From Backcountry Roads to City Blocks
How My Running Environment Has Changed, and What Those Changes Have Taught Me
I grew up running on the scenic roads of central and western Massachusetts for most of my young life. I could talk to myself aloud in that deep state of runner’s high without passing one single vehicle for miles on end. I remember running carefree down the road’s center as my legs carried me beyond cow pastures, aged bridges, historical mills, and peaceful farmland. There were no traffic lights to slow my progress, or cross-streets that required a pause before voyaging onward. And when the pavement got to my knees, I could hit the trails for a bit of relief.
I took those places for granted. I only know that now because sadly I no longer have them at my immediate disposal. After moving across the country to Portland, Oregon, a lot had to change for me to maintain daily runs. Though I live outside the bustling blocks of the city’s downtown area, still I find myself surrounded on all sides by houses, roads, and a myriad of hazards. Trails are hard to come by without a twenty-minute drive across town, and the cow pastures have all but disappeared entirely.
I feel a bit trapped, and for good reason. When life felt overwhelming back home I could lace up my shoes and find some form of quiet escape at a moment’s notice. Out here though, escape is nearly impossible. Even runs through Portland’s vast Forest Park leave me dodging groups of slow-moving tourists and leashed dogs that seem hellbent on clotheslining me behind every corner.
The pavement gets to my knees rather quickly, and trails aren’t accessible through a small cutout in the woods as they once were. Instead I pause briefly at nearly every block to ensure a car doesn’t sweep me down the street. And even when I’ve found the city’s quiet back roads and alleyways, still my attention is focused on the outside world. A car could come up behind me and I’d have to move aside. A barking dog that’s charging through the gated front yard could break free and come for me. Even the homeless have scared the living shit out of me on peaceful runs in the dead of night; they pop out of their hiding places, yelling incoherently.
At the end of the day, I can’t complain. Moving was my choice, and I can move anywhere I choose to find the running solitude I once had if the mood strikes me. Rather than doing something so drastic, I’ve adapted to my surroundings as most of us do. I continue to find new ways and places in which I can enjoy running (I’ll save those tips for another day). Only by running in such drastically different environments have I learned a few lessons along the way.
The first is simply that you can’t take for granted what the world has given you. Though I was young and unassuming at the time, I took for granted the spaces that let me roam free. Those backcountry roads and pastures are now memories that I fondly look back on. The trails that provided my knees with relief are harder to come by in a city filled to the brim with steel and pavement. If you happen to love even your backyard, take the time to remember why you love it, and the benefit it has brought you. Don’t let it pass you by.
Next, don’t assume that all hope is lost. I found myself distraught for some time upon moving to Portland after coming to the realization that I didn’t have easy access to the spaces I admired most. Still though I can drive for twenty minutes in any direction and find those quiet places that remind me of home. Everything may change, but the potential to continue doing what you love will always remain.
Finally, adapt to the changes. I still find those peaceful spaces to run in that make me happy, simply because I’ve adapted. Running in a city has provided me with others to run alongside — something I didn’t have back home. And I’ve come to know the ins-and-outs of my neighborhood like the back of my hand in the process. While I firmly believe there are maybe five reasons in which you could actually use a lemon, still I’ve managed to use the lemons that life has given me.
Despite what I continue to miss back home, I don’t regret making the decision to move for one moment. Only by changing our environments and ‘flipping the switch’ can we continue to grow. Someday I’ll move away, and once again I’ll be reunited with quiet open spaces, blue skies, and a cow pasture or two. Until then, it’s back to the streets. Many miles of concrete lay ahead.
