes there are so many in one group, that even if you tell them
where you are going, half go left and half go right and create a corridor
anyway (insert laughing emoji here). But my favorite groups are the ones that
announce “RUNNER COMING” and the entire group of 10 all but dodges into the
woods like there is an avalanche rolling down the hill. And they love us being
there even though we maybe smell and probably look like we are completely spent
and don’t really make much sense when talking. This year in particular some
friends were parked at strategic locations and got many photos from the first
two laps when the coffee and adrenaline was still fresh in the viens.
Every time I think of the very beginning of spring, the
subtle transition from endless waiting for windshield heat to melt just enough
of the ice to see 6 square inches of road in front to the first army of mosquitos
impatiently waiting to be the first to strike, I think that before all this
happens, I have to break winter completely by doing the Tammany 10.
Sometime around December I remember that “winter weight”
(which I fully subscribe to, overindulgence in an exponential form) is always
just temporary, and is actually a perfect opportunity to make you feel sluggish
enough to spend the next couple of months slowly, weekend by weekend,
attempting to adapt the body to increasing numbers of “Tammany laps”.
The Tammany lap is well known in a certain region of the
northeast. Mt. Tammany, an odd shaped weathered remnant of a Himalayan peak
from 100 million years ago, is actually on its final erosion and will be gone
in a short geologic time. Today, it stands in contrast to the nearby rolling
hills and farmland of the NJ/PA border. The trail leading to its peak is only a
few feet off of the windy portion of route 80 that was bore out of the rock
sloping down to the Delaware River. Just driving past Tammany and its sister
Mt. Minsi on the other side gives you a momentary feeling of entering the
Colorado Rockies, and that you passed a driving test of some kind.
A single ascent of the mountain is a tough endeavor for the
average person (1100 foot of climbing in a mile and change, and much of it
around boulders and up uneven steep passes, and due to the easy accessibility
of the trailhead, many people pack the red trail up to the expansive peak
overlooking the river and the valley (the distant highway sound contrasted with
the silence of the mountain is eerie and you can feel both modern and ancient environments
at the same time). The descent is equally tricky, anyone not used to dodging
foot-sized pointy rocks will find themselves judging every step. A single loop
back to the start could take 3 hours.
And that is why I am compelled to return to do 10 of these
laps (plus the 5 trips to the other side of the highway, as this race is held
partially on the Appalachian Trail the start/finish is safely tucked under a pavilion,
perfect for Dennis to cook up perogoes and bacon and hang out at the end
watching other finishers come in) every year in the hopes of having 10 Tammany
10’s completed one day. Since I always aim to finish in 10 hours or less, I
have to run as much of it as I can, even uphill. I’m not talented enough to run
up hills and make it look like running, it often takes the form of running but
as slow as hiking, a habit I formed assuming I would one day be quick enough to
make use of it.
With an average of 50 minutes per lap, you encounter a lot
of hikers twice, even three times. They actually count the laps for you, but
are almost always wrong. Sometimes they just stare at you. Sometimes they smell
like weed. Sometimes there are so many in one group, that even if you tell them
where you are going, half go left and half go right and create a corridor
anyway (insert laughing emoji here). But my favorite groups are the ones that
announce “RUNNER COMING” and the entire group of 10 all but dodges into the
woods like there is an avalanche rolling down the hill. And they love us being
there even though we maybe smell and probably look like we are completely spent
and don’t really make much sense when talking. This year in particular some
friends were parked at strategic locations and got many photos from the first
two laps when the coffee and adrenaline was still fresh in the veins.
