I began my personal journey as a runner waaaay back at the tender age of 15. Honestly, it kind of still boggles my mind a little bit. You see, I wasn’t what you’d call a particularly athletic kid at that point, but for reasons that remain 100% baffling to me, I got it in my head that it would be cool to…play field hockey. (The only thing I’ve ever been able to speculate is that I had many friends on the team, so they made it sound fun, and I wanted to join them? Because sprinting around and whacking other girls with sticks seemed like a hella good time? I’ve always wished I could go back in time and ask my teenage self what the HECK I was thinking…but I digress…)
So to give you a snapshot of adolescent me, near the end of Freshman year in High School: walking: definitely okay. Riding my bike: sure, no problem. But…picking up the pace to approximate even a, you know, “slow jog”…NOT in my toolbox. As I recall, all these years later, (so I could totally be making it up or mis-remembering, but just go with me on this, ‘kay?) I mentioned my tentative plan to one of the aforementioned pals at lunch one day, and she responded with a vehement, “Okay. Start running now.”
Taken aback by both the conviction with which she delivered this--unsavory, to my somewhat sedentary self--message, and the actual idea of starting a several-month regimen of pre-tryout-training, I asked her whhhhyyy. Her reply was succinct and vivid, “So you don’t throw up at August practices.” Well…alrighty, then. I took her at her word, shrugged, and and went “Eh…guess I’m a runner…type…girl now.” (BTW, her advice was SPOT-ON. Late Summer workouts, in a word, “sucked” due to the heat and humidity that hadn’t yet loosened their grip on our region, combined with the brutally demanding drills our sadistic (kidding) coach set for us. I huffed and puffed, sweated, and griped along with all the other players...but I did NOT puke. So…win? Yeah, why not…)
The point of this convoluted story is that--with the exception of minor injuries here and there in the intervening decades that have interrupted my routine for relatively short periods of time in the grand scheme of things--I’ve been running ever since. Sure, the format has changed on occasion…for example, I realized in my 20s, when I was pounding the pavement as my sole form of exercise, that if I still wanted to, I don’t know…WALK…in years to come, I’d need to mix it up with other forms of movement. I joke that I have to be one of the OG cross-trainers, because I went from exclusively jogging, to an eclectic program of walking, biking, fitness classes (hello, 80s step aerobics…you were super-entertaining for a while) and even (eventually) strength conditioning.
In short, this probably saved my knees--which one day might still degenerate to the point that my father’s have, no matter how much I do to prevent it…but…and I cannot stress this enough…not this decade, you (only moderately cranky) old joints!
Now, you might be wondering at this juncture why I never took the next logical step, if you will, and just moved my running habit from the sidewalks, onto softer surfaces. The answer is actually fairly simple: ever since I first set sneakers to asphalt, my natural stride has been a forefoot strike. (Yes, even in cleats. Hence my hockey nickname: “the twinkletoes back”. Trust me, it’s kind of difficult to be all “fierce, intimidating warrior woman” with that stuck to you…but I did my best….) And my sports career on grass fields quickly taught me that uneven terrain and I…are not besties, since my uncooperative ankles have a disturbing tendency to turn when they encounter a pothole, bump, or basically any other minor malformation of the turf.
Okay, fast forward to the present. (I know, right: thank goodness she’s probably, maybe, hopefully getting to the murky purpose of this little trip down memory lane.) The house we chose when Team WestEnders relocated to NC sits right next to a lovely piece of forested land, criss-crossed with many paths used by outdoor enthusiasts of all kinds. I myself take long rambles in there, amongst the trees, quite frequently. However, the trails--while utterly scenic and delightful--are left in their natural state, aside from some weed clearing to keep them passable. This translates to copious amounts of rocks, roots, branches, etc.--in park terms, essentially an…ungroomed geographic situation.
As we’ve already established, for me this would just be a broken bone, sprain--or at the very least, face plant--waiting to happen. So I accept my limitations, and keep it to a brisk stroll when enjoying the woods. But then… some bootcamp buddies mentioned an upcoming event, whose name caught my attention: the Zen Squirrel Trail Race. And….the logo is a cute little creature in a yoga pose. I mean, c’mon…how could you NOT want an article of clothing with that adorableness on it? And yet…there remains the sticky issue of me…and off-road trotting…and the potential for injury/maiming/death. (Right, not the last one, most likely. But who needs to take that chance, amiright?)
However, one of our bootcamp gang mentioned that she was going to sign up for the 2-mile option…and take it at a walking pace (due to similar concerns as mine…namely “falling down”). Suddenly it appeared that I might have a reasonable excuse to participate after all…plus a partner with whom I could share the inevitable “last place finish”. (Because, who cares? It’s All. About. The Shirt.)
You know where this is going, right? Of course I registered for that bad boy (and reserved my tee…whee!). Also of interest to me, it was happening in a place I’d never been before--a huge, swanky neighborhood on the outskirts of Chapel Hill. Furthermore, on race day I discovered that the development hosting the shindig boasted some pretty sweet paths for its residents’ recreational use. I’m talking wide, decently smooth, and obviously kept in excellent condition.
Traveling along these tracks after the starting gun sent us off, my fellow amblers and I encountered a plethora of cheerful volunteers, pointing the way in a most helpful manner (thereby preventing any chance of rogue wanderers straying and becoming lost, because no one likes to misplace a participant, ya know?). Bonus: because we weren’t zipping past them, they made an extra effort to greet us with some encouraging words and a bit of friendly chatter as well. (Or maybe they secretly felt sorry for the Back-of-the-Pack. Eh, we had chosen our fate, and were fine with it…or whatever…)
As a matter of fact, I’d have to say that the overall support was really stellar. For example, they had people stationed at the finish line, holding clipboards with the roster of entrants, checking bib numbers and matching them to their list….so that when you crossed, they could congratulate you…BY NAME. Seriously, I was so startled when I heard someone yell “Good job, Johna--way to go!” that I almost tripped. (Honestly….made it through the hard part, yet nearly wiped out by an unexpected shower of kindness. Only me…) And don’t get me started on the buffet waiting for hungry finishers. Breakfast burritos and outstanding coffee from a local cafe, chips, granola bars, trail mix, fresh fruit, cookies, an assortment of cold beverages…it was impressive…generous…and yummy.
So…to wrap up…(Warning! Dangerous, possibly ill-advised scheme hatching) as I meandered the prescribed route laid out by the organizers, chatting and sauntering along, it occurred to me that it might just be a tame enough trail to consider…attempting to…run it next year.
Yeah, yeah…GASP! Have you even been listening to yourself? What are you thinking? Does someone need to smack you upside the head? Folks, these are all perfectly valid questions (that I’m going to pretend you asked, so it doesn’t seem like I’m talking to myself. Which almost…never…happens. Or…I do it all the time… so what?) The way I see it, I have another 11 months or so to either commit to this cockamamie notion--or discard it as ridiculous. Either way, I’mma be out there next September, earning another piece of apparel adorned with a peaceful…yard pest. So let’s hear it: meditating rodents FTW, y’all!
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