When we moved three years ago, one of the most under-appreciated aspects of our new neighborhood, for me, was the trail access to a local reservation right at the end of our street. Suddenly, I had no excuse not to try trail running. Except for the mud and snow.
Once winter came, I did what I always did and headed down into the basement for a season for running on the treadmill. I actually really don’t mind the treadmill, but it can become monotonous month after month.
It would have been nice to escape onto those trails again, but I was always worried about slipping or pulling something with little traction in the ice or mud.
Just one of those days this morning that no route that popped into my head had me excited to run. Even with the recent days off due to the this (slowly) improving cold, nothing felt right. I was also struggling to come up with a purpose for the workout beyond just the miles. I didn’t want to really push it with progressions, intervals or hills and risk backsliding on this cold. Nature eventually provided the answer: trails.
A trail run was just what the doctored ordered. It would get me out of a rut, away from concentrating on pace and still give me a good workout.