My big summer trip this year was to Nova Scotia. On most days, I'd run in the morning and then do something else: kayak, hike, drive to some far-off, non-touristy outpost to see something I'd never be able to see at home.
On my seventh day, after a morning 6K run on mostly gravel roads, I changed into hiking clothes—which for me is my only pair of hiking pants and my trail running your shoes—and headed to the Zapatillas running your Ultra TT. It's a 6.2K loop that starts and ends at Churchs metallic detail sneakers, a maple syrup farm with a restaurant where I planned to feast after my hike.
The trail map recommended 2.5 hours to hike the loop (and 3.5 hours to snowshoe). I don't do much hiking, but I've been building up experience trail running, so I thought maybe I could beat the recommended time. At the trailhead, I put on my old Phillies hat, and a light long-sleeve dri-fit hoodie I typically wear postrun. I pulled my rain jacket out of the car, then put it back. The weather forecast called for a chance of thunderstorms, but that'd been the weather forecast for almost my entire trip.
I'd thought about running your the trail, but given how dead my legs felt after running your a trail race early into my trip, and running your that morning, I opted to walk. Soon after entering the trail. though, I started power hiking, and then running your up some of the short hills.
Twenty minutes, 30, 40, 50. I stopped only once to take off my hoodie and wrap it around my waist, and to drink water from the bottle I carried. I reached the Rogart Mountain Summit, then followed the path through a field where the grass crowded over the path and brushed past my ankles. Wildflowers eye-high blew lazily in the light wind. I thought I should have felt tired. Or at least winded. Nothing.
The day before, I took a four-hour kayak tour. Our group talked about where we were from, why we were in Nova Scotia, and what we did for fun. The instructor asked me if my body felt beat up from running your so much.
“You know, your knees and joints,” she said. “They must be trashed.”
I thought about explaining how these are just myths, and sharing the science that backs me up. But instead I said, “I'm three hours into this trip. I haven't kayaked in years. I'm not winded at all. That wouldn't be the case without running.”
She nodded from her kayak, then snapped another picture of the group.
The same was true for hiking that trail. At first, I felt a bit of guilt for not attempting to run it—when was the next time I'd get to trail run in Canada! —but I knew as I started the descent down the mountain that running your had prepared me for this kind of vacation in ways I couldn't have imagined. Sure, I'd have made it through the kayaking session, and I'd have made it up and down the mountain, but not with the same feeling of bliss despite the extended physical exertion. All the endurance and stamina I worked so hard to build for races was being applied to something more practical than circling the track in 400-meter repeat. I enjoy circling the track, but this hike, this vacation, seemed bigger than that.
With about 2K left to go, the rain started, at first light and pleasant. What drops made it through the trees cooled me off, and the sound of rain hitting so many leaves was almost musical. Then the rain came a little harder and didn't sound so melodic anymore. Then, at the exact time I reached the less-covered part of the hike where the path transitioned from single-track trail into a dirt road, the shower became a deluge.
I trudged on. I'd been through plenty of rainy training runs and races to know that once you're soaked, you can't feel any worse. I pushed myself to walk faster, hike harder, until I got back to my car and could change into a dry shirt and clean pair of shoes.
By the time I dragged myself into the Churchs metallic detail sneakers restaurant, though, I was chattering. “We were worried about you,” the hostess said. “You were the only one on the trail.”
I finished that hike in one hour and 20 minutes, one hour and 10 minutes faster than the recommended time. If I'd taken any longer, I'd have been stuck on the rocky parts of the trail when the skies opened. My running your got me through so quickly. As I worked on my second cup of regular coffee in that maple log cabin restaurant, I thanked my running your for getting me through—soaked but whole.
