On the Run

I’m on a brief hiatus from Washington, in California (Sacramento, specifically). I found a trail to go on a run, so I headed over there early before my business here started. In Tacoma it is light at 5 a.m. this time of year. When I got up at 5 here it was still dark, but it was light by the time I drove over to the trailhead.

I could have run to the trail, but I didn’t know how to access it from here. The guy at the front desk of my hotel told me how to get to the closest trailhead. It was behind 24 Hour Fitness, with the trailhead starting in a sculpture park.

The trail was paved and was in the middle of what would be called a green belt anywhere else. I don’t know what to call it here, because it appears that in Sacramento nothing is green the moment after you stop spraying it with water. The Emerald City it is not. I guess you could call the trail a crispy yellow belt.

But that would be a disservice. It is a nice trail, in a natural setting. Signs warn of mountain lions, but I wasn’t worried. This is because I’ve seen a lot of turkeys here, including five that were hanging out on the tiny patch of (actively being irrigated) green grass in the federal building I was working from.

I’ve made it a habit of trying to run when on work travel for the past 25 years. I love it when I find a trail like this one. Running on sidewalks is ok, but I don’t like it when you have to stop at every block

or risk getting hit by a car.

One thing I’ve learned about running new trails. When you head out, you can think, “I’ll just stick to the main trail, ignore the side trails, and then turn around and come back.” Then, when you start coming back, you realize the main trail doesn’t look so main from the other direction, and those side paths that were so easy to ignore on the way out now look like equal, indiscernible options on the way back.

Thus was my lot. I was running back, feeling like maybe I had gone the wrong way, when I got to a bridge that I knew that I hadn’t crossed before. I was lost, with little time to spare, and had already been warned not to be late to the morning meeting. I don’t run with my phone, and my watch does nothing more than count my wandering steps.

Then I see this guy on the trail in front of me. He was shirtless, with wild, long hair and a big beard, and rotten teeth with some missing. He was clearly actively having a psychotic episode, waving a stick around the air in the air and muttering something indiscernible out loud. So I asked him for directions.  

“Excuse me, do you know how to get to the sculpture park?” I queried.

He seemed rather surprised that someone was initiating conversation with him.

“Uh, sculpture park? I don’t know… there’s a big sculpture over there,” he said, gesturing back where I came from.

“That must be it, thanks!” I said, and ran back. He was right. I’d missed my exit and already passed the sculpture and my car. I made it back in plenty of time.

I must say, my guide looked pretty pleased with himself when he pointed me in the right direction and took off running. I think it felt good to him to be useful to someone else. Isn’t that what we all really want?