The Partner

Fly fishing and long-distance road biking have this in common: they're individual sports that are best enjoyable with partners. During those long hours on the water or the bike, no one will cast the line or push on the pedals for you. It's a solitary effort. Yet it's better to share the experience with a partner who, besides keeping you company, can back you up when the tide rises or when you have a flat or a fall. The fear of a flat is especially acute among female cyclists.

On Oct. 7, after few days of a bad cold and few days of bad weather, I finally embarked on my first bike ride of the year on Cape Cod. My goal was to make my way to the beach where my husband -- without a partner that week -- planned to go fly fishing and meet him there. The temperature was in the low-50s (11 degrees Celsius), with strong northwest winds. I had forgotten my rain jacket at home so I bundled up with three layers of shirts. Most of the first 12 miles (20 km) were in the shade, on a straight and fairly flat bike trail going north -- an otherwise pleasant route when you're not fighting the cold, headwinds and a runny nose.

There were very few other riders to venture out that day. It was a fight between me and the machine: I tried to push myself as hard as I could. My main enemy, that day and in my subsequent rides on the bike trail: squirrels. When I first visited New York in 1990, I remember taking many pictures of those little creatures in Central Park. We don't have them in France and I didn't know, back then, how lucky we are. The squirrels typically waited the last minute to jump away from my wheels or, in several instances, into my wheels. They're very fast, very nervous and prone to make very wrong decisions. I had two near-misses in three rides.
At the end of the trail, I took a bike route, shared with cars, that took me along the beaches in east Wellfleet. The sun warmed my back. My muscles slowly warmed up too.

About 23 miles (37 km) later, I found our car on a parking lot near Pamet Harbor, changed shoes, wrapped myself into a warm jacket and started the long walk on the beach to seek my life's partner.

On Oct. 8, I met my husband, fishing south of Chatham. The weather conditions were better than the previous day, with temperatures in the mid 60s (18 degrees Celsius) and no wind. I took the bike trail south, down to Harwich, and came across a cranberry field.

My final honeymoon bike ride, on Oct. 10, was a five-hour, 70-mile (112 km), solitary exercise that took me close to Provincetown, at the northern tip of the cape, and back. The weather was ideal, with temperatures in the low 70s (over 20 degrees Celsius). I took the road, which has more hills and fewer suicidal squirrels than the bike trail, so I could push the bike a little harder. I'm used to cycling in the French Alps, where a ride consists in climbing up a pass, and then coming down. Here I had to pace myself to last the distance and to avoid leg fatigue from constantly going and down. There was no fishing for my husband that day, so I was truly without a partner. I encountered ghosts, cadavers and gory creatures on Route 6 -- the Halloween decoration of a garden. But I didn't have a flat, so it's a happy ending.

Provincetown, Cape Cod

Oct. 6, 2008:

A Shot a Run

East Orleans, Cape Cod.
The same view of the driveway outside the house, taken everytime I came back from a run, except on day of arrival.
Sept. 28, 2008: 12.2 miles (19.2 km)

Sept. 29: 9 miles (14.5 km)

Sept. 30: 8.4 miles (13.5 km)

Oct. 1: 7 miles (11.3 km)

Oct. 3: 7 miles (11.3 km)

Oct. 4: 7.8 miles (12.6 km)

Oct.: 5: 9.8 miles (15.8 km)

Oct. 6: 6.3 miles (10.1 km)

Oct. 9: 10.7 miles (17.2 km)

Oct. 11: 10.7 miles (17.2 km)

In Cold Run

Oct. 3, 2008, East Orleans, Cape Cod.
Weather conditions: partly cloudy, in the low-60s degrees Fahrenheit (16 degrees Celsius) .
Health conditions: nasal congestion, sore throat, running nose.
Top outfit: thermal under-shirt, T-shirt, light sweat-shirt, bandana around the neck, baseball hat, sunglasses.
Scene: Few minutes into the run, I passed four teenagers -- two girls and two boys -- walking barefoot on the road, in bathing suits, towels around their shoulders, their hair wet -- presumably coming back from swimming in the ocean. I sneezed. They laughed. Possibly not at me.
Run: 7 miles (11.2 km), easy jog.


A little lake on Brick Hill, one my favorite roads for running.


Weeset Point

Weeset Point

Honeymoon survival kit.

The Running Tourist

It is the last day of September and my third run visiting or re-visiting the roads, coves and beaches of this part of Cape Cod -- the elbow of the arm that makes up the cape. The sky is cloudy. The temperature is about 64 degrees Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius). I'm enjoying my new hobby.

Yesterday, I started my visit with a run to Homeport, a diner in East Orleans where fishermen get their meals. Homeport is the type of place where regulars (See picture above) tease the waitress, who can recite by heart what they'll have for breakfast. It was about 9 a.m. and pouring rain. After 2.6 miles of getting splashed by cars and vans, I arrived soaking wet. My husband greeted me with a large towel and set off to read the newspapers: the front page of the New York Times' sports section was music to the ears of a Philly fan. (See picture below. Warning: you might get hurt if you like the Mets).

After about half an hour, it was still raining hard outside and warm and cozy inside. It was hard to find the motivation to resume my run. Why would I do that to myself? Since I'm not training for a marathon, I can't blame irrational, masochistic decisions on a race. It had to be something else that pushed me out of the door: either I just enjoy running, no matter what the weather conditions might be, or I am so stubborn that when I decide on a plan I stick to it no matter what. Probably a little bit of both. Running does fill me with joy, especially after I have warmed up, and I often find myself smiling or singing along the music on my iPod.


My first stop was a town landing on Gibson Road. After 10 minutes, I spotted boats in what I thought was a perfect light and stopped for a picture. The rain finally stopped and the rest of the running went smoothly. There was a special place I wanted to visit again: the Mill Pond, where last year I went to see my husband -- then boyfriend -- fishing. Last year, I managed to miss the windmill, on Mill Pond. The name should have tipped me off. This year, I did notice. I tried to take a good picture but didn't seem to get the light right. I got home and calculated on mapmyrun.com that I had run 9 miles, or 15 km, at an average speed of 8:15 minutes a mile, or 11.7 km/h (excluding the stops.)

Today, I want to visit Harbor Rock, a little port about 3.8 miles, or 6.1 km, from the house. My legs feel good, even though I have run 27 miles, or 43 km, in 3 days, more than I might have if I were training for a race. When I train, I always make sure not to run every day, to spare my legs. It might seem counter-intuitive but it's a lesson I learned from training for last year's Austin Marathon with an injury. I was forced to cross-train -- on bikes or step machines at the gym -- and I shaved 16 minutes off my previous marathon time.

This year, I can run as much as I want. I arrive at Rock Harbor and try to get the perfect shot of the Cap't Cass seafood restaurant, closed for the season. I come back home through the Cape Cod bike trail. Mapmyrun.com tells me I ran 8.4 miles, or 13.5 km, at a pace of 7:52 minutes a mile, or 12.3 km/h (excluding the stops.) The reason why I didn't linger is that I have an appointment for a deep tissue massage at 3 p.m. Unlike last year, my leg muscles and my feet aren't too painful -- all things considered since deep tissue massages are by definition painful. It feels good to be pampered.

Running in the fog: Cape Cod

The sky is partly cloudy with few showers forecast in the afternoon. The temperature is about 70 degrees Fahrenheit (21 degrees Celsius). Today is Sunday, Sept. 28, 2008, the second day of a 15-day vacation in Cape Cod. It's my second run. Yesterday, after the eight-hour drive from home, I ran about 6.5 miles (10.5 km) in the fog. That run was a greeting run to get myself acquainted again with the roads where, a year ago, I trained for the New York City Marathon. The first run I wanted to log in here was on Brick Hill Road, on the hills where I did speed-work and accelerations a year earlier to gain leg strength. The fog and light rain add beauty to this beautiful place. Cape Cod was welcoming me back in a cotton embrace.

This year, I decided not to run the New York City Marathon, taking a break after completing Austin, New York and Boston within a year. The real reason is I didn't want to train during my honeymoon. In fact, I am probably in as good a shape as last year, if not better, after running long distances all summer on the hills and in the heat around the house in Pennsylvania.

Today, the sun is back, unexpectedly, because Hurricane Kyle -- passing 100 miles away from the coast -- has spared us. The 45-mph (72 km/h) winds forecast yesterday didn't materialize. I am doing something I have never done before: go for a run with scheduled stops, to take pictures. I never stop when I run except to adjust my iPod or for a traffic light. Even that I resent. I never walk either. It breaks the rhythm of my pace. Today is different: I scheduled two stops and planned to take a picture any time I think it's worth a shot. When I start, my legs and my upper back -- an old strain in the shoulder that came back two weeks ago -- hurt. The colors of the leaves are changing and it's like a festival: nature is so luxurious after the rain stops that it's almost indecent. The reds aren't red: they're sanguine, screaming at me. After a few minutes, I stop to take pictures of the trees. When I start again, the legs and the back hurt even more.

I rapidly find my cruising pace, though, and head to my first stop: Nauset Beach. You meet a lot of people with white hair walking in Cape Cod. During my 12.2 mile (20 km) run today, I will see at least half a dozen walkers, some power-walking at a brisk pace -- mainly women, -- some with canes. A woman with a fast pace tells me she used to run, but she doesn't anymore ``because of my hip.''

I like to think I'll be like them when I'm older. My parents, at 60, still run marathons, so I secretly hope I won't be a walker until, say, my 80s. Cape Cod is the most eastern piece of land in the U.S. At Nauset Beach, I am facing Europe, and France, my homeland. I was hoping for big, white surf in the wake of Kyle, but there's nothing dramatic.

Off to the second stop. I take Brick Hill again to the point at Weeset, where I take pictures of Nauset Beach across the harbor. By now, I have run about 4.5 miles (7.2 km). I am sweating and I wonder if I can finish my run without water in this sun. I hadn't expected it would that hot and didn't bring anything to drink. I decide to take an easy pace to spare myself. Soon, as if understanding my concern, the sky turns a lot darker. The rain is on its way. It starts to drizzle when I pass the cemetery where my husband's grandparents are buried. I greet them in French.

The run feels really good, so I decide to make a third stop, adding 3 miles (4.8 km), to check the end of Barley Neck Road, because I can't remember if I went last year. It's worth it. A beautiful cove. I take more pictures of leaves and I head back home, passing three more walkers. It's my first tourist run. The first of many.