The Blind Leading the Blind

Folks, I hardly know where to begin with this one. I think the ultimate lesson to take away from today's run is that Judge Sunshiney Ass should never, under any circumstances, take any active role in any run, ever. My role has always been passive, I show up when I can and I follow someone else's lead.

Today, I took the initiative to set up a run since Theresa was too busy with some "wedding". Wedding is in quotes because she's posted no wedding report, so either the whole thing was a scam to get out of running this weekend or they got lost en route to the church and were afraid to call Bad Jim for directions. Or, Boozey Mc. Boozehound Apple is still partying. Now, back to how I set it up. I had my people contact Bad Jim's people and they agreed that BJ's life would be easiest if we ran from his house to a trail of his choosing. He could spare 90 minutes of leadership time so that we could still run. Very generous of him. My efforts in arranging the run were minimal, but still.

JSA's packing newbies, BJ bags on us

I showed up with two newbies in the car to an empty driveway. Somehow - despite having a full understanding of how The Crazy Group runs go - they agreed to join us this fine morning. So there I was with Justyna and Justin (no relation) when BJ sauntered out of the house. He promptly prefaced introductions with "I've only got 30 minutes, so I'll take you 15 minutes away and then you're on your own." At this point he went into a description of a run that should cover roughly 6-8 miles. There were a lot of words I recognized but for all I knew they weren't even all on Greylock. "We'll start off at Condom Alley, then over to something something, turn left onto something something and you'll be right back at the car". As if he were speaking a foreign language - with which I had only a rudimentary understanding - I only heard "Condom Alley, Tapeworm, Dogs that Chase Us, Rte 7, and Fox Den". Just then, Nancy pulled in the driveway, sparing me the responsibility of having to try and lead two unsuspecting newbs through the woods.

After a quick round of intros, Bad Jim retold the entire route to Nancy, sprinkling in "Well, Todd knows where he's going" every now and then. And halfway through the description he stopped and said "... and at this point you'll know where you are". Yup, we were screwed.

We piled into the Oglemobile and BJ attempted to get us to Condom Alley, but seemed a little sketchy on the details after "Turn right onto Rte 7". Alas, we made it with only a few near misses. We set out and everything was hunkey dorey.

Bad Jim Practically Kicks Us out of a Moving Vehicle

Precisely 15 minutes into the run, BJ stopped dead on the trail and bid us adieu. He recapped the directions to Nancy: "Left foot, right foot, repeat... Todd knows the details... you'll know it when you see it" and high-tailed it out of there.

Editor's Note

The rest of this run report will contain summaries so BJ doesn't have to waste his time on the finer points. You should all be able to follow my story, but I'll give you cues along the way.

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Jim's Executive Summary #1

We followed Jim's description to the trail as he described it, hung a north at the corn field, an east at the end of the corn field, a south at some point, and had no problems. Jim, you may now skip ahead until the next executive summary.

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Prison Break

Armed with only a cursory understanding of where in hell we were headed, we passed a field (per directions) and hung a right along the tree line to the end of the field. Mere minutes into our unguided run, we hit a snag, literally. The tree line we would have to cut through was rigged with barbed wire. Being the smart guys were are, Justin and I let Nancy attempt to climb over the fence. Justyna was next in line when we decided maybe we should double back around the fence. It was about a 2 minute run, and we wouldn't risk anyone falling on a rusty old barbed wire fence. Knowing that it would really tire me out to have to carry someone, I took the initiative to lead us to a safer route.

Children of the Corn

Back on track, we came upon the wooden bridge exactly as Jim had described it. We crossed the bridge and headed into the corn field, exactly how Jim said we wouldn't go. I knew deep down that the farmer would not appreciate 4 scantily clad, dead sexy runners trapsing through his corn field, and expected to find myself at the business end of a cocked shotgun. Feeling guilty, I hand-dried the dew from each corn stalk with my shirt while shuffling through the field. Plus I knew Nancy would never be able to handle being wet, so I made sure it was perfectly dry before she came through.

Nancy vs. The Swamp Thing

At the end of the corn field we were met with a dilemma; either leap across a drainage ditch or head back. The water wasn't deep in the ditch, but was covered with something Nancy described as "a nasty green slime". Much to our surprise, someone or something had conveniently placed a log across the ditch onto an island of some sort. Once again, Nancy was all about climbing over it instead of doubling back. She was so close to making it when the flimsy weed she was using for balance pulled up, sending her into the shin-deep water. Ain't that a bitch!

No sooner had Nancy's feet touched the muddy bottom of the ditch than the mud gave way, sinking her chest deep into the nasty green slime. We almost had to leave her for fear that the Aquatic Zombies or their Beaver Zombie cohorts would attack. Nancy (AKA Zombie Bait) was pretty much a goner when I thought to myself "Self, what would Mr. Wonderful do?" I extended my hand and helped her out of the water.

Tempting fate, Justyna used a walking stick for support while she crossed the death log. Once on the other side, she quickly learned that there was nowhere else to go. In fact, she was standing atop an abandoned beaver dam (abandoned by living beavers, yet inhabited by undead zombie beavers). Her walking stick shattered during her crossing, she was forced to scoot across the log like a drunken gymnast on the pommel horse. It wasn't that she was drunk or ungraceful, it's just that a trained gymnast would not have log mud on her shorts. Ha ha, log mud.

Justin and I, once again, had successfully let the ladies test out the hairbrained schemes, then made the decision to run back through the corn to the bridge and onto the trail. Check!

When in Doubt, Follow the Geese

Much akin to the tried and true following-the-sun-technique, Justin attempted to lead us back on track by pointing out that we needed to head south. Every time there was a question about which way we should go, Justin looked to the skies and pointed us southward. 15 miles later we made it back to the fateful Desertion Point, where Bad Jim had left us high and dry. Now sober and soaked, we simply had to retrace our path back to Condom Alley and the awaiting Oglemobile.

All Roads Lead to Rome, but None to the Car

Leaving Desertion Point, we were very quickly made aware of the fact that not one of us was paying attention to the first leg of the run. We covered every trail on the mountain looking for the route home. This involved running and re-running miles and miles of Greylock's dewy, pricker-bush covered landscape. Ultimately, we were forced to put our pride aside and head to Rte. 7.

Our shoes completely soaked and heavy, we had to run back to the truck on a freshly paved Williamstown Rd. At this point, we were approaching the 2.5 hour mark for the run and my legs were heavy. It could be from all of the blood lost during the countless runs through prickerbush-lined trails or it could be extra 8 lbs of water my shoes were holding. Being the trooper I am, I pressed on.

Once safely inside the truck, Nancy phoned the authorities to have them call off the search and we headed back to Chez Chultz (sic). Despite the fact that he left us to fend for ourselves, we held no grudges and brought the newspaper from the end of the driveway up to the porch. We quickly bid oneanother adieu and got out of there before Jim caught us. Nancy returned to her worried family while Justyna, Justin and I breakfasted at Bob's Country Kitchen.

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Jim's Executive Summary #2

After our uneventful run, we stopped for a round of Farmer's Omelets - in honor of Bad Jim who was unable to join us - at Bob's Country Kitchen. Three pigs were slaughtered to provide enough swine for all of the omelets, and the waitress kept the coffee flowing like wine. End result: Flawless run, flawless breakfast.

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There were no farmer's omelets had by anyone. In fact, no meat was eaten at all but the coffee did flow like wine. Yum.

Sorry if you weren't there,
Judge Sunshiney Ass