We’re settled into a regular running routine now. The neighbors’ eyebrows no longer mime the St. Louis Arch upon our passing. And their rhetoric has tread from the incredulous to the more specific if mundane, “How many miles today?”
We hosted an NRGE group run at the Bar None a couple of weekends ago. As we were lightly crunching the limestone it occurred to me that over the last few winters it was right here that I would drive to for my runs. El Parque Estado Dos Rios is a gem in the winter (as is Chalco Hills). The Parks Dept. do a great job of keeping their roadways near perfect. Both have multiple loops that are immediately groomed and suitable. The drivers like cookies.
But it is the miles on the country roads that make up the bulk of my winter training. Not the chunky, ankle wrenching gravel. Rather the crushed remnants of commerce and daily life. Providing footing, precursor to speed of any type, and confidence of stride, this is training after all.
I once went to visit my Uncle Bob. Flew to Dallas. Took a prop to Lawton. Rented a car to Indiahoma. Took a 4 wheeler to Post Oak Acres, ran out of service road. Hopped on a horse for the 2 hours to Medicine Creek. Got there and the water was too high so had to tie up the nag and proceed on foot. Trudged another 6 hours over rock and ramble, torn by bramble, starving, near exhaustion. Finally reached his shack, tucked deep among the foothills of the Wichita Mountains. On the front door was this sign:
“GONE TO THE COUNTRY”.
Everything is relative to our own experience.
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