Trail vs. Road…Road Wins

I guess you could say I’m road hard. Not in that way, but in running terms.

Three Saturdays mornings in a row, I took to the crushed gravel trail at Sand Run Metro Park for my long runs.  Gotta get ready for the Akron Marathon (only the half for me this year given all of the changes we went through this summer) and gotta put in those miles. The thought of running in the woods seemed nearly perfect — I could combine my love of the outdoors with my love of running. So, off I go.

The first Saturday was a 6-miler, the second a 7-miler, the third an 8-miler. The trail is a 3-mile straightaway so it’s out and back, and then a little more out and a little more back to add the extra mileage. The engineers threw in a few curves here and there and the trail offers a gentle yet deceiving incline, but it’s nothing like the Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky hills I’ve run so much I can pinpoint exactly where you’ll find cracks and dips in the sidewalk.

Nope, for six miles you’ve got your trees, rocks, wooden bridge over the creek, “good morning” greetings to fellow runners. And then you’ve got more trees, more rocks, the bridge, pass the runner ahead to keep it interesting, did I mention the trees?, oh, a drinking fountain, “yeah, yeah, good morning to you happy runner blah blah blah.” Repeat cycle until head is exploding with boredom. Skip through iPod to find hardest and heaviest songs to fend off aforementioned boredom. Foo Fighters. Rush. U2. Flogging Molly. Ted Leo. Pretenders (homage to Akron, of course). Some other punk band my little brother, Kevin, introduced me to. Good lord, have I only gone two miles so far??

This Saturday morning, I get up and think as much as I love the idea of running on trails, there’s no way I can do my 9-miler on that trail again. So, I add some road. Through Highland Park, down Portage Path (hurray! a real hill, a really real hill, a hill that rivals Gilbert Avenue in Cincinnati on mile 7-ish of the Flying Pig Marathon).

As our dog, Alice, would say: Hells Yeah!! (if Alice were human, she’d cuss a lot, guaranteed).

I love the road, love it so much I wanted to kiss that asphalt. There are houses to look at, cars passing, a couple of runners struggling through what was most likely their 18-mile training run for the upcoming Akron event. I actually feel like I’m making progress, I’m going somewhere, and I’m running faster than I did on the trail. I’m even happy to feel the old pain in my IT band. And when I actually reach the trail to throw in a couple of miles before heading back home, I’m glad to see the trees. The scenery change is nice and I know it’ll be followed by more road. I even listen to a mellow song, some Van Morrison, and don’t skip a note of it.

My inner Granola Chick is a little bothered that I’m not enjoying the trail stuff, but I’ve decided trails equal walking and vacation for me. When Dave and I head for the mountains, we hike. We walk. We meander along trails and take in the scenery. It’s peaceful and relaxing and not nearly as sweaty as running — with the exception of Angel’s Landing in Mt. Zion whereupon it’s knees-to-nose along a narrow path with nothing on either side of you except a 5,000-foot drop down the canyon.

This runner girl is sticking with the road. Sure, I’ll add a bit of trail here and there but I like my blacktop, my concrete, my sidewalks, and brick streets. Road wins. Now, if only I could find a few more hills.