Re-Post: The Places I've Run: "Marky Mark" (Boston, MA)

This is a re-post from March 2011, after a weekend trip to Boston. 

Four years of college cross country, indoor, and outdoor track mean that I’ve probably run more miles in Boston than anywhere else. Every day at 3:30 my team met at the TTC (Track and Tennis Center) to go for a run. Some days we piled into one of BU’s big red 15-passenger vans and our coach drove us to a park, or trails, or a reservoir. But mostly we ran from the TTC. The routes were passed down to me by the previous generation of BU Track girls and they all have names: River, Jamaica, City, Riverway, Science Figure-8, GC Sans GC, Fresh Pond, Res to Res, and my personal favorite: Marky Mark.

This run is named for the actor Mark Wahlberg (who started his career as a rapper: Marky Mark). Allegedly he has a house on Sargent Street in Brookline, thus this run is named for him (so the story goes). I like it because it’s one big loop, has minimal stoplights, and is a nice combination of streets and trails and dirt and ponds. The shortest version (mapped below) is 6.6 miles. This version starts and ends at the BU TTC (100 Ashford Street, Boston, MA). Of course you could start/end anywhere along the loop! 

You can add on by running around Jamaica Pond (which makes the route total to 7.6), and/or around the Brookline Reservoir (1500m/1 mile-ish around) as many times as you want. 

When I was in Niger, sweating to death running around Le Stade, I imagined myself running Marky Mark. And when I’m on a treadmill I often picture this run. Why do I love it so much? I have no idea…if you’re ever in Boston you should try it and see for yourself!

If you can't see the map, click here.

The Places I've Run: Costa Rica

I left the house – our castle on a mountain – and started down the much-too-steep driveway. Immediately I knew that running was a bad idea. I’d slept too late, waited too long, and now at 8:30 am the Costa Rican sun was already too high, my shoulders too exposed, the sky too blue and the jungle too green to make a run anything but an overheated sweaty mess.

But I’d put on my shoes and sports bra, so no turning back. I made it down the driveway to the Intercostal Highway, hastily applied sunblock already dripping in my eyes. It reminded me of running in Burkina Fasso – the heat and humidity and a general feeling of internal ickiness.

The wide road provided no shade at all, and as I slowly and steadily put one foot in front of the other I could feel my face going all blotchy red and white (as it so flatteringly does when I’m overheated).

I jogged along, past the semi-hidden beach entrances, past the palm-thatched ceviche stands promising “camarones, pescado, mix.” Whizzing by on the road were passenger cars and 18-wheeler trucks, making their way up and down the Pacific Coast towards Panama or Nicaragua, and they in turn were passing each other  –  sometimes multiple cars at once  – with complete disregard to blind turns…or lanes (the Ticos are not known for cautious driving).

I plodded along for 15 minutes before turning around in defeat. Ugh, I’ll finish this run in the pool later. I gasped, wheezed, and struggled up the hill to the house (did I mention that it’s on top of a mountain?), my blood pounding in my ears for minutes after I finally finished.

Immediately I stripped off my sweat-soaked clothes, put on a bathing suit, and plunged into the cold water of the pool. I pushed off towards the edge of infinity (literally), feeling my body temperature normalize and my sense of well-being return.

Welp, that was a bad idea. No more late-morning Costa Rican non-pool runs for me.

Read other "The Places I've Run" posts: Niger 1, Mammoth CA, Brooklyn NY, Niger 2, Petaluma CA, Vermont, Colorado, Burkina Fasso, Boston MA. 

The Places I've Run: "Marky Mark" (Boston, MA)

Four years of college cross country, indoor, and outdoor track mean that I’ve probably run more miles in Boston than anywhere else. Every day at 3:30 my team met at the TTC (Track and Tennis Center) to go for a run. Some days we piled into one of BU’s big red 15-passenger vans and our coach drove us to a park, or trails, or a reservoir. But mostly we ran from the TTC. The routes were passed down to me by the previous generation of BU Track girls and they all have names: River, Jamaica, City, Riverway, Science Figure-8, GC Sans GC, Fresh Pond, Res to Res, and my personal favorite: Marky Mark.

This run is named for the actor Mark Wahlberg (who started his career as a rapper: Marky Mark). Allegedly he has a house on Sargent Street in Brookline, thus this run is named for him (so the story goes). I like it because it’s one big loop, has minimal stoplights, and is a nice combination of streets and trails and dirt and ponds. The shortest version (mapped below) is 6.6 miles. This version starts and ends at the BU TTC (100 Ashford Street, Boston, MA). Of course you could start/end anywhere along the loop! 

You can add on by running around Jamaica Pond, and/or around the Brookline Reservoir (1500m around). When I was in Niger, sweating to death running around Le Stade, I imagined myself running Marky Mark. And when I’m on a treadmill I often picture this run. Why do I love it so much? I have no idea…if you’re ever in Boston you should try it and see for yourself!

If you can't see the map, click here.

The Places I’ve Run: Banfora, Burkina Fasso

About 3 weeks after moving to Niger, the 11 students in my program piled into two stuffy vans driven by Abadou, our gregarious (and mildly inappropriate) chauffeur, an his more mild-mannered compatriot to go on a trip to Burkina Fasso.

This small country to the west of Niger proved to be remarkably different from Niamey – as we drove southwest the scenery transitioned from dry dirty dessert to lush and green jungle.

Burkina, unlike Niger, is a majority Christian country. What does that have to do with running? It meant that I could wear shorts outside! And when it’s Sub-Saharan Africa HOT, the ability to expose some skin is a more than welcome opportunity. (Read this post to learn how I dealt with Niger’s clothing conundrum.)

We stayed in a town called Banfora for a few days at a very nice (but mosquito-full) hotel. The first morning I tied on my shoes, put on my running clothes (Shorts! A tank top! Yay!), and walked out into the street to try to shake the multiple 10-hour driving days out of my legs.

I took note of our hotel’s name (breadcrumbs my friends – it’s always good to know your way home!) and headed down the wide dirt street away from the main road and towards the countryside. Green taxis (all the taxis in Burkina are a sickly chartreuse) and motos and bicycletttes passed me as I ran, adults giving me sideways glances and children calling out to me along the way.

I ran past a soccer field and some sort of government building (maybe a school?) and then crossed a bridge to make my way out of town. The taxis were gone, replaced by people walking their cows towards Banfora, or pulling carts full of goods to sell.

I felt out of place, kind of like a commercial where a high-performance product is contrasted with low-tech surroundings. Me in my running clothes and fancy shoes, running into the bush in Burkina. But the wonderful thing about running is that it’s always the same! Whether I’m in Burkina or Boston or DC or California, a run is a run and I love that!

The Places I've Run: Denny Creek, CO

For two summers I worked at a camp in the mountains of Colorado. I was a mountaineering counselor for high school and junior high kids - I led backpacking trips, ropes course, rock climbing, mountain biking, and rafting (well, on those last two I was more just along for the ride). It sounds fun...and it was...but it was also absolutely exhausting.

The camp base was at 9,000 feet. Altitude training anyone?

One July night at about 11 pm, I was hanging out with some friends. We realized that the next day was a "Sunday" (aka a sleep-in day, which were rare at camp). This meant that we didn't have our normal 6:20 am staff meeting, so I didn't have to throw myself out for a run at 5 am. Counselors and campers alike didn't have to get up until 8 am on Sundays!

Wow, we should do something awesome! suggested my early-morning running buddy (one of the few people I've met who rivals me in craziness). 

Peak a mountain? No, we did that on our last day off...

Let's run Denny Creek! Sure! (My compulsive volunteerism strikes again.) 

Denny Creek is a famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) camp run. You start at the Mt. Yale trailhead, and run up and over Browns Pass and back to camp. It's about 15 miles long, with some major elevation gain and loss. The most hard-core campers do it as the climax of their summer, and many counselors have done it on their off days.

My alarm went off at 4:20 am on a sleep-in-Sunday, less than 5 short hours after our decision to run Denny Creek.

Oh. My. Goodness. This is it...I've completely lost my mind. 

Am I really about to do this?

Yes. Obviously.

I ate a granola bar on the way to the trailhead (11 miles west of Buena Vista on the Cottonwood Pass Road, aka Chaffee County Road 306), strapped on my headlamp, and started the slow arduous climb up to Browns Pass. We chugged along the dark, not saying much (what is there to say at 5 am anyways?), intent on not tripping over the rocks studding the trail.

The run starts with 5 miles of steep uphill to Browns Pass. The starting elevation is 9,800 feet, and the top of the pass is 12,010 feet. So that's 3,350 feet in 5 miles, i.e. difficult.

Once you get to Browns Pass, the worst is over. In our oxygen-indebted stupor we paused briefly to appreciate the Collegiate Peaks before starting our descent into the Denny Creek basin. We slip-slided down the steep snow-encrusted trail for a few miles before leveling out the enjoy the rest of the run along a meandering stream (probably Denny Creek?).

I paused briefly to sip some ice-cold snowmelt water out of the stream (because yes, I am that badass...or stupid...whatevs).

All things beautiful. I love trail running. Until the last up-and-over into camp. Switchbacks. Kill. Me.

But we made it - arriving back into camp just a few minutes after the 8 am wake-up bell, we were ready to start our normal day. 

Ah the insanity - I love running in Colorado!

The Places I've Run: Vermont

I had such a beautiful winter run this morning! There was snow decorating the bare tree branches, but not too much on the sidewalks, and the sun was just peaking out above the clouds. I found myself wishing I had a camera (stowed away in my running shoes? Not likely!), but I had to settle for enjoying the beautiful early morning on my own.

This morning’s run reminded me of other (less lovely) snowy runs.

I was on the club ski team in college. Every weekend in January and February, we would load ourselves and all our gear into a couple 15-passenger vans and drive to middle-of-nowhere Vermont or New Hampshire to stay in the cheapest and most awful of sketchy motels. We got up at the absolute crack of dawn, to ski raced Saturday and Sunday, then drive back to Boston.

Good times were had by all.

The only glitch is that I am a skier and a runner. So after a long cold day on the hill, we schlepped ourselves back to the motel where everyone would roll into bed for a nap. Except for me (and sometimes one brave friend). The secret is, you cannot lie down. No resting. If you lose your momentum, then it’s over. And if you give yourself a choice (e.g. Maybe I’ll run after skiing today…), you might as well forget it.

The minute we returned to the motel, I switched out my skiing spandex for running spandex (all the best things in life are done in spandex, no?), and literally threw myself out the door (until I crashed hard on the icy steps…then “carefully walked” was more my style!).

And off I went for a very cold run on the highways of New England.  A Northeast January late afternoon is no joke. And in Vermont in the middle of the Green Mountain National Forest, you don’t have many options. A long lonely out-and-back where you start off cold and end colder? Done it. More than once.

But it wasn’t always bad. The snowy countryside uninterrupted by much of anything makes me feel like I’m in another time. Every little one-road town I ran through reminded me of a Tasha Tudor kid’s book.

The few SUVs and pick-ups that passed me on their way to or from Killington surely thought I was beyond crazy - a runner with a death wish and a penchant for punishment.  

Which I am. And I love it.

The Places I've Run: Petaluma, CA

In December of seventh grade, I danced in the Nutcracker, and then decided that it was time to quit ballet.

So my mama says, Well now that you're not doing ballet, you're going to have to start running.
I don't even remember questioning it, or really thinking about it - I just said ok, and that was that. (To make this seem a little less weird, both my parents are runners and have always run every day, so suggesting that I run wasn't totally off the wall.)

On my first run, my mom took me on a 3-ish-mile loop near our house (unfortunately years later MapMyRun informed me that it was only abot 2.5. Damn.). We ran the first half, walked up the hill, and then ran home. And that was it - The Run was born. I did that same run every day. Eventually I could do it without walking. And even later, I started adding on. So The Run got longer and longer. There was the standard short loop, a 3.5-mile version, a 4-miler, a 5-miler, and really the sky's the limit when it comes to adding on.

When Sister1 started running, she did The Run. When Sister2 started a few years later, she did The Run as well.

The amazing thing about The Run is its staying power. To this day I start my run on the same route. I never do just the original loop, but variations on that theme are a part of all my Petaluma runs. I'm not sure if this says something about my creativity...or my laziness...or perhaps my persistence (?). It's just a matter of habit. I leave my door and turn right. Then right again. Then up to the hill...and then, well, it's up to my in-shapeness and desire from there.

It's comforting, in a way. When I'm home, I like to eat breakfast and drink my coffee while reading the paper, then putter around a bit before going out for my run. When I get back I take my dog for a walk.

So, how was your run? my family asks when they see me later.
Me: Good/bad/meh/terrible. (response of my choice)
Fam: Where did you go?
Me: Well, I started with The Run...

And so it goes. If I'm home for too long, I get bored, but considering the fact that in the last 5 years I've been home for a grand total of 3 months...well, not a whole lot of time for getting bored.

Do other people have a route like this?

The Places I've Run: Niamey, Niger

Here’s one for the Mollie Does Ridiculous Things list. (This “list” has been in my head for a while, this is its first appearance on my blog - so don't get confused.)

I do kind of a lot of ridiculous things, mostly of the running/endurance variety (e.g. when I was working at a summer camp, a friend asked at 11pm if I wanted to run 15 miles the next morning – starting at 4am. My response? Sure!) Basically I’m a compulsive volunteer – just ask, I’ll say yes to anything. So far this has worked out pretty well…knock on wood…

Anywho, back to this particular incident. You may already be aware that I lived in Niger for a semester, and that I ran while I was there.

So there I was on a morning in November, running my laps of Le Stade, when another runner came up beside me to chat. I was psyched to have company - I had been running by myself for 2 months – I can only spend so much time alone with my thoughts! So this guy and I started talking. Note, this conversation was in French, and I was running in around 100 degrees weather…so I didn’t really get all of it. But here’s the gist.

-       Turns out this guy is the best runner in Niger, and the coach of their National Team (which practices at Le Stade).

-        I can’t remember his name. It started with a Y and was long and involved a few K’s and L’s – so basically I have no idea…let’s just call him Y.

-       Y wanted me to “join” their team and run in a big competition in late December (not because I’m a great runner, but because they only had 2 women total on their team). There was no way that was going to happen, because a) the competition was in Tahoua, a very long bush taxi ride away, and b) it was after my fly-home date.

So Y asked me if I wanted to run with the team sometime. He said they would show me places to run other than Le Stade. Obviously, I said yes.

At 6 am on a Saturday morning I met the team. They all seemed very nice. We went through the usual greetings – Hello, how’s your house? How’s your family? How’s your health? How’s work? Ça va, Ça va, Ça va.

Followed by the usual semi-serious jokes about getting married so I can bring one of them back to America with me…

Then Y was like, Ok, allons-y (let’s go)!

Turns out, this run was going to be just me and him. Not what I expected, but okaaaayyyy…

We started running at a relatively quick pace, no problem, hooray for company! We ran out the main street heading out of the city. (By that point in the semester, I was pretty familiar with the area.) And we kept going…and going…and going…

Eventually we turned left onto a dirt road. This road seemed to go on forever. Soon we had left the city behind. I could see houses around, but we definitely weren’t in a populated area…And then I started to wonder, was this such a good idea? How much did I know about this guy? And where the hell were we going??? 

A mangy looking dog started to follow us and my wondering took a turn for the worse, if this dog bites me, what will happen? What if I can’t walk? Who will think to come find me? How will they know where to look???

(Don’t worry kids, this story has a happy ending.)

We finally turned left again, and headed in a direction that looked more city-ish (or at least outlying suburb-ish). I was tired. I was hot (note that I had to wear pants for this!). And I was cranky – Y said it was going to be a 45 minute run, but we had been running for over an hour!!!

The best part of this whole run was when we saw Le Stade up ahead, and Y said to me, “See, I told you that you could run a half marathon!”

WTF??? I did not sign on for that! I guess when you agree to do things in a foreign language, key details can get lost in translation…

Retrospectively, perhaps going on a long run with a man I just met in a foreign country was not my brightest idea ever. But we made it back, an I lived on to do more Ridiculous Things…

The Places I've Run: Brooklyn, NY

As you may already know, I went to New York City for the first time this past weekend. My friend and I stayed with her cousin and his partner in Brooklyn. Mer's cousin's partner (for simplicity's sake I will henceforth refer to him as MCP) is in training for the Philadelphia Marathon. Late Friday night it came up in conversation.

MCP: Did I hear that you brought running shoes?

Me: Yeah, I need to run tomorrow.

MCP: Do you want to run with me?

Me: Yes!

What do you do on the first morning of a 3-day vacation weekend? Well, I go for a marathon-style long run with someone I just met at still-dark-o'clock in the a.m. 

We started running at 6:30. MCP had mapped out a route for himself in advance - 20 miles for him, and a couple bail-point options for me (there is absolutely NO NEED for me to run 20 miles!). 

I honestly have no idea where we were running. It felt like a Brooklyn meander - mostly through neighborhoods. We ran to Coney Island, which I was kind of excited about, just because that's a place you hear about in movies or whatever. Coney Island is not actually an island in itself (it is the tip of Brooklyn, which is an island). There's a real beach with sand, and a boardwalk (I don't know why I was surprised that there was a beach...I guess because I don't think of NY as a beach place). Though overall it feels pretty depressing - picture running through an abandoned amusement park in the fog of a Saturday morning. 

Anywho, one of the many things I love about running with other people is it makes the running part so much easier. When you have good company, running is just something you happen to be doing while getting to know someone. There's a reason I know my running friends better than anyone else - spend multiple hours with people when the only diversion is the movement of your feet, and very close very fast!

We talked the whole time about anything/everything - running, racing, food/cooking (YES - I love when I find a fellow-foodie), blogging, family, jobs, careers, Africa, life-goals, high school experiences, theater...the list goes on and on. I ran for 2 hours and 10 minutes! FOURTEEN miles! And only about the last 20 minutes, when I split off from MPC to head home, felt hard. (By that point I was like mmmkthanksI'mdone.)

Follow it up with a hot shower, a cup of South American coffee, and a delicious omelette (I LOVE when other people cook for me, especially when I'm post-run tired). And my leftover Magnolia chocolate cake from the nigh before (don't judge). YES - good morning. 

The Places I've Run: Mammoth, CA

Yesterday afternoon, I was contemplating my post for today..I thought, hmm…well…where have I run? Since I so recently posted about Niger, I thought something more domestic might be good…maybe somewhere the opposite of Niger…maybe somewhere mountainous. 

And then, at my workout last night, Mammoth came up in conversation twice, with two different people – in the context of elite athlete training groups, and the benefits of altitude training (so I’m taking that to mean a Mammoth post is meant to be). Also, altitude running has been on my mind recently because I attended a meeting at work where a guy from the Mayo Clinic talked about some of the work they do testing elite athletes at high altitudes.

That being said, back in the day when I was running in Mammoth Lakes, CA, I was in no way anywhere near "elite." Nor was I looking to improve my cardiovascular capacity via altitude training. I was just a wee high school ski racer (haha, I use the term “wee” in its loosest possible sense…more like I was just younger than I am now…and about the same size…actually no, I think I was bigger…).

Anywho – I have mentioned before that I was quite the ski racer in my day, and that many of those races took place at Mammoth Mountain, and also that many of those races were canceled due to inclement weather.

Picture this: mid to late-April, the mountain is literally in it’s own personal cloud of misery, but a couple miles down the road (down being the operative word), the weather is not too bad. Too much time in a condo makes you a little stir crazy – I can only read so many books per day.  And I was thinking, hmm…HS track meets…that’s going to happen the day I return home…perhaps I should prepare a bit…

So out I go, into a windy day, to run. And just FYI, the town of Mammoth Lakes is at a lofty 7,900 feet. This particular run I have in mind was absolutely terrible. I have a very distinct memory of running along a golf course, my throat so sticky I could barely breathe (why does that happen at altitude???), trying to spit and keep running but basically on the verge of tears. 

Yeah, so running in Mammoth. Check.

But it is quite the “it” place if you’re an elite runner. And altitude does have its benefits as long as you’re prepared for it. There’s got to be a reason that Deena Kastor, Ryan Hall, and Meb Keflezighi all train in Mammoth. One common misconception I’d like to point out, however, is that “altitude training” for a couple days isn’t really going to do a whole lot for you. It may just  bum you out. (Because it takes a few days to adjust to the altitude, so your first few runs may be really awful. And speed work at altitude is damn near impossible – even the pros go to lower elevations for their faster reps.)

The benefits are very scientific (you can read more about the science here). Basically, it’s actually just living and sleeping at altitude that helps you the most. Studies have shown that people who grew up at higher elevations have “better” lungs than us low-lands normates.

So if you’re going on vacation up high, don’t get discouraged. Go out for a run. Just give yourself time to adjust before you get bummed with bad running. I think of altitude running as similar to running in extreme humidity – your muscles just aren’t getting the level of oxygen they’d like, so you feel sluggish.

To leave you on a positive note: Mammoth is gorgeous (I LOVE the Eastern Sierras). And at this point in my life, I would love nothing more to live and run there…so if you get the chance, go!

The Places I've Run: Le Stade

I run pretty much every day (excluding the day off every week/2 weeks). Thus, almost everywhere I travel, I run. That’s pretty awesome when you think about it – all you need is shoes (and a sports bra), and no matter where you are in the world you can go for a run. It’s just one more aspect of running that makes it unlike anything else. For me it’s definitely a stabilizer – whether I’m running through the streets of Ouagadougo or on Northern California trails, I’m just a runner, going for a run.

With this in mind, I have decided to add a new “series” to my blog: The Places I’ve Run.

I’ll just jump right in and start by telling you about running in Niger.

(Sidenote: A lot of my best stories come from African running experiences because:

1. That’s the only place really outside the US that I have traveled.

2. Running in Africa was quite the adventure.

3. Compared to Africa, running in CA, MA, and DC is a teeny-tiny bit vanilla.)

Niger has different social/cultural values than America (duh), one of which is that you cannot wear shorts in public. Not in a people-throw-rocks-at-you sort of way. But shorts in public in Niger is basically the equivalent of walking around in your underwear here in the States (you could, but you just don’t). And considering the fact that it was 600 million degrees all the time, not being able to run in shorts would have been a major problem.

Ok, ok, 600 million degrees is a bit of an exaggeration. I actually have no idea how hot it was – I did not look at a thermometer the entire time I was there (and daily weather in newspapers/TV simply does not exist). Why not? you may wonder. Well, when it’s freaking hot today, and you know that it will be freaking hot tomorrow, just as it was freaking hot yesterday, there’s really no point in checking the weather. It would be depressing.

Luckily for my mal-adjusted self, there was a tiny loop-hole in the no-shorts norm. About 2 blocks away from my house, Niger had a huge National Stadium - aka Le Stade (built for the Fracophone Games in 2005), where it was socially acceptable to exercise in exercising attire. 

My Nigerienne RA accompanied myself and another student the first morning to help us negotiate the terms of our workouts with the Stadium guards. As far as I know, she explained to them (in Zharma) that we would be coming to run in the mornings, and we needed them to “watch” our pants/skirts while we did so. Done. Babu masala (No problem).

From then on, my friend and I walked to the stadium wearing pants or a skirt over our shorts. When we arrived, we left that excessive clothing with the guards, ran (or walked in her case) our laps of the giant asphalt complex, and retrieved our clothing before returning home.

About a month in, we arrived per usual (Fofo! Ngoya. Ni kani bani? Bani samay!), but before we could get going, the guards stopped us before we could take off our extra clothes (Attende! Attende!). We were confused, Are we not allowed to run anymore??? What’s going on???

My minimal French + the guard’s minimal French led to this conclusion:

Guard: C’est pas bon pour les femmes deshabiller ici. C’est pas bon. (It is not good for women to undress here. It is not good.) This statement was accompanied by tsk-ing  and head-shaking.

He then led us to a door in the stadium, which he unlocked and opened. It was a storage closet.

Guard: Ca marche? (This works?)

Us: Um, oui…

Guard: C’est bon. (It is good.)

To the approving nods of the guard and his friends (there’s never just one guard in Niger), we emerged from the broom closet in our shorts, ready to run. And that was how it went for the rest of the semester.

Lesson learned: It is just not ok to drop your pants in public in Niger.