Sometimes the best stories come from the worst experiences. That was the case on Monday’s long run. I didn’t run nearly as far as I planned, but it was quite the noteworthy adventure. So noteworthy, in fact, that story will be told from three different perspectives. Clinton Charlton and Chris Fudge joined me on my run, and will offer their take on what ended up being a very trying day.
I mapped out an adventurous 22 mile run around the East Side that included sections of Golden Grove Road, Churchland Road, Loch Lomond Road, Barnsville Road, and Second Lake Road. The highlight of the run, I thought, was a seven kilometer stretch through the Sands Road, an old trail that connects Upper Golden Grove to Second Lake. The course was challenging (hill after hill for the first seven miles) but manageable, and despite some initial hesitations, I thought I was in for a great day.
The run began slowly as I pushed my way up the hills that give Upper Golden Grove its name. The boys struggled behind me, and I barely said a word to them for the first six kilometers. I didn’t mind; I was sorting through my thoughts and working out my mental kinks in the hopes of maintaining a positive focus. They caught up to me as we approached Sands Road, and together we entered the trail, or, as I called it at the time, “God’s country.”
Unfortunately, I hadn’t run the course in eight years, and in that time God had sold the trail to some terrible landowners. The rugged trails I once remembered were shredded to bits in some places, leaving mounds of rocks that were nearly impossible to navigate. The trail was so scarred from the elements that I was sure I was going in the wrong way. After a brief mental battle I turned around, apologized to the boys, and headed in a different direction.
The trail I picked was better groomed, and soon I was back in the rhythm and enjoying the scenery. Fall was already visiting the forest, and I was greeted by fallen leaves and rich colors. I ran down a long, winding hill, turned a corner, and ended up on a rocky beach with no trail to be found. Now I was lost, and at least fifteen minutes off course. I turned around (again), gave Clinton and Chris the bad news (again), headed back up the long, winding hill that I just ran down.
I eventually found my way back on course, but navigating the trail was a battle. The rocks were large and begging for a broken ankle, and in many places it was washed out, slowing my pace to a crawl as I danced around every hazard imaginable. My favorite sections were covered with giant puddles that filled every inch of flat ground. At first I tiptoed around them, but eventually I gave up and splashed through them, cursing with every step.
My dream trail was turning into a nightmare. My legs were fatigued from the relentless hills, and my ankles were sore from the countless twists and turns of the trail. The extra thirty minutes I tacked on the run didn’t help matters either. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I emerged from the woods and back into civilization. The nightmare was over.
Sweaty, sore, and painfully chafed, I sat on the side of the road and waited for Chris and Clinton to emerge from the woods so I could change my shirt and get a drink of much needed water. I waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, I gave up on waiting and jogged to the nearest house, hoping that whoever answered the door wouldn’t be startled by my sweaty appearance. Luckily, the woman who owned the house was quite friendly, and soon I was dialing Chris’ number, hoping he would answer.
Chris picked up the phone, and proceeds to tell me he is on the Loch Lomond Road and heading towards the airport. Apparently, there was a fork in the trail that I didn’t see. Chris and Clinton took a right where I went straight, and instead of meeting me, they ended up ten kilometers closer to home. We tried to figure out how to rectify the problem, but I was too frustrated to be of any help. I hung up the phone and continued on my way, cursing the day I planned this ‘fun’ run.
So now I am sore, sweaty, annoyed, and without any water. My mouth was dry, my lips were cracked, and I could feel a sunburn creeping into my face and shoulders. I stopped at a corner store, but had no cash for water, so I slurped greedily from the bathroom tap (don’t judge me). That sufficed for about ten minutes, but soon I was dry again, and desperate for water. I had no clue where Chris and Clinton were, but hoped they had left me something to drink somewhere on the route, because I was hurting.
And then it appeared like an oasis in the desert; a full bottle of water standing upright on the side of the road. I had encountered a few random bottles in my travels, but this was the first one that looked obviously placed. At least, that’s how I justified it when I unscrewed the cap and downed the bottle in one sitting. I made a mental note to chat with Chris and Clinton about the water when I finished my run, but I really didn’t care where the bottle came from. I was thirsty, so I drank.
Chris and Clinton ended my adventure about ten minutes later, showing up in Chris’ SUV just as I was closing in on the airport turnoff. I could have crawled home on foot, but at that point I had been running for two hours and forty five minutes and didn’t have much left in the tank. I climbed clumsily into the backseat and sucked back Gatorade as the boys had a good laugh at my expense. Not exactly the heroic ending I had in mind, but at least I was finished.
That’s it from me. Stay tuned for part two and three, starring Chris and Clinton!
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