Into the woods

We gathered at the car park. A gaggle of friends intent on running a few miles after-work and off the so-called beaten path.

There is little doubt, trails can be punishing.

We face perils at every turn. 

It's only the second of a four-week series, and we haven't exactly gotten the bumps smoothed over. 

It's not supposed to be easy. 

Although, it wouldn't hurt to plan for the bare essentials.

Like why do I keep forgetting to bring bug spray?

Bloodthirsty mosquitoes, vector ticks and poorly marked trails are the least of our worries. ... We will literally run across fields full of woodchuck holes and happen upon fenced-in dogs who are finally getting the opportunity to run free.

We haven't even discussed the possibility of what to do if we happen upon a bear, or a raccoon or an overly familiar squirrel. 

I push all that to the edge of my mind and lace up. There's nothing quite like running in the woods. 

The shaded quiet of trees overhead give us cover to watch the sky open up with dappled light. We delight to feel soft earth under our feet as we take extra care, avoiding the mounds of lush, green moss and bright orange newts we encounter along the path. 

There's no denying it's beautiful here. 

Our guide, who runs through this place on the regular, points out the local lore. We are happy, sweaty tourists.

He tells us about the Sheep Dip, a trickle of water falling over rocks that feed into a slow stream. That's where the flock would cool off back in the day, he explains. We will have to see Magical Rock another day, since we zigged. Next time, he promises, we'll zag. 

I tried to follow the leader closely as we circled the landscape. Acknowledging that my sense of direction lacked any sense at all. I knew, left to my own devices, I might be here forever.

Which, I told myself, wouldn't be so terrible. I could live in the shady shadows with the crickets and the hop-frogs while the rest of the world burned itself out. 

This is the thought I hold as I try to keep up in the hour allotted for this little jaunt.

The pandemic has changed me some. Where I had once chosen the pest-free tables inside, I now rejoice in the availability of a patio table. I recognize it more as I tackle the hill ahead of me in small steps. It is an easy climb if I keep conversation to a minimum.

The air smells different here. Earthy and sweet. The light looks different, too. It casts a warm shadow all around. As I run up the next hill, my watch reminds me that I am slower than usual, yet I feel like I'm flying. The soft ground absorbs all manner of shocks that would assail. my shins were my feet hitting the pavement.

The hill turns into a valley, and my pace accelerates naturally. 

I didn't see the root that tripped me up. 

Thanks to the forest's earthen floor and its carpet of verdant moss, I barely felt the impact of my fall. I wasn't even sure whether the "snap" I heard came from a twig or my ankle. But I knew exactly what kind of pain I was feeling: The kind that told me I had zigged when I should have zagged. And worst of all, I'll probably be missing this magical place (and its Magical Rock) for the next six to eight weeks.