Back to the Valley

The Valley was the weekend recluse for the four years of high school. It was the place where after running on the streets of Fairfield for five days straight we were finally given the fun and excitement of a trail run. There was never a better feeling than running through the woods, dodging different trees, branches, logs, rocks, and roots. Blazing through the wilderness racing nothing but each other and nature. it is truly the most poetic form of running.

For those that didn't want to run as many miles or wanted to add more miles to the 6 mile trail loop, they would run on the railway bed right next to the trails. It was a flat, two and a half mile stretch of flat trail that was wide enough for runners, bike riders, dog walkers, and amateur fisherman hoping for the big catch in the river down the hill from the bed. This was where I chose to run three miles for the first time this summer.

It was simple, I just had to run to the 1.5 mile mark and then run back. Once I made the 1.5 mile mark, I had no choice but to run the full 3, because I had to run back. I was greeted that morning by my old coach and the high school team just starting out their summer training for cross country. It took me back to when I was looking at the beginning of summer. Faced with the task of completely over 500 miles for the summer, which would go up to 8 to 10 miles a day. I always tried to do so, but whenever I did, my knee would give out by August and I would slowly be piecing myself together for the beginning of the cross country season. I watched those little guys take off for the six miler while I headed to the railway bed.

It hurt. It was tough to pick up my heavy legs when I got to the first half mile mark. Back when I ran the valley there were small posts that were half mile markers. Now there were giant benches downloaded by the town rotary. When you are a competitive runner, the mile markers are what help you pace yourself, what help you know if your getting 8 miles or 7 and a half, they are your best friend. But when you are an out of shape fat ass, they are your worse enemy. They are a school yard kid taunting you, saying you have only gone this far and you have so much more to go. You anticipate them, but they also make things so much slower.

As I awaited that 1.5 Mile Marker, I just said to myself, "Just make it to 1 and a half miles. Then you're set. Then you will make three miles no matter what." It took everything to get the 1.5 and there it was, sitting there at the end of a turn in the railway bed, like a beacon. I was struggling to teach it. However, upon doing so, I found myself thinking something crazy, "What if I went to the two mile mark." I don't know how this thought came into my mind, and where the energy came from but as I reached that 1.5 mile mark I said, "Fuck It!" And went to a giant rock which is right next to the two mile mark. The way back should have been a difficult one, but knowing that I was running four miles for the first time, when I planned to run three for the first time was a good enough feeling for me to finish the run with lifted spirits.

I'm not a high school runner anymore.
I'm not running so that I can score big in Cross Country this year.
I don't want five hundred miles or 8 miles a day
and I'm not running so that I can run with the high schoolers that took off for the six mile loop.

I'm running for me. I'm running to challenge myself. I had no reason for going four. But I loved doing it. I'm doing what I love. That's what it comes down to.