Super Bowl RunDay

Late morning

After a three-week hiatus due to a bruised knee injury, I eased back into the long weekend trail run with about 90 minutes of Wissahickon traversing. Of course I walked out the door without Brigid's YakTrax and immediately felt the difference after 100 yards of downhill running. The good news is that the weather is finally starting to change around here (knock on wood) and we have been lucky enough to get several consecutive days of mild weather. Keep in mind that mild weather these days is anything over 32F.

The going was slow, but interesting. The downhill portions had me feeling like a downhill skier, slaloming past boulders shrubs. Contrastingly, I felt like an ice climber on the uphill portions, having to dig my feet in the unpacked snow as if I were sporting crampons on Mt Everest. Even the flat portions had enough of a slope so that my footing was never secure. Despite my slow pace, my effort level was high and I would liken it to running on the beach above the tide. Every so often I got a chance to look up at the quiet park and realized how many trees had fallen under the weight of the heavy, wet snow we've been having. There weren't too many people out today, either. Whether this was because of the snow or the Super Bowl or both I don't know, but I did see a few mountain bikers out and it still made me chuckle. I've seen a bunch of them the past few weeks and I always admired the love of the sport that makes someone tackle new terrain and new conditions. But then it dawned on me that I've never actually seen them riding. They are always walking their bikes. Uphill, downhill, it doesn't matter. I guess I have to try it first.

I started from Bells Mill Rd and took Forbidden Drive down to Rex Ave before turning up into the Western side of the creek. I had no music today and wasn't sure what to expect. You become dependent on the distraction, especially when you're running alone, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for the deafening clamor of my own thoughts. But I soon found a rhythm and time seemed to pass faster than usual. I found myself taking notice of the park even more than usual. First, because the scenery demanded it and I found myself more open to absorb my surroundings. Second, because the trails were not as blazed as usual and I found myself dredging my memory for signs of familiarity. It's ironic that I often escape to the park to avoid the monotony of suburban running, while the Wissahickon, especially at this time of year, offers very little in the way of characteristic distinction. Sure there are landmarks, fields, access roads, and familiar creeks, but these make up only 10-20 percent of the park. The rest is a barrage of predictability.

But maybe that's the point. Maybe that sense of certainty allows us to let our guard down, to tune ourselves into what's all around. Who would have thought that simply turning off my music would help open my eyes? The next step is to leave the watch behind.