A trip of any kind – be it by plane, train or automobile – means my running shoes are coming along. I do tend to be indecisive, so while I love packing, it’s not always a simple task. Everything must be laid out, considered, swapped about, packed, unpacked, and repacked better. Except for workout clothes and running shoes. Those are selected, go into their own small bag (I’m a firm believer of giving your sweaty clothes their own dank cave to reside when you’re taking them along for the ride) and are ready first had foremost.
I awoke the first morning in Oregon and asked my host, Mike, where my best bet for a jog would be. He suggested a mile loop around a park, but as I hoped to run for at least five miles, I wasn’t keen on going in the same circle five times. So I improvised and ran down the longest road I could find.
The longest road is a trick of mine for running in new places. Ideally, especially if you don’t run with a smartphone or don’t have the most photographic memory known to runner kind, it’s inadvisable to take turns or deviate from a straight line unless absolutely necessary. Because of course at some point, you’ll have to turn around and retrace your steps. Fewer steps = less getting lost.
About a mile and a half in I had to choose a left or right. I picked left, as there were more early morning garage sale signs that had been put up for that path. From that next long straight road I happily detoured to look at the junk of strangers (faux abalone salt shakers, anyone?) while enjoying cloud coverage and trees that reminded me of the shire. I stayed on that second residential street for the rest of my run, until turning back home. And lost I was not.
Air – crisp. Temperature – almost warm. Drivers – considerate. Coffee – waiting for me (thanks Mike!).