Attack of the forest monsters!

Normally, I only write about runs, not walks, so this is exceptional. Then again, so was my experience in the woods yesterday.

Instead of a jog, I chose to go for a walk. That’s not so strange, I often walk down to the stream in evenings to get some fresh air and to clear my head.

Yesterday, however, I just put on my shoes and started walking. Regular readers will recognise that I started off on one of my well worn paths. After crossing the stream at Nymølle, however, I went off road. Actually, it was off path, and on road – on what used to be one of the main north-south roads in this area. These days it’s not much more than a deep, washed out gully, and it seemed like the most traffic it gets was the millions of ants that were swarming all over it. I’d never seen so many.

Once the path got to the top of the hill, I vaguely recognised where I was by the two burial mounds. I crossed over the main path and headed back into the woods in order to get myself lost again. It worked, and before I knew it, I was someplace I had never been before. (Thanks to the preschoolers for letting me sit on their outdoor sofa while I contemplated which way to go next.)

I must have been lost in thought, because I nearly jumped out of my skin when some kid on a bike passed me. It always surprises me how alone you can be when you are walking alone in a suburban wood. At one point a heard a noise that sounded vaguely like a muffled cry for help, but decided that it wasn’t anything but the sighing of a tree bough.

After wandering around in what I knew was more or less the direction I wanted to go, I came to a fenced off pasture. It had an electric fence, but no gate, only a grate in the ground to prevent hoofed animals from walking over it. There is a similar pasture in the area where I know there are cows – and a bull, so I tried to make my way around this one.

I walked in both directions but came to the conclusion that 1) there was no way around, and 2) if it was really dangerous, there’d be a sign.

So, with Song of the South on my mind, I crossed over the grate.

In addition to turning around every few steps to see if there was a charging bull, I kept looking down to see whether I could determine from the droppings what kind of animals lived here. Here and there were clusters of small round poops. Deer droppings, no doubt, I thought and continued along the path, which had now left the open pasture and was taking me down a narrow forest lane.

That was when I could hear them. It wasn’t anything more than shuffling from the underbrush to start with, but then it was on both sides, and I could sense that something was moving up ahead as well. Just as I was about to turn behind me I could feel something brush up against my leg. Jolted by what at the time felt like a slimy tentacle, I stopped my turn half-way and lurched forward.

As I scrambled, I caught sight of flashes of white just behind the trees lining the path. From behind me, the one that had tried to grab hold of me let out a warning call, that caused the others to stop their munching echo the call. Finally realising what these beasts were, I knew there was nothing I could do to save myself but laugh.

“Baaa,” they said. “Ha,” I said, red faced.

Sheep may be the most docile animal in all of creation, but they are certainly sneaky little bastards. I’ll remember this the next time I sit down to a leg of lamb.

Sheepishly

Today i spent most of the day sanding window frames. By the time I was done, all I just enough left over for a short run with a boring name.

Brede-Fuglevad-Brede

Christianshavnermilen

The nice thing about running in the same race every year – or in the case of the Christianshavnermilen several times each year – is that it is easy to gauge your performance. You face the same hills, the same twists, turns and more or less the same crowd of people.

I’ve been running the Christianshavnermilen since … 2003, I think. It’s hard to remember when my first time was, but I can say for sure that I have been doing it for so long that I almost have the course memorised. The only part that still catches me off guard is the last two-kilometre stretch, where you pass by a series of identical buildings. I always think ‘this is the last one’, only to be disappointed when the finish line doesn’t appear shortly after.

The race distance is one of my favourites. A Danish mile, or just over 7.5km. You get to run as fast a 5k, while at the same time testing your endourance, like in a 10k.

The course is also one of my favourites. It runs around and through the Christiania squatter colony. The back strecth runs close past a number of hippie cabins, and quite often there are people there to cheer you on. It used to be the only real drawback was the smoke, both from their fires and from their weed, but it seems like there is a lot more trash out there these days.

I guess if there is one other not so nice thing about running the same race year after year is that you have to watch your times get slower and slower. I gave yesterday’s race everything I had and felt appropriately spent afterwards. My 36:00 minutes seemed good enough at the time, but when I looked back at last September’s run – the last Christianshavnermil I ran in, I came in at 33:00 minutes.

The clock is ticking.

Christianshavnermilen

Just follow the guy ahead of you.

Quiet please

Silence is golden

Quiet please

How five became ten

I was only supposed to run five kilometres today. But thanks to a breakdown in the city’s subway system, I got to run ten.

The Amager Strandløb offers a 5K and 10K run along the beach at Amager Strandpark. The route, a five-kilometre loop around the city’s new enormous manmade beach, sounds like a refreshing run. Unfortunately, what the organisers didn’t really consider was 1) there is absolutely no shade along a beach 2) lots of people like to cook out on the beach on a summer evening.

Despite the blazing sun and the suffocating smoke … no, no despite, because. The blazing sun and the suffocating smoke added to the agony of what was probably the worst race I’ve ever suffered through.

Part of it was mental. I was planning to just run the 5K, but the subway broke down and I missed the start, and had to wait for the 10K. I am capable of running ten kilometres and have done it many times before, but since I haven’t run anywhere near that distance in many months, I had settled on the shorter race. I just wasn’t mentally ready to go twice as far.

The other part was definitely physical. The first 5K actually went well: 22 minutes. But part way through the second half – around 6 km – I had a breakdown of my own. By 8km I had completely withered. My final time was 48 minutes, only six minutes difference, so maybe it just felt a lot worse than it was.

I’m still a little dazed, so it’s hard to think or write coherently.

How five became ten

I can’t really recall much of this route, but from what I remember it was relatively simple – start, run with the pack for the first lap, get passed by about a thousand people on the second lap, finish.

Run of the mill(s)

Sometimes I forget how privileged I am to live in this area. On a 5K run today, I went past three historic mills. One of them, Nymølle, was built in 1634, according to the date on the building. Ironically enough, its name means ‘New Mill’, and it is the youngest mill on the stream.

Today’s run more about getting out there than it was challenging myself – or better said, the challenge of today’s run was just getting out there, so I promised myself a short trip.

I am running in race on Wednesday, so I wanted to get out and stretch my legs before then, but not tire myself out too much The race on Wednesday is one of those ones where you decide along the way if you want to stop after 5 or 10k – if you plan on running 10 and are hurting after the first five, the temptation to call it quits can be mind boggling. Fortunately, I only plan on running 5.

This one could have included several more mills, but this was what I did today. Some day when I grow up, I see if I can run to them all.

Run of the mill(s)

Take the path through the forest to the bridge. Cross over and head towards Ørholm (mill #1) – built in 1558 and formerly a gunpowder and paper mill, now a pumping station. Continue along the path until it is intersected by a road. Turn left. Mill #2, Nymølle, was a copper mill and also produced paper. From 1938 until 1974 they dyed cloth there. (I am sure there is a specific term for such a place, I just don’t know it.) Today, there is an architect’s office and classrooms there.

Head into the woods and take a left, back towards Ørholm. Cross over the road and keep on the same side of the stream until you reach Brede (mill #3), which only dates back to the 1700s, but there have reportedly been mills here since the middle ages.

Cross the tracks and make the final climb back home.

If you don’t feel up to taking on Brede Bakke, you can run this route in the opposite direction. It’s a round trip, you wind up at the same altitude anyway. It just doesn’t seem quite so rough.

One sided

Needed a short and sweet run today. After a week of not running due to a pain in the knee I wanted to get out, but I didn’t want to go too far. I stuck with a variant of a tried-and-true route along the stream. Unlike most others, this one didn’t cross over anywhere.

I’ve never really thought about where the term ‘one sided’ comes from, but maybe it comes from people staying on their own side of a divide. I did today and, to be honest, had kind of a boring time of it.

One sided

Through the woods and to the bridge. Instead of crossing, run upstream towards Fuglevad. You need to cross the tracks at Brede, and if you are (un)lucky you might get there just as the train goes by, like I did today. Make the most of your wait and turn to enjoy the view or see what’s on the menu at the restaurant. When you get to Fuglevad, turn left, run up the hill and bear left. Keep going straight, through the intersection, until you get to the cemetery. Go through the gate and run straight across to Blomsterdalen. Up the hill, turning to enjoy the view when you get to the top. Turn left onto the path, then right. Make your way back to the main road, turn right again and then straight to the finish.

Scentimental

This isn’t the longest route on the books, but it’s probably the one that takes me to the most places – sentimentally that is.

I will never ceased to be amazed by the sense of scent’s ability to activate memories. Especially things like the forest after it rains or a the dust from a dry dirt road.

Scentsational

Start out from home. Continue past Indelukket house instead of turning into the woods as normal. As you are heading up the hill look off to the right. There is a hollowed out log hidden in the underbrush. It’s as perfect as any cartoon drawing. Juding by the path worn at the entrance, the log is the entance to someone’s secret forest hideaway. I was tempted to get down on all fours and see where it went, but then I remembered that it’s not nice to infringe on someone else’s imaginary worlds.

Continue up the hill then back down again. Cross the tracks – stop, look and listen before crossing – then take an immediatae right up the steep, narrow path. Weclome to another secret world, although I more expect to meet a witch here among the overgrown allotment gardens and abandoned cottages than the fox and the hound.

It rained yesterday, and everything was still wet. The dense undergrowth surrounding the area and the high grass give off a dank smell that reminds me of summers in New Hampshire. It’s earthy and most and my feet get wet as I make my way along the overgrown path.

Once you emerge out into the beech forest again and can see the stream, you can almost imagine what it would be like to be in Sherwood Forrest on a fair summer day or in a peaceful Hobbit wood. It’s light and airy and invites you to just sit along the stream and while the day away.

Turning towards the bridge and heading over the stream, I am back here – where I live. Just as much as the woods, the high street the stadium – or even my home – the stream has become one of the things I associate most with living here.

Running along it on the far bank, towards the road, then up the hill that looks over the house and to the horsefarm, is an unmistakeable slice of Denmark: well organised, with seperate paths for horses and for everyone else, piles of logs stacked and numbered, waiting paitently for their owner – and only their proper owner – to come and haul them away. Just to add a shock of anarchy to the order, at more than one point along the you can see the abandoned remains of a bike.

But then you are on a long stretch of forest road that – especially with the scent of wet pine needles after yesterday’s rain – brought me right back to California and the hills around Monterey. The forest here is just a spacious, but less light gets through the pine boughs. The branches sigh when the wind blows as they are forced to release their intoxicating scent.

Further ahead the forest is cleared on one side and you pass by the grazing sheep. The sweet smell of grass, the musky scent of animals, combined with the dry dust from the road and the forest on the other side aren’t unique, which is probably why I can never really remember what lies beyond the bend of this road. Is it a patch of trees felled by an October storm, or a lake, or a golf course?

Then I realise that I don’t actually follow the road. My path continues back into the forest. I cross under the train bridge and turn to follow the stream back. There’s no misidentifying the smell of a slow stream without a lot of water.

The way back should be pretty obvious, but I almost turned right to cross the stream at the crossroads instead of bearing left. I normally run in the opposite direction, so I did’t immediately recognise which way to go. Once you are on the right track – or path I should say, since the path runs parallel to the train tracks -remember to cross over at Ravnholm stop.

Continue on to Ørholm. Over the road and down the stairs to Islandsvej. Keep going until you get to the end of the road. Continue into the woods and take the asphalt path to the top of the hill.

Once

The name for this one probably came about because I was listening to Pearl Jam before I left. It could probably have been named after several of the songs on Ten. This route could also have been called Childish Thoughts.

I like this run on two levels. On the pure jogging level, it’s nice for a number of reasons. You get to experience the best that nature has to offer in this area: forests, streams, hills, livestock, big sky vistas over wheatfields that make it hard to belive that you are in a suburb of Copenhagen, not in the Midwest. If you are out there early enough you can even see deer.

It’s also a practical route that allows you to turn back at a numer of points if you need to cut it short. But if you don’t turn back when you come out of the woods and onto Svenskevej, you’re in it for about an extra two kilometres. If you are feeling good, you can also extend it in a number of ways and make a really long run for yourself if that’s what you are looking for.

If you choose the wrong time or the wrong day, the return trip between the overpass and the roundabout at Nøjsomhedsvej / Kulsviervej can be a purgatory. But once you turn on to pass Brugsen, you’re almost home. If you slip onto the path at the bus stop, you can finish cross country style, with a litte uphill spurt to boot.

On the personal level, this route also means a lot to me. The area around Raadvad was the first place we took Elisabeth for a walk after we got home from the hospital. And the stonecutter that made her gravestone is there. He was a real artisan, and did the work by hand, which, we found out, is rare.

For all the times I’ve been running in this area the past two years, this was actually the first time I’ve been down the path through the woods since our walk. I went in the opposite direction, not really on purpose, but maybe it that was symbolic in some way – or maybe it just meant I was running in the opposite direction.

Another reason why this route brings back memories is because the three of us wound up walking on much of the route on a very long walk together. I don’t think that we intended to be out so long, but it just felt so good to be out there, together, that I don’t think we wanted it to come to an end. Of course we did make it back. We had arranged to meet a good friend at home and were seriously late, but no one minded. That was the way things went that summer. 

There’s a handful of other reasons why being in this area brings back strong memories. But they don’t really have anything to do with why my feet took me there today.

Tomorrow we meet with our adoption case worker. She didn’t get everything about Elisabeth down the first time, and the board wants us to answer a few questions. It’s fair enough that they need to turn every stone. It’s just a pain. I never mind talking about Elisabeth; but it is irritating that we have to do it again after already using several hours talking to an adoption person about her and us. Sofie says it’s kind of like preparing for an exam. In way it is. We even have the questions they want us to answer. Now it’s just a matter of answering honestly and convincingly … and correctly.

Once

Run from Ørholm to Ravnholm. Continue past Ravnholm, past the IBM building and over the stream. Turn right off the asphalt path, onto a dirt road that takes you past a hill where there cows grazing in the summer. Pass under the motorway. Keep to the right when the path splits, otherwise you run up into the wheatfield. There are nice views to both the left (wheat fields) and the right (forest with stream running past at the bottom of the hill).

The path splits twice, but you can take either way. I suggest keeping to the left on the first one (the right path is a muddy horse path that runs parallel). Take the right path at the second fork. It’s a little narrower but you can see the stream better. Watch out for mountain bikers.

When you get out of the forest, cross over Svenskevej to the path that goes through Krudtmølleengen. I suggest continuing on the road to the second or third cut in to avoid the nettles and the mud.

When you get to Raadvad, head back along the asphalt biking path through the woods. You come out at the Hjortekær gate to Dyrehaven. From there it’s nearly a straight shot back.

But as I said, the opportunities for improvisation on this one are endless. You don’t know where the path will take you until you head down it.

Tre broer

Sometimes you need to force yourself to do something you know you will benefit from, even though you really don’t want to. Crappy day at the office, which capped off a lousy week. Knew a jog was what I needed, but felt much more like burying myself between the cushions of the couch.

Forced myself out. Didn’t change the fact that I had a lousy day, or eliminate the reasons why, but it helped defragment my brain. It’s weekend, so I get a few days to piece it back together.

Three bridges (or Tre broer, as it’s known in these parts)

This one could also be called up and down the river, just what you need when you need to put it on autopilot. Start from home and head towrds Mølleåen. Cross the bridge between Brede and Ørholm, take the path to Fuglevad bia Brede. Cross over to Sogenfrislotspark. Take the path along the river. Cross the short iron bridge, then left over the white wooden bridge. Back to Brede along the tracks.

Put and take

Apparently this run goes around a put and take fishing lake. I wouldn’t know, I was too busy talking to notice.

Normally, my runs are a solitary pleasure. Today I had the company of my neighbour – or rather, I was my neighbour’s company. He asked if I wanted to go, an I couldn’t resist. It almost got ugly - he asked anothe neighbour, a marathoner, if he wanted to come. He couldn’t. Phew.

It’s been a very long time since I have run two days in a row; I’d guess decades. It went okay. Good, actually.

Since it was new territory for me, and since I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were going, you’ll have to refer to the map. I’m not even sure I got the part between Nærum and Søllerød right.

One comment: it was hot. Just plain hot.

Put and take

Tomorrow – today, 9 June – is Elisabeth’s birthday. So even if I hadn’t been running two days in a row, I wouldn’t be going anyway. Wednesday is football. Maybe I’ll see if I can find that lake at the end of the week.