Last week I got hopelessly lost on a long run with my running buddy, Paige. Here’s what happened: Between both of our graduate programs, kid chaos, work, and Paige’s upcoming move, she and I are constantly finagling how to fit in the weekly long runs for our Boston Marathon training.
It’s gotten more complicated as the mileage (and our schedule) has grown. We used to do Saturday mornings, but now Paige’s youngest daughter has cheer competitions most weekends. (For anyone who thinks a marathon is an endurance effort, I suggest that being a cheer mom is right up there.) So then we switched to Friday mornings, which was working just fine until I started teaching a class then. So now we try to wedge in a run however and whenever we can. Lately this has been on Friday afternoons between my class and school pick up.
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The introvert in me is very weary after the extroverted effort of teaching, so I slam a coffee and a peanut butter sandwich, change into running clothes in my car, then we run until the last possible minute and haul over to school and enter the pickup line sweaty and salty. I use my seat heater as a form of post-run muscle therapy.
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We didn’t understand that the water crossings were too high, too rushing, and too dangerous to traverse—which meant we got stuck on one side of the river and we needed to finish on the other side of the river. We kept reaching detours, blocked paths, fallen trees, and trails that disappeared into steep rocks. We scrambled back and forth for over an hour, trying to find a possible place to cross, or at least find our original trailhead and get the heck out of the woods! Paige finally cracked, time was ticking, and she said, “That’s IT! We are getting out of here. That way!” And she pointed up. Straight up.
before finishing our run on neighborhood hills. Like we often hear from our teenagers.
Does anyone else have a crazy friend whose balls and bravado tend to get you into very precarious situations? This is my girl.
Before I had time to think, she was already scampering up the rocks. I did what I usually do when I don’t know what else to do—I followed her. Which was okay until the rock face became so steep and tenuous that we were looking for finger and toe holds to pull our bodies up. This may be fine for local rock climbing enthusiasts with ropes and proper gear, but it is not so fine for middle aged moms with gel manicures and size nine running shoes that don’t wedge into crevasses.
About three quarters of the way up, we finally reached a ledge with a cave. It seemed like a nice place to take a break, except that it was already occupied by a couple of creepy looking dudes drinking Big Gulps. (Gulp.)
Paige proceeded to tell them that we were completely lost, had no phones, and our cars were parked very far away: Exactly what we’d tell our daughters not to do. We got a very bad vibe at the same time and took off along a skinny path along the cliff. The path abruptly ended, but we weren’t about to double back and return to the Big Gulp Cave and face certain death. So once again, that left us with one option: Up.
This started to remind me of the children’s book series, A Part of Hearst Digital Media, where each choice flips you to a different page as your story continues. Except that I wasn’t choosing any of this. We climbed up an even steeper portion, holding onto roots and sliding over loose brush. We finally reached the top only to be met with a sharp metal fence and menacing looking NO TRESPASSING signs. Paige, always agile, pulled herself up and over the imposing fence without fear or fanfare. I had plenty of both.
I stalled at the top, afraid to stand on the one inch metal bar in order to turn my body around and jump down the other side. I made some lame attempt to hoist one leg over the top until Paige reminded me of the dangerous potential of having a sharp metal pole between your legs. Like the fence, she had a very good point.
So I faced my fear and trusted my quaking legs and size 9 Sauconys to stand up and balance on the top of the fence, turn, and jump down the other side. I was terrified. Paige reminded me that we had to hurry and get out of these people’s yard—in Texas you can shoot people who are on your property. We prayed for no dogs and no guns and ran to one side of the yard (I dropped my car key so we had to run back for that), and found the high gate padlocked. Hearts sinking and adrenaline rush waning, we ran across the porch to the other gate, which was mercifully unlocked.
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We were in a neighborhood we didn’t recognize, but it was still civilization and we were elated to be alive. We didn’t have much time left to return to our cars, so we picked up the pace until we found a familiar road and got our bearings again. Meanwhile we got the giggles so badly that we were running and guffawing at the same time, looking like complete lunatics. She was mimicking me teetering on the fence and both of us were doubled over, running and gasping for air. I honestly have not laughed that hard in a long time.
That crazy run reminded me of a few essential things about training. Expect the unexpected. Trust your instincts. Remember to play. Be brave. Laughter is excellent fuel. Part of finding yourself includes occasionally getting lost. And running is, above all else, an adventure.
And like all good adventures, it’s best when shared.
Kristin Armstrong is a mother, a writer, and a runner. She has written six books, including her latest, Running Was His Life. Then Came Putin’s War.
