Most runners have had incidents of wild beasts or, even worse, untamed people during their running journeys. I’ve had people yell expletives at me and throw things like beer bottles and cans in my direction. But two incidents put me over the edge.
One early morning at dusk, I was not even a half-mile from home when I approached an intersection. I was just moving off the sidewalk on the right side of the road. I saw a car approaching from my left turning right but didn’t quite make the turn. He jumped over the rumbled median and came directly toward me in my lane. I had to race to the curb to get out of the way. I looked directly into the driver’s face and he was completely stone drunk. I watched as he nearly bounced from curb to curb as he drove away. I lived in my first starter home in a fairly nice neighborhood of working class people. I was in grad school at the time and I wanted to build equity instead of losing money on rent. My street led back to a not so nice “projects” that always concerned me. People would stop in their car right in front of my house with the subwoofers booming. They would eat their fast food and then politely dropped their trash into my yard. But I still cherished my home. So I ran home from my near collision to make sure my home and my wife and dog were OK. He could have swerved into something or someone special to me.
Another early morning with only the streetlights illuminating my path, I was running away from home again. This home is my current home in a very nice neighborhood with very nice neighbors. I call it Pleasantville since nothing can possibly go wrong. People are polite, they pick up dog poop, and wave hello to relative strangers. We are mostly University folk or other professionals in our community. But, as I cross the tracks into an older section of town, I pass through a thoroughfare of sorts. It is a two-way street that is double wide for parking along the side, only nobody really parks on the street. So, I am on the right side of the road again, even though I’m usually on the left. But when I feel most safe, I run on the right. It was a wide road. A car was approaching with lights on from the opposite direction. It stayed in its lane the entire way, that is, until it got to me. There wasn’t another car anywhere to be seen, yet he swerved all the way over forcing me to race off the road and roll into a fence. I could see what looked like two older males. They must have had something against runners or society in general. It was obvious that they were hell bent on being mean that morning since there was no reason for them to turn into me.
Those two incidents were the icing on the cake. It forced me to swear off of roads completely. I’ve run in all of the lower 48 U.S. States and Hawaii and abroad. And these bozos ended my road journeys. I already preferred trail running, so I hung up my road shoes for good. That’s not to say that I haven’t had experiences on the trails. But animal encounters, stinging nettles, and cactus are not out to get me. Evil people are just evil. In backpacking, they say the most dangerous parts of the trail are trailheads. Miscreants are too lazy to go far down a trail. Its only the idiots who sit at trailheads who are out for no good.
I love the trails. I enjoy sharing with friends, but I prefer to go alone. All I hear is the wind in the trees, babbling brooks, birds singing, and the pitter-patter of my running huaraches or bare feet. I have this connection with the trail that I love. Its led me to ultramarathons and experiences that nobody gets to see but me. I’m obnoxious that way. I know others have seen it, but I imagine in my dreams that I am the only one.