Three days afterwards, despite plenty of foam rolling and stretching, my quads were still sore.
With no Whiteface Sky Race this year, my focus turned to the Plattekill Mountain Race. Yes, that Plattekill, beloved mountain for so many readers of this blog. Saturday night after closing the wine store, I hopped into the Fortunate Son, my new used shooting brake, and lit out for Platty.
I’ve never been to that part of the Catskills. Driving west of Phoenicia on Route 28, I entered terra incognita. In the pitch dark, I began questioning the wisdom of my plan: leave work at 8:45, drive straight to the mountain, and flop in the parking lot. Maybe I should have done dawn patrol.
