NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.
Enough with complaining about how I can't find the motivation to go running. Sometimes you have to kick your own arse into action (although, anatomically speaking, that might be hard to achieve, at least if you want to kick your own arse hard enough to accomplish such action). So what if there are a thousand things to do around the house? They'll still be there when I get back.
On one of my morning walks, I had stumbled upon a promising trail not too far from here. Have I mentioned that the trail head is 300 metres from our doorstep? With beautiful single-track stretching out in every direction? No? The trail head is 300 metres from our doorstep! With beautiful single-track stretching out in every direction!
|300 metres, folks.|
Now, after many ifs and buts, worrying about the weather and whether it would be too good to waste on running (I promise you'll never hear me utter such blasphemous words ever again) instead of painting the house, I decided to find out if I had read the map right and that that trail led where I thought it led. Before I had time to hesitate, I threw on some clothes and got out the door.
It didn't lead where I thought it led. It led to an Olympic-sized swimming pool infested with blood-thirsty mosquitoes. As I wasn't in the mood to wade through waist-deep, ice-cold, who-knows-what-horrors-hide-within (probably leeches, definitely sharks) water, I turned back. The single-track was so narrow it was almost invisible, my feet danced between jugged stones and gnarly roots in a desperate attempt to hit dirt, a fleeting side-glance informed me that something big had sharpened its claws on an ancient, moss-covered tree. The forest seemed to be untouched by human hands. I hoped I got a good signal on my phone in case I fell and hit my head, and, I don't know, accidentally butt-dialed J while unconscious? I don't know why I thought having a good signal would be useful in that case. I was still shocked from the bear-mauled tree. I wasn't thinking straight.
Back on tamer grounds, I picked a new trail to follow. It was perfect. Just enough roots to make the soft ground interesting and keep me on my toes. Fir trees and pines on each side hid a somber sky that was laden with rain. The trail was short and ended up at a forest road. Lovely, I thought, and ran even further, determined to explore every little corner of this part of the world (or at least my neighbourhood).
This part of the world was a dead end, and not a very pretty one. There was a huge gaping wound in the forest where its owner had felled countless trees. I turned back once again, and this time I followed the forest road to the south, aiming to get back to civilisation. My legs were feeling great but my heart kept playing hopscotch, so I didn't want to push it. Still, when a new trail appeared to my left, I didn't even falter. I left the road. I knew that this trail led back home.
After a while, I got to a crossroads of trails. To my left, the trail I had originally followed. To my right, the trail home. Straight ahead, who knew? Not me. And I wouldn't find out unless I followed it, so I did. What seemed like a broad path at first quickly deteriorated into almost nothing (unless you're a snail, and then I guess that nothing looked like the autobahn to you). I took wild turns trying to follow the sharp corners of the trail, tree branches and needles piercing my arms and legs as I squeezed myself through their narrow corridors. I stopped abruptly, the trail disappearing completely all of a sudden. To my right, something resembling a trail dissolved into the shadows. I turned to follow it and--
I got attacked. By a thin, pointy, murderous, fence-sword tree branch that tried to bore a hole into the side of my head. My fingers massaged my head, looking for blood. Surprisingly, there was none. But I took the warning seriously. I turned back yet again and looked for another trail.
|This one was better, but still an obstacle course|
A minute later, I found one, and it led me back to the beaten path. I ran the last few hundred metres with such joy in my heart that my legs picked up the pace. I hadn't even run 10km, yet I had seen so much and experienced the kind of adventure only running can offer.