It was a Saturday morning, and I was hung over. After a bottle or two of red wine with dinner the night before, followed by a microbrew or two nightcap, my head ached. The best way for me to get rid of the “I overindulged feeling” is to A) lie on the couch and do nothing or B) hit the trails. Desperately craving fresh air, I opted for B. But how far should I go? Follow my thought process that took all of 20 seconds to transpire: “I’ll do four or five miles around the neighborhood. Nah… ooh I got it! I should run down to the old golf course and run the cart path. Nah… ooh I got it! I'll head out to Pinchot Lake for a trail run!” As kid, I spent weekends swimming and fishing at Pinchot but never ran the trails. So just like that, I was mentally committed to trying out the lake trail.
Now, I never take a phone with me on my runs; I enjoy the freedom of feeling somewhat unconnected to the city and connected to my surroundings. But my Garmin 310XT was out of batteries, and I was ready to hit the trails ASAP. So I strapped on my MT10's and drove out to the lake at Gifford Pinchot State Park. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, I could not wait to have a go at the lake trail. When you're out for a long run, changes in weather are a realistic concern, so I knew to check the weather before heading out. Of course on this morning, I did not. Once I arrived at the parking lot, I grabbed a map so I could get a quick idea of where to go. This was a pivotal moment in my day and the reason I got lost. “A quick look” was my downfall... The Lakeside Trail runs 8.5 miles around the perimeter of Pinchot Lake, and if you don’t want to get lost, you should constantly be on the lookout for the trail head since it crosses various parking lots, boat mooring areas, and campgrounds more than a few times. Foreshadowing, anyone?
After a fairly bumpy start (losing the trail and trudging through shoe-tongue deep mud puddles), I got into a rhythm. The kind of rhythm where, with each footfall, you feel a brilliant connection to the Earth, trees, and birds. It was overcast that day, but it didn't look like rain was in the forecast (oh, really?). About six miles in, I hit the camping area. It was like a scene ripped from a Hitchcock film. Just as my right foot collided with the pavement, the sky rumbled with thunder and a steady rain commenced. Rain doesn't bother me in the least when I'm running. In fact, it actually feels quite soothing. But on this particular day, my first thought was “protect my iPhone,” and my second thought was “get out of here!” Little did I know, I would spend the next few miles in a Hotel California-esque dreamland, scampering about the campgrounds like a cornered rabbit. I didn't care which trail I found; I just wanted to get out of there!
Why it didn't occur to me sooner, I'm not too sure (see the second sentence of this post for a touch of insight), but I had my exit strategy tucked into my waistband the entire time: I was tracking my run with the Nike+ GPS app, so all I had to do was check the map and I was out of there! With my new found hope, I clicked on the “View Map” button and found where I was in relation to my car. Ugh. Not as close as I had originally thought, but at least I knew where I was. Investigating the tiny electronic map further, I realized I still didn't know where the trail head was. Double ugh. After a hopeful, albeit brief, few moments, the panic once again set in.
The rain continued to fall along with my optimism: rain + iPhone = dead (the phone AND me if I didn't figure this out soon). In times of desperation, we always go over worst-case scenarios in our heads. What if the rain kills my iPhone? What if I never find the trail? What if... BEARS! (Fright tends to coax hyperbolic thoughts from the most practical thinkers.) I realized then that running around in circles wasn't getting me anywhere. (A brilliant thought, right?) Even though I had a map, I only gave it a cursory glance thinking that's all I needed. Plus, I didn't want to risk the rain soaking my phone while I stood there like a caveman trying to get my bearings.
Before my phone was murdered by the rain, I needed to take a serious look at the map again. I realized I should just admit defeat, find the main roads, and get out of there. At least if I got on the main roads, I would avoid running around in circles for a few more miles. Plus, at the time, it was the only option I felt like exploring. So I verified the route on my phone and started running. The route turned out to be two main roads that took me around the outskirts of the park back to the parking lot. But I was finally back in a rhythm and glad to be on the home stretch. The feeling of despair and hopelessness vanished, and with the help of the sun, the last bits of rain dissolved into a newly found bright sky.
The rain continued to fall along with my optimism: rain + iPhone = dead (the phone AND me if I didn't figure this out soon). In times of desperation, we always go over worst-case scenarios in our heads. What if the rain kills my iPhone? What if I never find the trail? What if... BEARS! (Fright tends to coax hyperbolic thoughts from the most practical thinkers.) I realized then that running around in circles wasn't getting me anywhere. (A brilliant thought, right?) Even though I had a map, I only gave it a cursory glance thinking that's all I needed. Plus, I didn't want to risk the rain soaking my phone while I stood there like a caveman trying to get my bearings.
Before my phone was murdered by the rain, I needed to take a serious look at the map again. I realized I should just admit defeat, find the main roads, and get out of there. At least if I got on the main roads, I would avoid running around in circles for a few more miles. Plus, at the time, it was the only option I felt like exploring. So I verified the route on my phone and started running. The route turned out to be two main roads that took me around the outskirts of the park back to the parking lot. But I was finally back in a rhythm and glad to be on the home stretch. The feeling of despair and hopelessness vanished, and with the help of the sun, the last bits of rain dissolved into a newly found bright sky.
I managed to turn the 8.5 trail into a 12.5 mile run for my life, but at least I was going to live to run another day. Although I normally take a minimalist approach to my running, I was really glad to have my iPhone with me. Without it, I could have (in theory) run around in that black hole of a campground for days, months, or even years! There I go again with the hyperbole...
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