First, running on the trial seemed to provide me a (slightly?) more rigorous workout than running on Forbidden Drive. The terrain on the trail varies far more than on the Drive: instead, for example, of long steady ascents where I can set a pace and maintain it for several minutes, the trail requires me to be more attentive to my pace--that is, to listen to my body. Running the trail, then, is changing how I think about my running while I'm doing it.
Second, I've come to understand why it can be easier to start my run on the trail rather than to finish it there. If, as I did this past Wednesday, i run the trail after already having run three "easy" miles, I find that, after a mile on the trail, the amount of effort I have to make increases noticeably. This may be a result partly of taking advantage of the easier part of the run and expending too much energy. And while I'm capable of running such a course--easy first, then hard--the psychological game becomes more challenging. I want my runs to remain enjoyable; if my is not to develop mental toughness (which has its place!), then it's better for me to run the more difficult part of the course early.
Third, running on the trail forces me not only to pay close attention to the ground itself but also to be careful about the split-second decisions I have to make about speed. The first, easy, lesson I learned was that I could only look at my heart monitor when I had a smooth stretch before me. Otherwise, I had to keep my eyes fixed on the trail. IAt some points, even more attentiveness is necessary, for example, when encountering a particularly rocky segment or one through which run many tree roots. The greatest challenge comes from running on rock formations, especially when these are slippery as a result of a recent rain. I ask myself, do I run these or not? If I choose to run, I know I have to be extremely focused and to think about every point where my foot will next hit the ground.
Fourth, I wonder if running as narrow a path as the trail contributes to my sense of balance. On much of the trail, I don't have the luxury of a seemingly endless flat surface beneath and on either side of me, so that if I, say, lose my balance, I can easily recover without going off-course. Not that I lose my balance, but perhaps the subconscious neural mechanism that regulates this sort of thing gets more of a workout.
Fifth, and finally, as I've watched small forest critters dart across my path, I've come to understand that, to a chipmunk, I am the Sasquatch.
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