Out Running Somewhere

I left the house sometime between 5 and 5:30, heading out the Pre's trail. I was in Eugene after all. I'd measured the distance to the trail on an online map, and the trails themselves were already measured. I'd be running just under five in the steady, but light Oregon rain.

Everyone bikes here and at 5:00, it seemed, rather than a rush hour of SUVs and BMWs, Eugene's is one of commuter bikes and rain slickers. College students, old couples, middle age women, grandmothers, they all drove past me in the other direction on the damp streets leading up to my destination. There's a gentleness here that one feels is inherent in this sort of lifestyle. It speaks of farmer's markets and recycling and community projects. Nobody honked. None of the cars tried to cut me off. The rain softens the hard edges of normal life.

I found the bicycle bridge across the Willamette-- a fine river to have running through your city; wide and dotted with rocks, trees and islands-- and crossed it into Alton Baker Park and onto the footpath that cut through the trees. The path connected with another layered with soft wood chip-- just as Pre had envisioned it. I'd run just over two miles at this point on roads that were mostly concrete slab-- murder on my joints. My knees quivered slightly and my right hip was aching worse than usual, but I swear I heard them breathe a collective sigh of relief when I set foot on that surface. There was a subtle energy to this place that was undeniable, even to me who tends to deny things like places having energies to them. I pressed on with improved stride and strength.

at the first fork I chose left, trying to remember the trial map I'd viewed online before the run. Seeing something in aerial view and actually being down upon it are two different things entirely. I'm usually good at navigation in the wild, unless it's navigation over man made trails running in arbitrary directions. I got lost several times, but somehow ended up at a map at one of the mile-markers, trying to piece out how I got there and which section of my planned run I had skipped. It was raining harder now and I could only stop and read until my body heat started to dissipate. San Diego has made me soft and it's colder on this June evening than the deepest winter night in Southern California. My hands ached a little from the shock of it. I chose a direction and carried on, across a small tributary

I wound up back near a familiar intersection of the path. I'd run through here before. This was not necessarily a bad thing, as the trial is a series of 3 interconnected loops that I'd plan to run through in figure eights. I was where I was supposed to be and there was another mile marker and sign post to confirm this, but when I arrived at the same place a third time, I knew something was amiss. I had traced the path along fields, past a stadium next to an oddly colored building-- a science center that I'd stopped to investigate before moving on. Mustn't stay still too long in this damp. Need to keep running to prevent chill. I'd taken a small shortcut through a natural tunnel formed by the interlocking branches of trees that I'm sure my friend could identify, but I knew nothing about them, only that they trapped the warmth and steam from the earth and the temperature rose slightly, but perceptibly once inside. I don't think the shortcut was the issue, I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere and missed the big, two-mile loop.

I stared at the map for a while before realizing that this was a good thing. I had underestimated the distance to the trail, and also forgotten to account for the run back in my mileage calculations. I could walk back, but in the cold rain, it would be more miserable than running, despite my aching joints. I had been feeling it in my hip since I hit the trail. My calves were bunched in knots and I'd had a cramp since early on. I was winded, wet, and muddy. Even my knees were beginning to ache. I hadn't run much more than four miles in over two years, and this run would total nearly eight. I was terribly out of shape and smashing myself to bits. No matter. It wouldn't do too much damage in the long term, and I could still, even after all these years, pull a long run out of nowhere and survive, even if it was on pure mental energy and memory of faint glory. It was worth it. This was Eugene. This was my time. It was what I needed.

I took a right at the next fork and headed home.