Читать книгу Why I Run: The Remarkable Journey of the Ordinary Runner - Mark MDiv Sutcliffe - Страница 13

iRun on instinct Ian Perriman, British Columbia

It seems I have weak ankles. At least that’s what I concluded from an otherwise satisfying and glorious trail run through the woods early one morning a few years ago.

I had never been much of a trail runner. I usually found myself spending a lot of time looking down, watching for roots and rocks, instead of taking in what was around me. For me, the uneven terrain was extra work and extra stress, preventing me from getting into a good rhythm. You struggle up a short hill and then try to fight the gravity going down the other side. You go up and down, sideways, turn left, turn right, over logs, dodging rocks, stepping between tree roots, avoiding puddles and mud. So you never relax, never settle into the groove of a good long road run.

But those kinds of challenges constitute a healthy break from the monotony of running the same route through your neighbourhood.

An invitation from an old friend to run through the autumn leaves was too much to resist. Which is why I was up at six o’clock on a Saturday morning, driving through the dark to rural Quebec. The plan was for three men and a dog to take a two-hour run through the woods.

We started out just as the day was breaking. It was a morning to savour: clear and crisp and just below zero. At any time, this would be a spectacular route, but in autumn, it was even more special. We were basically running on an enormous bed of leaves. It made the trail less evident, but thankfully my friend had run it many times. The sky was perfect, the temperature ideal and I was quickly warmed up and enjoying a comfortable pace.

The challenges of the route made the time move more quickly. Another benefit of trail running is a relief from the pounding of a road or bike path. In autumn, the leaves can make for an especially soft landing. But what lies beneath can pose problems; the leaves are a clever disguise for rocks, roots and soft spots, and this quickly became a problem.

My experience from a few previous trail runs was that if I don’t land with a flat foot, I can easily stumble or turn an ankle. With alarming regularity on this run, I found myself recovering from minor stumbles. I found it particularly common when I was running downhill. I would stretch a little bit to get over a root or a branch lying across the path and when I landed on something unexpected, with the force of my stride plus a little extra gravity, I paid a price. I ended up on the side of my foot, feeling a sharp pain in the ankle, plus a little shot of adrenaline and a jump in my heart rate.

What you fear most is an injury – a sprain or worse – that will sideline you for weeks. You lurch to the side, almost wipe out completely, then regain your balance and hobble for two or three steps. And then it becomes clear that the pain is passing and no major damage has been done.

For some reason, this seemed to happen to me about four times as often as to my two running partners. They were both almost as good as our four-legged companion at navigating the terrain.

After it happened a few times, it became harder to stay relaxed; unfortunately, that apprehension can make it more likely to happen again. If you’re tense, you don’t react as fluidly. When it happens a few times in the space of a few hundred metres, it can become very frustrating.

But that didn’t overshadow the benefits. Here I am, I thought, a few minutes and an eternity from my home, drawing in clean air and working up a comfortable sweat, and with good company.

After a while, as on any long run, the conversation gave way to a comfortable silence. The sun was peeking through the trees as it rose over the hills, illuminating the wet terrain. The leaves beneath our feet changed from a mixture of yellow, green and brown to a brighter combination of reds and purples. It was as peaceful as anything involving exertion can be. A rhythm settled in and there was only the gentle sound of feet on leaves, the occasional twig breaking.

Until I disturbed the calm by stumbling once more.