I am a trail runner. Before I even knew there was a name for it, I was a trail runner. The first time I remember running on a trail, I was eight years old. My family moved out of the city to a trailer park in the country. Other kids roller- skated or rode bikes around the circle of trailers that created our neighborhood. But circles were not for me.
I had heard the trail led to an old railroad track and joined other trails, so I abandoned my bike and followed it. I remember kids warning me about the Maco Ghost and hermit who lived in the woods. But I wasn't scared. I belonged there.
Today, 32 years later, I still love trails. I can't resist them. I am a trail runner, even though the warnings persist.
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Don't you worry about being attacked?"
"Didn't you see the sign about copperheads?"
"What if you fall and break a leg?"
I laugh and explain that, no, I am not afraid. I have a better chance of wrecking my car on the way to the trail than being hurt on the trail.
I take precautions. I carry a cell phone. I run at times when the trail will be most populated, and let my husband know where I am going. But I am not scared.
I run to let go of the stress of parenthood and to feel my body responding to the ups and downs of the ground. I run to feel my heart beating faster and the burning in my legs. Often, I run just to see what is down a particular trail. Will there be a stream or a railroad track or a dilapidated house beside a pond? But I never run without a sense of gratitude for the trail, where it leads me and the gifts of peace it has given. I am a trail runner, and I am not afraid. I am a trail runner, and I always will be.
Ann Brennan lives and runs near Annapolis, MD and is the author of the Ann's Running Commentary at http://ironann.wordpress.com.
