I strive to be accepted, liked, befriended. Todd has joked that I am the trail ambassador, I want to be warm and welcoming, encouraging. And yet, try as I might, I feel that some are just unwilling to accept me, return that welcoming warmth.
Case in point, the Appalachian Trail.
I am starting to believe that the AT hates me. This past spring I was so excited to finally set foot on the historic trail that extends from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Katahdin in Maine. Immediately moved by our short trek on the scenic trail with our whole family in tow, I was eager to go back and run on the AT.
However, our first run on the AT, while set upon during a heat wave this past July, was particularly difficult. From the James River Foot Bridge to Petits Gap and back, Todd and I had set off in high spirits. We carried too little water and were unprepared for the humidity. I believe there was a point I thought I might die. Twenty miles never seemed so hard.
I just thought we had a bad day, the AT couldn't possibly be that difficult to traverse, or could it?
The next few runs we partook in on the AT, even short sections thrown in on longer runs, were equally arduous. The week before Holiday Lake this year we went on a run that included sections of the Hellgate course and the AT. At the back of the group, being slow and in taper mode, I began to question myself as a runner. What is it with me and this scenic, stirring trail?
Why can't we be friends?
On that run, a few short weeks ago, I set about to make it my mission to trim the dislike we seem to carry for one another. The AT and I will find harmony, I vowed.
Step one. Visit more often. This past Saturday, still slightly injured and fearful of further time benched, I hesitantly agreed to a run of mid-length in the mountains. The whole run was to be taken easy by me, walk the uphills, listen to my body for cues. When I realized we were to join up with the AT for a five plus mile portion of our run, I was filled with trepidation and caution. However, when we got to the AT it was suggested we could turn around and go back the way we came. Tuck our tails? Well, not really, we were in somewhat of a time crunch. But I hadn't spent the first half of the run preparing mind and body for the trail that thwarts me time and again to not even be given a chance at balance.
Step two. Employ an open mind. I let everyone else in the group we were running with pass me and I settled in, knowing from past experience to revere this trail or suffer the confidence beating it can deliver. I turned my music on, settled into taking it easy and let the trail guide my pace. The section we ran did feel unending, and there was one point where I felt a bit uneasy, even a tad light-headed, but I think this has more to do with poor planning (I didn't carry any fuel along for the run) than anything. The run itself, which included a fair amount of hiking, was, might I even use the word, enjoyable.
Not as technical as other sections I've been on, it was a winding, hilly in both directions, run. Yet I was able to settle into a pace of sorts, my mind ended up finding the ability to travel, which for me is a sign of comfort and balance when I no longer have to plan out every next step. The AT, with its deceiving trails and magical scenery, is not for the faint of heart. What can make you stronger can also tear you down, pummel your self-confidence. It could be said that the AT demands your respect.
Saturday's run was a fair start to befriending the AT, I was happy to arrive at the intersection that carried us back to our cars, but I also didn't feel broken coming upon the turn, a feeling I have felt on nearly all other AT runs. At a time where my body feels damaged, the absence of a shattered mind upon completion of a run is a souvenir I will enchantedly treasure.
The best part? I am actually looking forward to meeting up with the AT in the near future.
-Alexis
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