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The words “trail running” used to make me shudder. I had visions
of gaunt, mud-splattered cross-country harriers, wearing singlet,
shorts, and cotton gloves in a sleet storm. Or maybe bleary-eyed
ultra runners trudging zombie-like up a mile-high peak in pitch
darkness, 17 hours into some 100-mile gruel-athon.
Whoo-hoo! Sign me up—right after I enter this thumb-hammering
contest. Sure.
Concrete Jungle
But then a funny thing happened. I’d been running a couple of
times a week, usually on my lunch hour. That meant pounding the
pavement on loops from my office. I was enjoying the workouts
and getting a little better each week. But the bus fumes and my
whimpering joints were all saying one thing: Get out of this
concrete jungle.
One weekend a couple of friends invited me to run in a nearby
state forest. Shutting out thoughts of snakes and bears, I
accepted. I needed a fitness getaway—time to share some laughs,
work up a sweat, create a few memories to get me through the
next workweek. We drove to the park, burst from the car like
children starting summer vacation, and set off down the road.
Wiggly Rocks
Asphalt soon gave way to dirt. I felt the pleasing
crunch of terra-not-so-firma beneath my shoes. We turned off the
road onto a narrow trail upholstered with pine needles and
trimmed with laurel. It was dark and cool beneath the redwoods.
The trail bobbed and weaved, down into a gully and up the other
side, through a glen and around a boulder field.
We crossed a creek, hopscotching on wet, wiggly rocks. I paused
to scoop up some icy water and splash it on my face. “Look!”
whispered one of my companions as I plowed into his back, like
Curly smacking into Moe. “It’s a deer.” The buck scampered away,
leaving only silence.
Farther on we took a wrong turn and came upon remnants of an old
abandoned logging camp. You could almost hear the whine of
crosscut saws, the loggers’ curses, and the chug-chug of a steam
locomotive. We forged on, hurdling fallen trees and tiptoeing
along ledges. My T-shirt grew damp. My skin felt flushed. My
mind became blissfully calm. I pretended I was winning Olympic
gold in a new event called Running Through the Woods Wearing a
Silly Grin.
In the Flow
That day we ran more than twice as long as I’d gone
on my longest weekday jaunt. But as we sat drinking a Cytomax
toast to our adventure back at the car, it didn’t seem that way.
I’d been too involved with the trail—soaking up the scents,
sights and sounds—to think about time or distance. My legs felt
fresher, too, because the soft surface didn’t pummel my joints.
Besides, our brand of trail running lent itself to sensible
pacing. I gratefully slowed for steep or tricky sections and took
frequent walking breaks—strictly to admire nature’s majesty, of
course. It felt more like a vigorous hike than a running workout.
We drove home. As my friend dropped me off, he said, “Next
Saturday?”
“What time?” I replied.
All in the Family
Trail Running Can Be a Family Affair
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Bringing the Family on the Trail |
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Have your family hike to a pre-arranged picnic spot,
while you run there taking a longer route. Want a
tougher workout? You carry the picnic in a backpack.
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On mellow trails or dirt roads, you can run while your
spouse and kids tag along on mountain bikes. A baby
jogger works on dirt if it’s a smooth surface.
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Try a modified “ride and tie” (named for a
running/horseback race). You begin running while a
family member rides ahead on a mountain bike. After
awhile, your partner leaves the bike by the trailside
and continues on foot. Meanwhile, you run to the bike.
Then you pedal until you catch and pass your partner,
and leave the bike for another exchange. Hint: If your
partner’s not as fit as you, ride only a short distance
after passing, and have him or her ride a long way after
passing you. That way you’ll cover most of the distance
on foot while your partner does it mostly by bike.
(Don’t forget to bring a helmet you can share.)
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