Once upon a time, I considered myself a trail runner. The silence of the woods, sunbeams like spotlights through the branches, the jolt of surprising a deer or a rabbit -- there is nothing like it. You have to keep your mind alert to avoid tripping over roots and thorny vines. Emerging from the woods covered in sweat and dirt after a hard run is a complete rush.
When I started running, I ran at least 2-3 times per week on a trail that cuts through a state forest near my home. It was winter, and I initially started running the trail to take advantage of the wind buffer that the trees provided. It didn't take long for me to get hooked. Most days, I never saw another soul. When I did, it was usually a friendly senior citizen out walking his or her dog. My only safety concern was worrying that I might take a nasty fall and need help getting back to my car.
As my goals shifted toward marathon running, I ran the trails a little less frequently. I didn't want to twist an ankle on uneven ground and have to miss a race. I still savored the trail runs I did have, and part of the draw was being out in what felt like the middle of nowhere on my own.
Then in the summer of 2011, a teenage girl was brutally murdered in broad daylight on a nature trail less than 5 miles from the trails where I typically ran. She struggled and fought with her attacker for around 20 minutes according to the murderer's testimony, but nobody saw or heard a thing. Details came out slowly, and it took me some time to fully process the tragedy. After awhile, I couldn't run those trails without thinking about the murder. Some days it frightened me, some days I put myself in her parents' shoes, some days it made me angry. In any event, I don't run those trails alone anymore.
I miss my trail. I miss carefree running.
There is a high-end subdivision that I often pass on my weekly long run. Amid the million-dollar homes, there are several paths that allow me to run off-road through nature, but still have the comfort of knowing that I am withing shouting distance of other people. Some days, if I have some extra time and no pace goals, I treat myself to a "trail run" through that subdivision. It's about the closest I can come to those early experiences.
Marathon Training, Week 5:
Monday -- An early trip to the dentist was Monday enough for me. I took a rest day.
Tuesday -- 3/2 negative split: The first three miles were slow and sluggish, but I breezed through the last two when it was time to pick up the pace. Funny how the faster miles were easier. 5.08 miles at 9:11 pace overall.
Wednesday -- My "trail" run was beautiful. I crossed several bridges, enjoyed the morning stillness, and finished with a few strides. Overall: 4.68 miles at 9:44 pace.
Thursday -- First day of third grade for my eldest. Technically I had time to get in my morning miles and still see her off, but I wanted to spend the morning helping her get ready instead. So I shifted a semi-long run to Sunday, hoping it wouldn't hurt too bad.
Friday -- Always a happy easy run. I was nearly done when I came across a friend who was finishing up a 17-mile run, and we enjoyed some unexpected chat time. My run was 4.05 miles at 9:13 pace.
Saturday -- Redemption from last week's slog-fest! 5 miles easy, 6 miles at marathon race-pace, 5 miles easy. This was a good strong run. I hit the race-paces easily, and mile 16 was the fastest mile of all. Overall: 16 miles at 9:27.
Sunday -- I gave myself some slack, and decided to just get the miles in without worrying about pace. I left my trusty Garmin at home and programmed the Runkeeper app on my phone to beep only when I had run 3.5 miles (the turn-around point) without telling me my pace or time. I took a few water breaks, and met some chatty kids out riding bikes with their Grandpa. It was a fun run, and my legs felt just fine, considering I'd run 16 the day before. End result: 7.52 miles at 9:37 pace.
Training still feels good. I have no major aches or pains to complain about, although I could use a massage and a pair of more supportive shoes for work.
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