trail running Archives - Running Wild

”God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts to us in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” C.S. Lewis

I managed to complete my first trail run the day before I left with my family for a week in Alaska followed by a week on Little Gasparilla Island (tough life, I know). When I finally returned home, my farm needed some serious attention, and considering I only had a couple weeks before I would leave for my annual pilgrimage to northern Minnesota, I put aside any hopes of serious running, or so I thought. My wife was making dinner, a very involved meal of roasted pork and vegetables, when I got the urge for a quick run. I threw on my trail shoes and asked how long I had before dinner: 30 minutes- perfect. I ran about a mile down the road, a quiet country road winding between cattle and horse farms but bookended by new housing developments, until I found a trail that led into a massive preserve called Triple Creek. I’ve attempted this trail twice before, with toddlers in tow however, and never managed more than 1/4 mile. I calculated that I could run for about twelve minutes and still make it back before my half-hour cutoff, so off I went. I was running fast to cover as much distance as possible, and although nothing was marked, it seemed like an easy out-and-back trail to follow, that is until I came upon a gorgeous stretch of pine flat-woods with a soft, winding path that looked to curl back towards the entrance. This must be a loop, I thought, or at least pretended to think, as I bounded gleefully down the sandy trail. At the first fork I veered left, then right, then I took the middle path. It didn’t take long for me to admit I had no clue which path to take next in order to make it home in time for pork. The sandy path became a flooded swamp, and a seemingly infinite number of diverting paths left me squinting at the setting sun attempting to navigate my way home. Nine miles later, I stumbled onto my porch, covered in sweat and mud, and peered through the window to see my wife cleaning the kitchen, clutching her phone as she debated calling the police. I truly felt bad, though I have to admit, it was a good run.

About a week later we decided to go out after dinner for ice cream, and I figured it would be the perfect time for another run, this time with my xero running sandals. We drove to Jeremiah’s for some tasty dessert, and then my wife drove the kids home and I took off down the road feeling like one of the Tarahumara, with nothing between me and the road save for a thin slice of hard rubber. At mile three of this eight mile return home, my right calf tightened like a slow cramp that had no intention of ever stopping. I slowed but kept running, feeling the pain and marveling at how quickly my homeward-bound journey had gone from care-free and fun to grueling. I decided to push through the pain, embracing it less as an inconvenience and more like a right of passage. Mentally, that worked, and after a couple miles I was able to speed back up to my normal pace. I finished the run but was left very sore and full of knots. After a couple days of rest and stretching, I decided to run five miles to pick up my bike at a cycle shop and ride it back. To my delight, the right calf felt pretty good; the left calf, however, did not.

This was actually 24 hours before a sprint triathlon I had signed up for a few months prior, and although I had already decided to focus on running more than the tri, I still wanted to perform well. That night and the next morning I could barely walk without wincing, but again, it loosened up after some good stretching. I had the fastest swim time, the third fastest bike time, and the run… a disaster. After thirty or so good strides my left calf grabbed hard and held on tight. I limped through two miles as if I were a soldier still fighting after being shot in the leg. My grit did pay off, though, and I was able to open up and run hard for the last mile plus.

I would have been justified feeling frustrated or disappointed by the painful experience, but surprisingly I did not. Quite the opposite really. I felt more like I was being tested, or perhaps a better word, prepared for something greater. God has been at the very center of this adventure into trail-running, and when God is involved, everything has a purpose. I’m not suggesting that God reached down and afflicted my calf with painful soreness, just that pain is not without its value. Pain shapes our character in a way that nothing else can. It sharpens our focus, hardens our resolve, and yet most importantly highlights our weakness. Pain awakens us to our absolute reliance on the only one that can take away our pain, or at least help us bear it. God doesn’t cause pain, but He uses pain to call us to Him where we will find true comfort. In the end, pain will make you stronger.

Little Manatee River State Park 5/31/17

Total distance: 13 miles (2 loops) Total time: 90 minutes 5 seconds Pace: 6.9 min/mile

Wilderness ranking: 3/5 Ruggedness ranking: 2/5 Enjoyability ranking: 3/5

Wildlife: raccoon tracks, hog damage, bird songs, barred owl, squirrels, white-tailed doe, pigeon

Psalm 19

The heavens declare the glory of God;

the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech;

night after night they reveal knowledge.

They have no speech, they use no words;

no sound is heard from them.

Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,

their words to the ends of the world.

It’s been over four years since I have set out to run anything longer than a 5k. The reason, or I should say the excuse, for this extended drought is my son, who is 4, and my daughter, who is 2. Interestingly though, they are also a large part of my motivation for getting back into running. I woke up this morning intent that the first run of my “running wild”endeavor is to be a 13 mile double loop of a hiking trail I have been eager to explore. It was without a doubt outside my comfort range, but within the scope of my ability. I have always felt that any truly rewarding pursuit should push you beyond what you know, and even beyond what you think, you can accomplish. This run was rewarding in that respect and, as is usually the case when running in the wild, there was an unexpected, more spiritual reward as well.

The trail run itself was not so much remarkable as mere enjoyable. The trail was well-worn, well-marked, and quite tame in most places. The surroundings, however, were quite varied and kept in a natural state. I passed through oak hammocks, scrub-oak forest, pine flat-woods, and some wetland habitats. It was very refreshing to enter into different surroundings every mile or so of trail, giving the impression that I was covering much more ground than time or distance indicated. The highlight of this trail is a stretch that runs alongside the Little Manatee River with numerous clearings and views of sandy banks and slow-moving water. It is serene yet energizing in a way that only a river seems to accomplish so effortlessly. After passing the last views of Little Manatee, a short undulating stretch of soft sandy path leads slightly uphill to the end of the loop and turning point.

My day began at 2:15 a.m. as I had agreed to drive my mom to the airport for an early morning flight, a both wise and foolish decision. I arrived at the trailhead in the dark and waited until 6:00 a.m. to begin running. The day was clear, but still dark as sunrise was about 30 minutes away. The temperature was 75ºF, humidity 87%, and wind 4 mph. I wore my New Balance 10v1 Minimus Trail shoes, a very thin soled and flexible pair of minimalist running shoes that reflect a barefoot running style, and carried a small pack with about a 1/2 liter of water. I didn’t need snacks, trail map, or any other supplies so my load was pretty light and I easily could have left the small pack behind altogether. My pace was slow for the first mile as I ran through dark, dense oak trees with only the first glimpses of daybreak finding the trail’s surface. I will admit that more than once I caught a glimpse of a shadowy Florida panther or black bear that vanished as my eyes focused better. As the day warmed up, so did my legs, and my pace quickened to reach the point of highest return- this is what I call the speed that allows me to push myself hard without leaving myself vulnerable to injury. I was running close to 6.5 minute miles, slowing on rough terrain and pausing for a few pictures. I made the turn-around point feeling good and confident, and soon after found the zone. Every runner longs for the zone, but I can only imagine it feels and works differently for each person. For me, the zone is when my breathing, effort level, and stride coincide so well it seems possible to keep running at that pace indefinitely. I’ve heard it described as a feeling of running in place while the path comes to you, however for me it is as though I am being pulled forward by the path ahead and pushed by a wave of momentum generated by the ground I have just covered. This is when distance running is easy, and it lasted until the last mile and a half- then I lost it. When you lose the zone it is fruitless to try to find it again. Instead I had to fight, grind, claw my way to the end trying to maintain the pace that was so effortless just minutes ago. I managed to run the last gradual ascent and accelerate down the final flat bit of trail to finish in 90 minutes and 5 seconds. I ran the loop counter-clockwise followed immediately by a 180 degree turn and a clockwise loop, each one in 45 minutes. My pace ended up around 6.9 minutes per mile, which included five quick stops for pictures and a brief pause at the turn-around to drink half my water. For my first long run in a long time, I was very satisfied with my pace and how I felt afterwards.

Wildlife was not abundant on this run, but I had a few encounters. First, I ran through about a dozen spider webs that traversed the trail, an experience I am used to from growing up in a log cabin on a summer camp, but still don’t enjoy. I heard many species of bird but only saw a few flying from branch to branch as the sun rose. I had a close encounter with a barred owl that swooped silently about 10 feet above my head, and an even closer encounter with a large white-tailed doe that I startled near the river’s edge. At first taking the shape of another Florida panther, it jumped through saw palmetto bushes just feet in front of me and dashed off away from the river. I ran through some areas with significant wild pig damage but saw no sign of the hogs themselves. I felt a definite sense of connection with the untamed woods in this area, however a few spots come so close to a bordering development that I could see the manicured lawns and houses, which unfortunately stole away the feeling of being lost in nature.

I was able to hear the voice out here, though, which is what I am always searching for. This is not a real voice, although perhaps it has more wisdom than that. It is not God’s voice, or even my voice, so much as it is simply clarity. It is a voice that comes from the wild places and says, “you are right where you need to be; drink it in. It is good.” It is a peaceful voice, and a daring voice, calling you deeper into the mysteries that only nature has left. I never sense this voice when running on a treadmill or around a track, and rarely when running in neighborhoods and roads. It is a calling to be a part of something greater than yourself, connecting you to the past and the ever-present. This is what makes me come alive and why I run in the wild.

Between Trails

Little Manatee River State Park Trail Run