Biting flies are no joke. I found myself narrowly escaping a brutal attack today in an attempt to explore Willowdale State Forest (photo: plotting route over morning coffee), a beautiful and mild Sunday. As they hummed and buzzed around me, hammering into my head, landing, and then sawing into my skin to lap up my blood stores, I realized I had very few options for surviving the attack:
1) Find thyself a road, girlfriend, and get out of this bog-tastic forest you're in.
2) Out-sprint them for 6 miles. (Oh, so tired this morning, the run itself was a miracle. And besides, the Lord would not want me working this hard on a Sunday.)
3) Flail and flap arms like crazed chicken trying to take flight, thereby disallowing a suitable, stable landing surface (I found out they can, in fact, land on moving surfaces and bite regardless. And besides, unsightly motions will ruin the California Cool-girl front I'm putting on for the locals).
4) Martyr thyself and repeat the mantra, "I love bugs, bugs are cool" all the while recognizing you are, indeed, part of a food chain and what an honor it is in this moment to be a food source for another creature.
I opted for a mixture of the latter 3 options (that would be Options 2,3,4) because more than anything else, I was so happy to be on a trail this morning and couldn't stomach the idea of asphalt under my already tired feet. It worked out pretty well and in the end, I stumbled upon some of the most beautiful bogs I've ever seen (I've become quite infatuated with the New England bog for some reason). And, since I've traded out running with an iPod for running with a camera, I was lucky to get pictures of them too (which I will post shortly)!
Getting lost yesterday on poorly marked roads, with maps that don't make sense and highways that I can't seem to exit properly, took me 45 miles out of the way to get to the trails that are only 15. Combined with today's buggy bogs and poorly or unmarked trails, the reoccurring New England trail running question seems to be: "Ok, Sarah, how badly do you really want to do this?". Fortunately, the answer seems to be: "Um, pretty badly".
Next time I think I'll bring my mountain bike to WSP, for if I can't outrun the little creeps, I can surely outride them.
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