First, find a trail… Since moving to the Netherlands from the US I’ve been able to indulge my passion for trail running without pause. Although the weather here rivals England in its annual number of dreary days, the rain tends to be acceptably light enough for trail running year round. And I’m fortunate because finding nearby trails couldn’t be easier in this country. There are two main footpath systems in the Netherlands. The lange-afstand-wandelpaden bisect the country, and consist of a long distance trail network that intersects the Western European nations of Belgium, France, and Spain. Streekpaden, on the other hand, are local footpaths. I’ve lived in two distinct regions of this country–both fairly rural–and in both have tended to prefer the regional trail systems over the international system. However, both types tend to be clean, well maintained and easy-to-follow. On occasion, the lange-afstand-wandelpaden run parallel to major roadways, and my slight preference for the regional trails mostly has to do with the fact that they tend to be a bit more remote. Navigation to a particular voetpad is a simple task with the aid of a regional bicycle map (the network and quality of cycling trails in the Netherlands is unparalleled — and fortunately so is their documentation), as on them footpaths tend to be clearly marked. However, I rarely use a map (with the exception of long distance bike trips), opting to explore — unencumbered and without direction — while on foot. Next, make sure you have access to water Perhaps 3/4 of my regular runs take place on wooded trails. After spending the last half a year running on local rural fietspads (i.e., cycling paths), I stumbled upon a lengthy stretch of trail in an area that consists entirely of forest, tall grasses, and pasture. I love it enough to return this particular path again and again. My longer runs have forced me to carry provisions–on a two hour (or longer) run, water is a necessity. I generally prefer “out-and-back” runs because they allow me to hide a bottle of water behind a tree or under a patch of bushes–that way, I can give my hands a break by not having to tote water the entire time (I have yet to embrace the use of hydration belts or packs). On my way back, I retrieve it before heading home. Leave no trace I’ve been known to safety pin a plastic baggy to my shorts as a receptacle for used tissues and energy shot wrappers. A greener option would be to sew a couple of pieces of fabric together to make reusable bag (a future project here at Farsighted Runner). But how about reducing the number of wrappers that end up in the landfill in the first place? Good, inexpensive refueling options for long runs include dried (or frozen) fruit and homemade oatmeal raisin or no-bake cookies. Heavy marketing of energy shots and gels makes it is far too easy to forget that these alternative, humble foods are the perfect pick-up when energy levels start to sag. Just make sure not to over do it — I find that a small handful frozen grapes or single cookie is enough. And finally, be nice I came across this useful post at the Kansas City “Trail Nerd”, Bad Ben’s, site. Not only does it reiterate some of what I’ve mentioned here (in terms of leaving no trace behind), it also includes some ethical guidelines (e.g., always lend a helping hand to those who appear in need) and safety tips (e.g., don’t wear headphones if the trails are also accessible to cyclists). So, go out. Find a trail. Enjoy it — just don’t forget to respect it and your fellow trail runners and ramblers, too. |
Posts Tagged ‘running’
At one time (going on several years ago, I might add) I thought that running was for the birds. I suspected that in the human genome there existed a special trait that made strenuous activity fun. And I lacked it. This opinion had evolved slowly over a number of years, but its roots began with a painfully bad experience — that is, my first foray into running. In high school, I had taken up running for mostly superficial reasons — that is to say, I was a teenager and wanted to be sun-kissed and lithe. As ashamed as I am now to admit it, I was more concerned with looking healthy rather than actually being healthy. It was a psychologically low time in which tanning beds and Slim Fast figured prominently. I remember friends of mine — who participated in cross country — suggesting that I take up smoking because it helped curb hunger pains. Although I was stupid enough to give smoking a try, after a few cigarettes my wheezing asthmatic lungs informed me that the stint was over and I had better pursue another tactic.
My father — a man who smoked his first cigarette at age 11 and consequently had a large swath of his lower left lung surgically removed due to benign tumorous growths — blew out a stream of smoke (tilted conscientiously upward, as has always been his habit), and dispensed with what amounted to the first bit in a series of bad advice that I was to encounter on how to go about running. He told me to kick my knees up high. And it is at this point where I feel compelled to share a quick aside on the topic of my father. He’s a man who, incidentally, had been a high school track star of sorts. I know this not because of a childhood spent listening to him reminisce about the good old days. It’s from others that I’ve caught glimpses of this former life. One thing I genuinely admire about him is his modesty — my father is not a braggart, by any stretch of the imagination — but, possessing this virtue also means that (to my mind, at least) it has left him shrouded in mystery. Even today — although we have a relationship completely devoid of the tension brought on by my angsty adolescence – I am keenly aware of the fact that there is a great deal about my father that I still do not know. So, in some respects, it was my father — whose running reputation was built upon his status as the fastest sprinter in a relay team, the “anchor” — that I was trying to emulate when I started running. (That, and as I mentioned before – with Memorial Day and the opening of the local pools approaching — I had rather regrettable shallow ulterior motives as well).
The advice my father gave me was spot on — for someone running the hundred-meter dash. Not for a dilettante such as myself, who had firmly decided to kick things off by running three miles a day, 5 days a week. (This, after having never shown much interest in athletics or exercise.) I would be surprised if on that first day out I lasted even five minutes. I stuck with it doggishly though. Despite debilitating muscle soreness that left me with an awkwardly stiff gait (when running or walking), I continued to put in my time each day. I made a lot of mistakes and paid for it by feeling wretched approximately 100% of the time. I refused to eat properly (or at all), and developed insane cravings which would lead to shameful binges consisting of several heaping platefuls of spaghetti or an entire half gallon of Neapolitan. But — perhaps worst of all — I developed shin splints. Not surprisingly, sometime around my senior year of high school I stopped exercising, entirely and defiantly. I equated physical activity with pain and exhaustion, and in the years to come whenever anyone brought up doing anything that remotely resembled exercise (e.g., cycling a few blocks to get ice cream), I resisted. With respect to exercise, I deflected by enthusiastically borrowing the Woody Allen line “I prefer to atrophy”. This attitude shaped my behavior for the better part of the following decade. Then, in my middle 20’s things changed. Mostly, I had become unpleasantly preoccupied with the realization that someone so young (namely, myself) should feel so very unhealthy.
This new approach — it worked. It wasn’t until I’d been running for a couple of years already that I began to entertain the idea of running a half marathon. Eventually, I worked my way up to the marathon distance. But building up to that too was a deliciously gradual act. My attitude towards running — and, more importantly, my own health in general — changed several years ago. And now when I run, I savor it. |
My approach towards running was one of moderation (by sprinkling at odd intervals five or ten minutes of light jogging into my walking routine), and — most notably — my motives were entirely different. Taking things slow, exercise left me feeling energized, not exhausted and irritable. And, I wanted to be healthy.