|
Having just resumed running after a three-week injury layoff - my longest stint on the shelf since 1995 - I'm taking nothing for granted. As a result, I've been somewhat more observant lately during my jaunts than I usually am, and this has led me to consider the primary differences between being a runner in New England - where I grew up and lived for thirty years - and being a runner in Virginia's Roanoke Valley, where I've spent most of the past year-plus. Letterman style is always appropriate, so here are my Top ten differences between running in the Blue Ridge and running in New England: 10. Fireflies vs. mosquitoes. In contrast to perennially swarm-plagued New England, insects are not a problem for runners in the Roanoke Valley. However, the number of fireflies in more wooded areas borders on staggering. Watching them in action over an open field is like observing glowing, biological popcorn being prepared. Meanwhile, my friends back home are being driven to bug-eyed, limb-flailing extremes of aerobic psychosis by hordes of high-speed horseflies. 9. Dunkin' Donuts vs. Krispy Kreme. On the surface this seems to have nothing to do with running, but if you could see the way I drink coffee, you'd change your mind. If there's any commercial butting of heads that symbolizes the vestiges of the Civil War, it's this one. There's a Dunkin' Donuts in South Roanoke now, and I'm surprised it hasn't been firebombed yet. Most malevolent and vengeful Southerners are perhaps too busy to bother with a carpetbagger coffee chain for the time being, but if I were the folks at the Double D, I wouldn't rest easy. 8. Security vs. laxity. Perhaps my most surprising running-related find is that in the ostensibly laissez-faire South, high-school tracks tend to remain locked up in the evenings and throughout the summer, with barbed wire a ubiquitous feature. I've virtually never seen this in New England, where it's rare for school properties to be fully enclosed by fences - locked shut or otherwise - in the first place. Fortunately, some of us have found that we can fit ourselves through the space between the bottoms of fences and the access roads leading directly into track areas. 7. Heat vs. humidity. Average daily summer temperatures are similar in Concord, N.H. and Roanoke, but the Roanoke Valley - really more of a "bowl" sitting between the Blue Ridge Mountains to the southeast and the rest of the Appalachians to the northwest than a valley - is a fertile zone for nasty inversions that trap not only moisture but every man-made pollutant available. Fortunately, there's far less of that here than in much of New England. But if you enjoy being soaked for all but the first five minutes of a run without even having to douse yourself, this is your place. 6. Density vs. paucity. Metropolitan Roanoke is home to over 250,000 people, making it comparable in size to Worcester. Yet the sight of a fellow runner, while not terribly unusual, is rare enough to merit a long, hard stare, a huge grin, and a hearty thumbs-up in all cases, particularly those involving scantily clad distaff perambulators. Solitary runners, for whatever reason, are particularly few and far between; perhaps pairing up is intended to serve as a buffer against the verbal onslaughts of hilljacks (see below). 5. A full slate vs. a month's wait. Races in New England are so common that the only problem lies in choosing which ones to limit yourself to. Races in the Roanoke Valley, on the other hand, are so hard to come by that the greatest problem lies in remembering from one event to the next what race day actually entails - e.g., how many miles in a ten-kilometer race and vice versa? How do those numbers stay on? And why does that guy with the megaphone have a gun? Etc. 4. Certification vs. estimation. The overwhelming majority of established road races in New England are USATF certified. In accordance with the general scarcity of races in the Roanoke Valley, none are certified and many appear to have been measured with a golf cart, a dump truck, or a mule. Beware of race directors whose eyes glaze over and jaws slacken when asked just how the lengths of their courses were determined. 3. "Run, Forrest, Run!" vs. "Run, Forrest, Run!" Actually, come to think of it, the signature catcall of most motorists is exactly the same in both places. Carloads of Blue Ridge-bred teenage girls seem much more apt to offer whistles and loud "encouragement" to male runners than do their Northern counterparts, however. So much for the notion of prim, proper and reserved Southern Baptists (Liberty University, Jerry Falwell's school, is less than an hour up the road). The South is a place of extremes - the nicest people, in fact, are nicer than most New Englanders could dream of being (during one hot summer run a woman sped past me in a car as we both approached her house, rushed inside, and hurried outside with a bottle of water as I approached because I "looked so darn hot" - make of that comment what you will). 2. The Central Mass Striders vs. the Star City Striders. Sub-title this one "competition vs. camaraderie." CMS has its Tuesday night track workouts and SCS has its Tuesday night interval workouts on the bike path threading its way along the Roanoke River near downtown. This, however, is where the similarities end. Don't tell them I said so, but the top guys in the local club would be regularly waxed by Heather and Barbara, assuming the latter duo stuck around long enough for a race to actually happen. I had a training partner for a long run, once, but he hurt his calf after our 17-miler several months ago and hasn't resurfaced since. Like CMS, though, SCS enjoys a number of annual functions geared primarily toward eating, smiling, and taking pictures, which is never bad. 1. Rednecks vs. hilljacks. Most rural folk in New England who wind up categorized as rednecks are defined as such on the basis of what they do (fishing, hunting, and snowmobiling being among the chief redneckian pursuits). Here, the hilljacks - a more virulent subclass of bumpkin than the redneck - also engage in these activities, but earn this label primarily on the basis of how they behave toward people outside their ranks. Unlike New England rednecks, Blue Ridge hilljacks enjoy propagating a certain amount of malice toward runners and pedestrians in general, especially when their preferred NASCAR drivers have off-days. It is amusing, though, to watch an overalls-clad teenager from a town of three hundred in a jacked-up crapwagon or battered Ford pickup come busting into Roanoke with 50 Cent ripping from a car stereo that's worth more than his parents' house. Anyway, y'all enjoy your winter in a few months!
|
