Happy Trails...

It took crossing the country, flying over 2000 miles to get myself back on the trails. Excessive? I don't care. After a few months of sticking to the treadmill lest I barf and/or pee my way through a queasy first trimester run, it was well worth the trip to get back where my running feet happily belong.

I found myself in San Diego on a crisp, clear, and sunny 60 degree Wednesday afternoon, after a flight from Charlotte, lengthy enough to start, finish, and thoroughly enjoy a collection of short stories by a woman straight outta Greensboro, Jane Borden, I Totally Meant to Do That. Having begun my day at 5am, then crossing multiple states and time zones, I was most definitely tired, but more than that my burgeoning baby belly was sore from sitting in the tiny, cramped plane seat. With the gift of three extra hours in my day, I decided to begin my visit in San Diego with a little neighborhood run.

I easily found the bike trails by my brother's house, and was already feeling better as the Southern California sun beat down on my face, the kinks in my body cracking their way out of my system. Quickly down the path that was currently free of all bikes, I found that I was alone, unless I counted the multiple jack rabbits that would scamper across the paved road. And just as quickly I came to a clearing on the left of the path. A small, brown sign post read, Trail. I thought, You see a sign that says trail, you run it, don't you?

I did. Run it.

I was five steps in and a sudden light, airy feeling fell over me. The weight of whatever world of care I've been carrying melted off my skin. I'm not kidding. I almost wept. Oh, how I've missed this kind of running. This kind of dirt beneath my feet, rocks skipping across my path running. Just as tears sprang to my eyes (seriously, I'm not kidding), I saw this...

That's the ocean in the distance. In the picture, it seems a bit faint, but in person, it was right there. I was grateful to have not only brought my phone with me, but it just so happens I finally joined the 21st century three days earlier and upgraded to a phone with a camera.

And I kept running. Blissfully, silly grin spread across my face, running. I did stop after an hour; my OB's max for me. Of course, the second day that I was there I happened to notice the two warning signs: Rattlesnakes and Mountain Lions. I considered the headlines: Pregnant Woman Mauled by Mountain Lion. Rattlesnake Jumps on Pregnant Woman's Back. North Carolina Tourist Attacked by Mountain Lion and Rattlesnake at the Same Time, Oh, and She was Pregnant.

But I went back to the trails every day that I was there, running and grinning like a fool. (Occasionally looking behind me, making sure a rattler or rabid mountain lion wasn't ready to pounce. Or bite. Or strangle.) Obeying doctor's orders and cutting myself off at 1 hour.

Okay, maybe it was 1 hour and three minutes that one day. Okay, four minutes.

As Dale Evans Rogers sang, It's the way you ride the trail that counts. Here's a happy one for you.