The GNJR Day Two: Tears in my Chicken

The pole barn at Seldom Seen

I woke around 6:30 Friday morning to a cold house and an empty stomach. I had ferried some supplies out here Monday afternoon, and now I made my way downstairs to devour part of them and the others I would later load into my pack. I fixed breakfast, two sliced bananas mixed with a can of sardines in oil, and no I did not drain the oil but sopped it all up with the bananas. I then ate a Moon Pie and washed the dishes I used before going upstairs to get ready for the morning's launch. 

The first thing I did was work on my feet, applying tape, duct and kenisio, to critical areas. Then I begin to dress a little at a time. There was in no hurry since I was waiting for the sun to warm things some before I left. I wore my tights for the first time on the trip and put a couple of more layers on up top. I loaded the thirty-two ounces of Gatorade into my pack's hydration bladder and packed the extra Gu gels, Moon Pies, and protein bars I had stashed here for the remainder of the trip. That added probably three pounds to my load. Not good. That was one of the problems I had in 2013: my pack was way too heavy. Although I did not weigh my pack then, I did weigh it Thursday before I left: 11.4 pounds. Not too bad for a five day run. But now it was heavier. My appetite should remedy that, however.

I waited a while longer for the weather to warm, and then left Seldom Seen at a quarter till eight, on my journey for Winona. After making it to McCarley Road, I walked the first long hill leaving Wilson's place and then began my first run of the day going down the other side. I could tell right away it was going to be a tough day. My legs were spent from the start, and things would only get worse as the day progressed.

Fortunately, McCarley was much closer than I thought, and after only four miles, I was downtown, such as downtown is. Although my body felt bad, my brain felt good that I had reached the scene of my 2013 surrender when I was forced to take a ride back to Greenwood, unable to continue my journey. This time I was still in the game. I took a few photos and then headed onto the gravel road that leads eastward out of town.

Those roads between McCarley and Winona were the best ones I encountered on the whole trip. They are almost uninhabited, pretty flat with a hill thrown in here and there, and for several miles one follows the old abandoned C&G Railway line. This was only the second time I had been through here, the only other time being in my truck while scouting out a route to keep me off Highway 82.

One of the neat roads beside the
old C&G Railroad.

I saw precious little wildlife, but I did feel the solace of the silent woods as I wondered the road-trails among the trees which were awash with their fall colors. As the morning wore on, however, I became weary, very weary, maybe a result of a less than stellar night's sleep, or possibly the consequence of a lack of coffee. I normally drink a quart of the liquid bean per day. Seldom Seen had a coffee maker, filters, and coffee, but I didn't want to open a package of someone else's bean so I went without. I should have taken some out there with my groceries.

Two and a half hours into the morning, I checked my Garmin to discover I was walking along at 25:00 minutes per mile! That's grocery shopping pace, but it was all I could do. My feet were sore, my legs were dead, and my energy was low. A nap was all I wanted, fantasized about. 

I found a place in the road where the shade hit and some leaves lay making me think cars rarely rode over that spot. A good place to sleep, I thought, so I stopped and began to take off my pack. Then I had a faint inkling of how stupid it would appear to anyone who heard of me getting run over because I was asleep on the road. 

I should have opened that coffee.

I continued on for what seemed like days but in reality was only hours. Finally, I came to the paved road that runs parallel to I 55 and only a little ways north of Highway 82. I was at Winona. I checked my watch. It was only 1:30, too early to check into a motel. I made my way across 82 to Kentucky Fried Chicken where I ordered a three piece meal. The chicken, I surmised, would give me plenty of protein to repair my damaged muscles.

I sat down with my food and the profundity of my fatigue overwhelmed me. I thought about my great-grandfather who walked from Utah to Louisville, Mississippi when he was but a boy. He was a better man than I when he was only twelve years old. I lowered my head and put my left hand on my forehead to cover my eyes so no one would see me cry. I tried not to drip tears onto my chicken which I devoured with relish despite my highly emotional state.

After eating, I wearily wandered next door to the Magnolia Lodge where I checked myself in. Immediately, I removed my shoes, lanced some blisters, and took a long, warm bath. I put on my night-night clothes and crawled into the bed. I was asleep within seconds.

Tears and chicken were my lunch/supper.

I woke up about two and a half hours later. It was 5:00 pm. I spent the next five hours watching TV, taking naps, and eating protein bars one half at a time. The extra protein would help my damaged muscles recover. Eating one half of one every thirty minutes would give my body the ability to uptake all the amino acids. Or so I surmised. Somewhere around 10:00 o'clock, I slipped off into a sleep from which I am sure not even an F 5 tornado could have awakened me.

Distance for the day was 11.54 miles.

The GNJR Day One: Dogs and Bigfoot

The confidence, excitement, and eagerness that had been building inside me for months were all gone smashed like a wrecked ship and sunk by the rocks of pain, fear, and dread. The long-awaited Great Noxapater Journey Run was here, but my prospects for success had vanished like a thief in the night. Monday evening after a short run, I began to feel pain and soreness in my left heel. What?!?! I have had plantar fasciitis before. This meant doom, maybe months of it.

Selfie near the start on the
Yazoo River levee.

I took another short run Tuesday afternoon, felt more pain, and my anxiety level shot to a 15 on a scale of 1 to 10. I wanted to weep, my mood became somber, I became sullen and dark. For years, literally years, I had planned and trained to make this run, but injury almost always prevented me from starting. Finally, I was healthy enough to start in 2013, but went down in flames, failing on the very first day with a stress fracture. Now it was happening all over again: same song, new verse.

Wednesday I went home after work, tried to stay off my feet as much as possible, and pondered and prayed if I should even start the journey. My head told me no, don't do it, put everything on hold; but my heart pushed me out the door and at 11:58 Thursday morning on November 19th I begun what I fully believed would be another ill-fated attempt. I expected to have to be rescued on the first day, but something inside told me I had to try. Since my spirits were so low, I started with a slow walk to let my legs and feet gently warm up. It was a full three and a half miles later before I dared to switch to a slow shuffle. 

Surprisingly, everything felt good when I started running as I shuffled out Browning Road, over to the highway, and then east on the shoulder of 82. I prayed as I pounded the pavement and asked God to at least help me get to bottom of the hill. I ran to Valley Hill and then began a slow walk up the long incline while cars and eighteen wheelers whizzed by. As the mile numbers mounted, my confidence gradually rose like the temperature on a July morning.

As soon as I could, I crossed the four lanes of traffic to get to the old Highway 82, a quieter, gentler road more satisfying to my soul. When the old highway came to an end, just like I did in 2013, I opted to ambulate the longer but safer and more scenic Skating Rink Road. This year I found it just a pretty as I did twenty-three months ago, and I also found myself praying for God to give me day one, all of it.

Somewhere after the road turned gravel, I picked up two dogs who seemed determined to go the distance with me. I did nothing to encourage their company, having learned long ago that canines love to ramble with strangers. As we re-approached 82, which I would cross once more, I prayed the dogs would go home, but they seemed set to stay with me having the time of their lives. One was a large, light-tan cur-looking male of about 60 pounds; the other was a full-sized but smaller black, shaggy female of an estimated 35 pounds.

Much to my chagrin, we, the dogs and I, crossed the busy highway and spilled ourselves out onto Providence Road, a shady stretch of tree-lined gravel that leads to the old town of Carrollton. We were getting a long way from the dogs' home, and I began to worry more about them, if they could get home, would they be safe. I caught the big dog and found a phone number which I promptly called. The man who answered said he was on the other side of Eupora travelling the other way, but he would make a call to a friend in the area who maybe could pick up the dogs. 

Supper at Dixie's Cozy Kitchen.

Just before we came into Carrollton, my canine companions got into a fight with some local dogs. This caused me to worry even more because I wondered how they could possibly have the nerve to come back this way even if they knew the way home and wanted to go there. 

In Carrollton, the traffic was surprisingly heavy and the dogs were constantly in the road coming frighteningly close to being struck several times. We went past my brother-in-law's house where my niece, Cheyenne, a lass about twelve years of age, was outside holding a puppy, and the brown dog acted a little aggressive towards the innocent puppy sending my stress levels even higher. 

When we got a little farther down the road in front of Dixie's Cozy Kitchen, a woman wearing an apron ran out of the cafe and started calling the dogs by name. She was the friend the owner phoned. While we were scrambling about attempting to corral the dogs, a deputy sheriff rode up and stopped in the middle of the busy road.

"What's going on here?" he asked as if he had caught us red-handed committing a crime.

"We need some help," the woman in the apron yelled back at the office who responded by speeding away in his patrol car.

We caught the brown dog and locked him in the woman's SUV. She said she would take him home when she got off work. But the black one was still on the loose when I left about thirty-minutes later. I don't know how that story turned out. I went inside when the apron woman did and ordered a hamburger and fries, and drank three glasses of tea.

When I left the cafe, it was dark and the temperature had fallen from warm to what a Southern boy calls cold. I pulled some clothes out of my pack, put them on and began the last leg of my day's journey, the three miles to Wilson Carroll's Seldom Seen where I would sleep for the night. Since I had just eaten, I didn't attempt to run, but hiked in the dark the two plus miles to the turn and then the almost mile up the gravel road/drive.

Inside the house, I quickly shed my pack and shoes, lanced two blisters-- one on each foot-- and took a bath. I then put on my night-night clothes and went downstairs for some TV time, reflecting on the journey thus far. I left home with zero confidence in my prospects for success, but God gave me the day. I was grateful. Now I was thinking, maybe, just maybe with prayer and effort, I can pull this off.

I became groggy so I went upstairs to turn in for the night. Having come 23.1 miles, sleep should be no problem and I was in the twilight zone, fading fast, when my eyes opened wide at a startling sound.

Pop.

Pop. 

Pop.

Over and over and over and over.

It was loud, way too loud for a mouse or rat or whole heard of rats even. Something was downstairs causing chaos. And then while my heartbeat shook the soft bed I lay in, something outside let loose with what sounded like a Bigfoot call, you know how they do on the show Finding Bigfoot. "Are you kidding me?!?!?!" I thought. Then after a few seconds, the yell broke loose again.

I crept out of bed and retrieved the large folding knife I carry on long runs for protection, more concerned about what was inside the house than what was outside it. You know I felt threatened since I had the blade out. I sneaked to the door, down the hall to the stairway, and then nervously reached for the light switch afraid at the sight I was sure to see below. I expected to see something, maybe a cow having crashed through the wall and standing in the middle of the room or Bigfoot himself or a crew of thieves wearing ski masks and black gloves. But when I did flip on the switch what I saw was nothing, or nothing amiss. I could view the entire room except a small area directly under the stairs, and though I hate to admit it, I was too frightened to go down there and look under the stairs

I spent the night with my knife in my hand, the hall light on, and my face pointed towards the bedroom door. Though I yearned to roll over onto my left side, my normal sleeping position, I dared not do it.

Yeah, I'm a fraidy-cat.

The distance for the day.

Luvie's Short Report on The GNJR

By Luvie

Today I am writing fat boy's simple report on The Great Noxapater Journey Run. He says he will write a more detailed account later.

Day One: 23.1 miles from Greenwood to a little east of Carrollton

Day Two: 11.54 miles from a little east of Carrollton to Winona

Day Three: 27.46 miles from Winona to French Camp

Day Four: 30.52 miles from French Camp to Louisville

Day Five: 10.16 miles from Louisville to Noxapater

Total: 102.78.

Zane says he will compose a write up of each day's run. Not only that, but he says there will be a separate post about what he learned on this journey. Really? He vows it's true, that he made a new friend, had some personal encounters with strangers, did some deep thinking, and learned a lot about himself and life. I think he's just trying to justify his indulgence, but he promises it's true that he has some real lessons everyone needs to think about. He even says he now has something to say that no one has ever said before. Boy, what a boast. We'll see about that.

Meanwhile, since he came home he's been waddling around like a penguin claiming his feet are sore, and says his goal for the next twenty-four hours is to wear no shoes. He also promises to see how much coffee he can drink, how many naps he can take, and how much cat petting he can do in one day. We'll see about that too.

I am Luvie, and I wrote and approve of this blog post.

Some Days Are Tough

I have nothing to say. That makes writing a bit difficult, but "nothing great is easy" (see what I did there?). I think I'll try to come up with a strategy for making it through the afternoon. 

Today, after lunch, I will be imprisoned until 4:00 pm waiting on students who will not come by to have schedules made. What's the rush? Wait until school actually starts. With teachers in the room teaching, students show up at the counselor's office wanting to sign up for classes. "A dillar a dollar a ten o'clock scholar/what makes you come so soon/You used to come at ten o'clock/Now you come at noon."

My plan is to eat lunch and then lie on the floor for thirty minutes or so. OK, forty minutes. After that, I hope to walk up and down the halls and drink a couple of Coke Zeros. Next, I have some Snickers Bars in a filing cabinet in my office. Although I will hate myself tomorrow (see what I did there?), I'll eat at least one candy bar. OK, two. Then I will check the weather several times and stretch my calf muscles on the steps out front. 

When I finish stretching my calf muscles, I will check Facebook. Then I will sit before a blank sheet of paper and attempt to write some video ideas, you know, Marcus videos. Marcus is a big hit with my grandchildren. My grandson last week asked my, "How is Marcus?" Marcus is a star.

Although he is a star, he is a reluctant one. I have to beg and bribe him to shoot the videos. "I don't have time today, Doc," he will tell me when I ask him if we can shoot today.

"Come on, Marcus," I respond. "I'll give you a Snickers Bar."

"No, I really can't do it today. I have a lot to do."

So Marcus makes us beg and then wait a week for every video we shoot. Maybe his reluctance is a power play. Maybe he is flexing his influence, learning how to say "No," which is not a bad thing because that is a grace I never learned.

Anyway, I have said nothing for long enough. I think I'll post this and then go check the refrigerator in the teacher's lounge. Oh, I forgot, we don't have a teacher's lounge only a general purpose break room/copy room. Then I can walk out in the parking lot and look for loose change. 

Samuel Lott, Poet

Please take the time to familiarize yourself with a new and original poet, Samuel Lott. He writes three to eighteen poems per day. You can find his poetry on my YouTube channel under the playlist, Samuel Lott, Poet. Here is his first public reading.

Luvie's Post

I let fat boy take it easy last week. He ran 3.09 Monday (see what I did there? I did not say "on Monday." Don't do that). Tuesday he ran 4.05 and Wednesday he ran 4.03 and swapped his work computer from his backpack to his computer case. That was so he could start getting his stuff together and loading up for the journey run. 

Thursday he did not run but instead went to see his grandchildren and swam at DSU where is stroked 

750
8 X 50
800 breathing 3,5,7, fast by 25s
50 easy
4 X 100 middle 50 fast
50 easy
8 X 25
750
total: 3,400

Friday was his long run, the last one to stop the decline of endurance before the biggie. He shuffled 9.01 miles and walked .19. Saturday he did lots of lounging and watching of college football. He did shuffle 2.05 miles and lifted weights at Plate City Gym. 

Sunday was a day of Sabbath, as always. Now the time is almost here. 

I Swummed Again

One day closer. I did not get around to shuffling supplies to Seldom Seen. Maybe today. Thursday night I made it to the grand kids for a short visit. I was running late since I worked registration, but decided a short visit was better than no visit at all. Smu was happy to see me as always. 

I left and went to DSU. My swimming has fallen off a cliff. This is the first time in a while I have swum two weeks in a row. There was a new guy there named Zane. When I went to school as a little boy I hated my name because Sanford Thomas used to make up songs like: "Zane, Zane I know you shame/yo face looks like Jesse James." Several times on the first day, the teacher calling the role addressed me as Jane Hodge. That hurt. It was embarrassing. Later I came to like my name as I realized that no one else had it. I am, by the way, named after my grandfather whose mother named all her boys after authors, so yes in an oblique way I am named after Zane Grey. His mother, Lou Ella Krebbs (maiden name) married George Henry Quinton (her second husband). If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that The Great Noxapter Journey Run is in part a re-enactment of George's journey from Utah the Mississippi. I plan a stop at his and Lou Ella's grave on my quest. Anyway, a new guy named Zane showed up. I don't like someone else having my name. "Zane" is not nearly as rare as it used to be. That bothers me. 

I swam

750
8 X 50
800 as breathing 3,5,7, fast by 25s
50 easy
4 X 100 middle 50 fast
50 easy
8 X 25 @ 1:30
750
total: 3,400 SCYs.