Oh, So That's Why People Carry Water Bottles While They Run

I spent a lot of time and energy fretting over directions, parking, and passes for the Whitewater Center that it never occurred to me that I might get there and need additional information like, what trails to take? Where are the trails? And after an incredibly quick drive on 485, and the easiest parking experience possible, I arrived at 9:15 this morning and had not a clue what my next move should be. Nothing was open yet, very few people were around, and I could feel the clock on Mark being at home alone on a Sunday morning with the kiddies ticking, LOUDLY.

Fortunately there is a very large, and very clear, sign that points a person in various directions. One read, Trail Head, with a giant bike icon. Another read, River Trail Loop, no icon. Now what?

I decided I would make use of the restroom (clearly marked--Boy, Girl), and would hopefully just ask someone where do the runners go. Sure enough, while I was using the potty, ladies' voices began to echo through the small room, and I happily spotted some Salomon trail shoes in the stall next to me. Yes! Runners. I would get some information.

The lady runners were geared up with Camel Baks and Garmins and the right shoes. I had nothing other than my car key. Thankfully it fit quite well in my running skirt pocket. I do not own a water bottle. I filled up a sippy cup of iced water before I left the house with every intention of not running with it. And my shoes. I looked at the women giving me directions and began to have doubts that my footwear was proper. In my business of checking out the garb these ladies had on and worrying that I was unprepared, I failed to pay much attention to the instructions they gave. Something about Green trail. North trail. Don't take the South trail. Run it backwards, so you don't get in the way of a bike. Things are not well-marked. People get lost.

Good information, and I hoped my ability to catch only the gist of it would be sufficient. They even offered to let me run a bit with them, but they were waiting for a friend, and I was really itching to get started. Besides, I kind of just wanted to go it alone. So I said, thank you, saw a trail opening, and took off.

For an hour, I ran. With the most wild abandon I think I've ever experienced with running. I have no idea, NO IDEA where I went. I saw arrows. I followed them. I heard bugs. I heard myself breathing. I heard water. I heard the whizzing of bikes, long before I actually encountered them. I came to forks in the trail. I made quick decisions. When I saw the sign for South Trail: Trail of Joy, I thought of the women telling me not to take it. I took it anyway. How can you not take a trail called the trail of joy? I saw the sign for Goat Hill Loop. When you see a sign for Goat Hill Loop, don't you have to loop it?

While on Carpet Trail, I encountered a biker. I jumped off the path to give him some space. He called back to his biking buddy, Larry, we have a runner. It felt like a compliment. A runner. I felt strong, composed. Then I tripped over a very humbling tree root.

I had no idea how long I'd been running, but I became incredibly aware of not having water with me. Suddenly I would've given anything for that sippy cup (and made a mental note: Must Get Water Bottle). I knew it was probably time to wrap up my run. But where was I? How do I get back to the parking lot?

I still don't know. I know I followed a bike out to a now broiling hot opening with some reddish clay dirt, and continued my run. There were giant power lines, and I thought, there's no way this is right.

It wasn't. But I eventually found the Main Trail sign, hopped back on, and continued on my way. When I began to pass people who looked as though they hadn't broken a sweat yet, I knew I was close.

When I was finished I decided to try to pick up a trail map to see if I could get an idea of where I'd been. They were $2. I still only had my car keys, and I was ready to slug down my sippy cup of what would surely still be chilly water.

The water was quickly gone, and as I was backing out of my parking spot, I felt beyond what I had even imagined I would feel after running on a trail. My street running has always had an element of escapism in it for me. Being in the woods certainly felt otherworldly with the earthy smell and sounds, but in my attempt to watch where I was going, and not fall down, and use my muscles in ways that I don't usually use them, I felt very much there.

And then my car lurched, and lulled, and lurched again. The Check Engine light came on. And it was clear I wasn't going anywhere. So I spent the next hour waiting for my sweet parents to come get me and help me wrestle the car seats out of the car before the tow truck came. I was back at the house at 12:45, just in time to take the world's fastest shower and get Heath to an afternoon birthday party.

Heath was thrilled that we had car trouble. I got to tell him about the tow truck man, the initial spark plug diagnosis, and best of all, we got to go to the party in the Jeep.

Happy trails to you...