My head was pounding a bit, and the idea of running was
being rejected by almost every fiber in my body. I had had a great time at a
family get together the night before. (Maybe even too good.) So, the overindulgence
of food and drink was telling me “Enjoy life. You are on vacation. Relax and
take a day off from running”. I compromised and slept an extra twenty
minutes. Then, as I am apt to do especially on vacation, I donned my running
gear and headed out for my run. My body, however, was not cooperating. Though
this is common for me, the first couple of miles anywhere I run. That first
mile or so, seems to be a struggle.
I came to a “T” and the road and made a right but soon saw
that lead to a highway, so I immediately turned around and headed the other
way. Soon I began a steady climb. This meant I had to work a little harder to
go slower. I ran by an old cemetery which is common on these roads in New
England. For some reason I find these cemeteries quite enchanting. There are
headstones going back to the colonial era plus some in the twentieth century.
It is a local history in one spot. I always look at these places and it is a
collection of life stories that I will never know but somehow treasure. This
cemetery lifted my spirits, and I took a mental note to take a picture of it on
my way back.
I continued and the landscape began to open up. There was a
large field and in the background behind it I could see Mount Belknap which is
not yet part of the famed White Mountains, yet it stands out. I peered to the
side of the road and saw rock walls that were beginning to be overtaken by
Mother Nature and partially hidden, but I knew that they would be there because
this is New England and like the headstones in the cemetery they date back to
the birth of this nation.
There was little traffic on this road, but it seemed that
half the cars that passed by were not cars but pickup trucks. A sign that I was
in a rural area. There were more fields and views, and I was taking it all in.
I spotted a flock of turkeys in one field. The houses were far apart, islands
set in a sea of fields and forests. I started curiously peering into the yards
to see what clues it gave to the type of life that was being lived there. It
felt wrong like I was a Peeping Tom but I was beginning to take in all my
surroundings not just the natural landscape but the people. What was that
house doing with all the firewood strewn on the side of the house? Those three sets
of children’s water shoes on the front steps meant that there was a swimming
hole nearby I deduced. While this was at one time all farmland, I did not
see anyone now growing crops or for that matter any farm animals. They were not
toiling the land to make a living though in a twenty-first century way they
were just as attached to the land.
At one house in the back was a barn with a huge American
flag hanging on the outside wall. If you were going to film a scene for a
commercial that screamed America that would be it. I could see the commercial
now with someone parking their pickup truck under the flag and their trusty dog
scampering out behind them. That is rural America.
Unlike when I am training for a race when I regularly check my watch for my distance and pace, this run was not just about the running. I was running, but my pace meant nothing. The distance meant very little as well, except to let me know how far I had to get back to my starting point. This run was more mindful and was about taking in my surroundings.
All runs for me are good. Yet not all runs are created
equal. On a walk, my sister-in-law asked me my favorite run. I was surprised by
the question and asked her “Do you mean a race?” Because most of my runs
are not races. They are just my daily run, whether I am at home or like I am
now, away. I couldn’t really come up
with an answer. First of all, I really do not have many favorites. I don’t have
a favorite meal or dessert. No favorite
movie, TV show, or musical entertainer. I began by rattling off a couple of
scenic races but knew that on the spur of the moment I couldn’t answer that
question.
Looking back, however, there are two types of runs that
standout. One will be a challenging race in which I am pushed to my limits but
still finish. I love those runs. I feel a sense of accomplishment,
satisfaction, and glee at the end of those races.
The other is a different kind of run. It is like the one I
was on in this New Hampshire country road. These runs are not about the
distance, pace, or difficulty. It is about enjoying being alive and able to
move. Being in touch with your surroundings. I described this once before in a
previous blog – Running
in Strange Places, But it bears repeating. You understand an area much
better when you traverse it on your own two feet. You will not get this same
sensation driving at 50mph or even slowly at 25mph. On your own two feet it is an experience that
engages all your senses not just the sense of sight.
As I headed back, I stopped at the cemetery and took a quick
photo. I pondered the history and stories of the people and the land. For a
short time on the run, I felt a personal connection to this land. I know that
is not possible, since I am a stranger here. Yet somehow it was. I was seeing
this land not just through my own eyes but through the generations that lived
here.
New England is a land steeped in history and tradition. All
you need to do is take steps with your two feet and use all your senses and you
will appreciate it.
