Why I'm a New Fan of Trail Running
Sure, trail running can be tricky. But there's a lot to gain.
Okay, I'll be blunt. I always thought people who trail run are maybe a little bit off their rocker.
That would include my two daughters. They say there's nothing like it. But I thought it was just too dangerous. You're running along on uneven terrain, trying to not to tumble over rogue rocks and gnarly roots.
Give me the safety of city sidewalks any day! To be quite frank, as a runner of a certain age (let's just say AARP-eligible), I had an extreme fear of falling.
And now … I'm a new convert to trail running.
My daughter and I took it very very slowly. I shortened and widened my gait to keep my balance.
It started this spring. I was recovering from a right hamstring strain and began working with a physical therapist who told me to start slow and shorten my gait. My in-town daughter told me that trail running is in fact slow and you do shorten your gait. She invited me to join her on a trail run.
The therapist wasn't sold on the idea – she didn't want me to jostle my healing hamstring with too many ups and downs. But after a few weeks of rehabbing me, she gave me permission to try a trail as long as I promised to stop if there was any pain.
There was no pain. And lots of gain.
The trail winds through a forest of towering trees in the District of Columbia's Rock Creek Park. My daughter and I took it very very slowly. I shortened and widened my gait to keep my balance. I fixed my eyes on the path immediately in front of me to avoid any unexpected bumps and lumps. And if the rocks or tree roots looked too intimidating, I simply stopped and walked a bit.
The Delights of Nature
As the minutes ticked by, I became a little less nervous about taking a tumble and began to appreciate the surroundings. The leaves of the towering trees created a magnificent canopy of green, keeping me cool and, to my surprise, giving me a sense of calm and comfort and awe.
The Japanese call it "Shinrin-yoku." The English version is "forest bathing." I can't think of a better phrase. I really did feel as if I were taking a bath in a tub of trees.
And nature offers all kinds of delights: a little rivulet to cross on a zigzag arrangement of rocks, a fallen trunk that's gnarled to perfect imperfection.
By contrast, when I jog on the street, my biggest kick is when I spy a quarter someone dropped by a parking meter.
And what about those fears of falling? Trail running definitely has risks. A friend posted a picture on Facebook of a heavily bandaged hand after he went flying on a trail run. I asked for details.
Here's what he told me: "I think I simply tripped after stubbing my toe on a protruding rock. I also think I committed the cardinal sin of trail running — I was looking well ahead at an upcoming fork in the trail and thinking about the route I should take, instead of keeping my eye on the trail in front of my feet."
Risks on Trail and Sidewalk
The damage: Three fractures in his wrist and hand, road rash, rib bruises and a broken toe. He has recovered and gone back to trail running, but at his wife's insistence, always runs with a buddy. And he carries collapsible trek poles for difficult terrain.
My friend's sobering story did make me think twice about my next trail run. Maybe I was right all along – it is a bit crazy!
They've taught their old dad not to be afraid of trying something new.
But then I thought about the hazards of urban/suburban running.
A few years ago, I was knocked unconscious by a car making a left-hand turn as I was crossing a street. And sidewalks have plenty of hazards, like missing chunks and uneven spots. More than once I've encountered an iffy patch of pavement, lost my footing and gone down. One time, I fell flat on my face and bloodied my nose. (Although I can't blame the sidewalk entirely. I was sneaking a glance at my running watch and about to reach for my iPod to find a new song when I crashed.)
And that brings me to a lesson I've learned running trails: Be careful! I apply it on sidewalks, but especially on those tricky trails. I don't just change my gait; I alter my gaze. It's glued to the ground underfoot. I do not dare sneak a glance at my watch (or an inspiring vista) without stopping first.
I'm grateful that my daughters kept urging me to have a go at trail running. They've taught their old dad not to be afraid of trying something new.
Although my no longer young brain does set some limits. In addition to proselytizing for trail runs, my daughter raves about the joys of mountain biking. To quote the title of a classic Aretha Franklin song: "Ain't No Way."
