Arctic Gusts and Ugly Heights at Paris Landing

With clear skies and 45 degrees at race time, I couldn't go wrong.

Finally unbound from the annoying head cold that wouldn't die, I returned to the State Parks Running Tour at Paris Landing, an exquisitely placed park on Kentucky Lake's western shore.

The boring drive traced the grungiest boulevards of Clarksville, barb-wired military lands, towns barely qualifying as such and two stately blocks of tiny Dover on the Cumberland River. Just as quickly, Highway 79 descended into a river valley - Kentucky Lake is just a dammed-up stretch of the Tennessee River - spanned by the Ned McWherter Bridge.

I would grow quite familiar with the bridge in the next hours - it accounted for nearly five miles of this Over the River Eight Miler.

Once the course broke away from the treeline, an ill gale-force wind picked up. I didn't expect Kentucky Lake to be under the occupation of winds as strong and fierce as those gusting in the Rockies back in October. But at least three or four times, the wind nearly knocked me off my feet.

With the sun beating so brightly, the cold reservoir waters grew mesmerizing; the currents kept me focused. Until the turnaround on the east bank, I tried not to guess the distance ahead. That seemed like a fool's bargain.

Running with blinders on and a clear sky made it almost bearable. Long sleeves, which usually grow uncomfortably warm within the first 10 minutes, held their cool until the bridge was forgotten.

But as the course left the bridge for a pair of loops through the park, the difficult never diminished. In fact, it worsened on a string of paths across a highway overpass, sailboat docks,

Needless to say, all those lunges from bootcamp did not leave me with anything to gut through the steep incline at Mile 7. That last hill barely registers on the course map, but nearly deliver the kiss of death for Over the River.

Jumping into the icy current would have been preferable to running that incline. So I gave up, walked to the top and gingerly ran down it, fearing the famous Melville clumsiness would turn an ankle or lead something more severe. Despite a few walking bouts, I ran it out, even as the wind strengthened again.

Somehow, only four 30-34 year old men decided to try Over the River, landing me a fourth place finish, sports fans.

The tour goes on hiatus through the holidays, so I'll pick up that torch in Oak Ridge, Cleveland or some other rustic destination.

For the rest of the tour, I won't pray for sun or rain, just a break from constantly shoving breeze.