So still no running for this new author (if you can call me that) but the ankle is better, so maybe friday or saturday a good long run. So back to my running past... somehow, sometime in 2003-2004 I started running, recreational running, and it stuck. Somehow, somewhere, I decided to run a 5k, and then a half marathon, and it was still sticking. It stuck so much, that I inspired my mom to start running, and both of us completed our first half marathon together....but more on that later. I had discovered recreational running, and the joy of competing against nothing and no one. I didn't have the pressure of the start line, or the tough workouts of a track practice: I could go as slow or as fast or as short or as long as I wanted, and no one told me to do it better or faster. Actually, people in my family, and my non runner friends were impressed, and quite encouraging.
I remember my first "long" run (6 miles), and I remember it so well because it was the first time I used running as an outlet, a stress reliever, and a feel better tool. I had family in town visiting. This particular great-aunt was as kind and giving as they come, BUT she was a disaster too. She was pretty demanding, and a tiny bit picky about little things, and it all just snowballed that particular visit. I remember: I had worked hard to clean the house for her, and washed sheets and bedding for her bedroom, went out and had food and milk and fresh fruit, clean towels, it was all set up. When she got there, she asked me to put different sheets on the bed, because she didn't like the pattern on the sheets that were currently on the bed... and after I finished that, I said "I'll be back, I'm going for a quick run."
I laced up, had no water, music, or technical clothes (that will all come later, I was a real newbie at this point) and I started out the back field road, hanging a right at the top of the grassy hill next to the gutter headed toward the old Roger farm. As I turned the corner past the old barn and the old Roger's place came into full view, I took a deep sigh of relief to have left home. I continued toward old Shriver's place, a big, beautiful, sprawling, recreational dairy farm, and just kept thinking about how ridiculous my aunt was, and how much better it was to be out running than dealing with her petty demands. Some appreciation and gratitude for my work was all I wanted....not more work!
I hit the bridge at Jasontown Road, where normally I hung a right and did about a 3 mile loop, but at the last second I just turned left, crossed the bridge onto John Hyde Road, and started up the hill (later called the "Dick Shuffle Hill" by a dear running friend Nannette). That hill SUCKED, and I almost turned around and went back, but then I remembered I had to go back to my aunt, so I kept pushing. At the top of the hill, you look over into a shallow valley with a stream cutting through it, cattle, and an old quarry way in the back. The stream sparkled in the early evening's setting sun, and the grass was just so green! I felt so damn glad to be alive, and healthy, and seeing that sight, that I charged down the hill and didn't realize what I was doing, distance-wise. Eventually I got to the bottom (when had that happened? I was too busy watching the stream sparkle to pay attention to the road) and the intersection at Old New Windsor Road. My first thought: "Oh shit Barnold, what HAVE you done?"
I estimated I had been running about 30 minutes (newbie = no watch) and that meant about 3 miles, and that meant about 3 miles back, and shit, I was NOT ready for a 6 mile run! And plus, if I turned around right then, I had to go BACK up that big old hill (In all my running, I did that only once, and that was lesson enough). So... I thought, well, lets see where you end up, maybe it is shorter to make the loop. So I hung a left onto Old New Windsor, and trotted along a pretty flat road with lovely rolling farms: cattle and grain farms. Eventually I saw Roops Mill Road, and knew that it looped back to the bridge at John Hyde and Jasontown, so I headed that way. Surrounded by fields, jogging down a gravel road, my bliss was suddenly disrupted when I realized I had a BITCH of a hill to climb in about 5 min....my breathing was heavy, my shoes and feet were KILLING me, but I made it. I kept telling myself "come on Barnold, you can take this hill, stomp this bitch, just stomp this hill!"Ever since then, I get a hill, and I tell myself the same thing, and ever since then, I stomp out my hills.
The rest was down hill from there: seriously like a good mile of down hill. I cruised along, next to the stream, and passed by some basset hounds baying out my trespass. The stream and gravel road wove their way into a wooded trail, and it was incredibly peaceful with the birds chirping, stream gurgling, and my feet pounding, step after step. Finally I came again to the bridge, feeling sore, but pretty proud, and realized I still had a mile or two to go... so I cut up Jasontown Road and in through the field road short cut to the farm. The rest of the long weekend with my aunt: completely bearable, and any time I started to get frustrated, I remembered the feeling on my run, and post run. After that run, I started to use the sport as my own personal therapist...which is awesome, because it is a LOT cheaper than a therapist.
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