I cross the street, tuck into a partially hidden trail that snakes behind the neighborhood houses, and vanish from the asphalt running world. Fallen tree branches criss-cross the first few meters of this particular trail, which starts just a few tenths of a mile down the street from my house. I hop-skip over some of the limbs, while others require more careful navigation. The branches snap under my feet. Sometimes, when I land in just the right way, they ricochet upwards, and smack my legs. I relish the feeling. My legs are alive, moving, feeling part of the natural world.
After traversing the opening section, the trail opens up to a mix of single and double track lanes, lined at times with leaves, soft moss, or pine needles. At other spots, the trail exposes its sandy bottom, reminding me that I have the luck of living just a few miles from the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. The sun makes geometric patterns on the earth’s floor. Ferns bow down over the trail, adding color and coolness, while pine cones add texture and make me long for winter. There are moments when I hardly believe I am just a mile or so from my home, so shrouded am I within these trails
These trails aren’t long, and to run them, I have to double back a few times. But, they are mine, so I don’t care. I never see anyone else on them. It’s like no one else knows they exist–well, no humans, that is. When I hit the trails early in the morning, the high-pitched song of the locust mixes with bird calls, squirrel barks, and the snaps of twigs as animals scurry. I add the sound of runner’s breath to the morning symphony.
Boxer turtles, alert, snap their fleshy parts inside their protective shell as they hear and see me coming. No matter how many times I see turtles, I delight in them every single time. Ooh! A turtle! I almost squeal to no one but myself.
I run through spider webs, apologizing to the arachnid for ruining it’s breakfast, which is now stuck to my sweaty limbs. I feel the brush of grassy weeds and realize that I am most likely covered in chiggers. No mind. It’s late August. I’m trail running. Chiggers happen.
The trail twists and turns, and I can feel my body’s core muscles adapting and helping my legs to make the quick transitions. As I warm up and relax into my rhythm, I feel at times like I am flying through the trees, being caressed by the air as it carries me along the trail. I’m torn between enjoying the freedom of running fast and the desire to run slower and soak in the energy from the trail.
I hear the sounds of the neighborhood and know that this trail run is coming to an end. I duck under a low hanging branch, step onto the concrete sidewalk, and rejoin my neighborhood.
