Thoughts About Running
A Slow Burn on the Beaten Path
There’s a bike path near my house where I run frequently. It winds along the waterfront, past a playground and along a major street. Then, suddenly, the path ducks under trees, sheds its asphalt and transforms into a trail, seemingly out of thin air. As I enter the trail, small but notable things happen: my gps stops working momentarily, my strides get choppier and my eyes focus on the ground ahead. I’m no longer running for pace or mileage; I’m exploring, enjoying nature and connecting my feet to the dirt. My run is transformed.
I’m not a trail runner. At least, not yet. A few years ago, my running club set out en masse to run The North Face Endurance Challenge; I stayed home to watch the dog. I don’t like running unless I know where I’m going, and I have a poor sense of direction. Running trails just sounded like an interesting way to get lost.
But lately, things have changed. I moved to an area where the only real hills are part of the local conservation area. But most importantly, I began to learn what it really means to get into trails.
I like watching running movies. There aren’t a lot of movies about marathons, so I started watching YouTube videos about trail running – mainly ultramarathons, but also shorter clips about fkts (fastest known time), or fell runners, or just five minutes of Spanish ultra trail superstar Kilian Jornet running near his house in Norway.
A few times last summer, when I found myself in unfamiliar parts of Ontario, I followed Strava routes that took me into the woods. Eventually, I started searching them out, looking for an excuse to get off the beaten path.
For the longest time, I thought trail running was at odds with my goals: I run marathons, and basically, that’s it. Every run is usually part of a build, and every race is part of a plan. There isn’t a lot of room for freestyling. How does one reconcile a trail run that’s a minute or two slower per kilometre, or of an undefined distance, within the grand scheme of a training plan?
The answer is quite simple. Most of our trail runs are designed to be loose and unscripted. What’s more unscripted than a trail, where no two runs are exactly the same?
More than that, getting out on trails once in a while has helped me discover an element of running that’s sorely lacking on the roads: presence. By necessity, trail running demands your attention on every footfall. You need to be aware of your surroundings, in case a branch hits you in the eye, or a tree root offers an unexpected speedbump. But most of the time, there aren’t any branches or roots; there’s just you and your feet, and you can focus on what’s right in front of you: nature. Beauty. Solitude.
There’s a line in a song by Silicone Boone that goes “You’re why we leave home/why we’ve always roamed/why we’re not alone.” I feel that awe, that wonder, in nature; you don’t get that feeling from a bike path, or a busy road, or a treadmill.
Even the trail’s design changes the experience. Forget the out-and-backs – just run the loop. Wanna go longer? Run two loops. Or branch off onto a different loop. Your choice.
A lot of my running friends are also triathletes; I’m surrounded by Ironman tattoos. I don’t like swimming, and I’m not keen to get on a bike. So for a long time, my goals topped out at 42.2k; all I could do was try to finish faster. But as I delve into the world of trail running, my plans are shifting. I’ve always said that I run far because I’m not fast. The idea of an ultra is now beckoning, as if to say “Oh yeah? How far?”
I’m not dropping everything for a Western States golden ticket or packing up for a summer to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. But I’m going to keep running to the trail at the end of the path, to the woods north of town, to the forest beyond the trees. And we’ll see where they go.
Andrew McKay is an editor, data analyst and writer based in Ajax, Ont. In 2020, he’ll run his third Boston Marathon, and 25th marathon overall. He runs mainly because he likes buying shoes.