April saw my wife and I take our second long-distance road trip to visit our daughter, son-in-law, and grandson in Atlanta via a stop in central Pennsylvania to see a Sight and Sound production. It was an exciting adventure and a glorious opportunity to "check the boxes and scratch the map." Let me try to explain.
My daughter and son-in-law presented me with a unique Christmas gift, a photo frame with a running twist. The bottom half consisted of a fairly standard photo frame; however, the top half had a map of the United States. The map had a covering similar to that of a scratch-off ticket for a lottery game; the idea is that once you have completed a run in a particular state, you "commemorate" said run by scratching off the state. I have always been interested in the mapping element of my runs, but other than heat maps on websites, I have never had any opportunity to visually indicate this information. New motivation? It's looking that way.
Target state number one is West Virginia. Our route takes us through West Virginia for a short period on Interstate 81, a thoroughfare we have traveled previously. I do precious little research looking for a park or trail close to our route, figuring I could run at the West Virginia welcome center. We stopped here last year, and the design looked to be a sort of circle that could be run with little interference. Yes, I would look like a doofus, but these fine rest area patrons would never see me again, so who cares.
My memory of the rest area's details could have been better. The walkways had a circular pattern, but they did not connect. I also did not take into account the heavy pedestrian traffic. I ended up doing a lap of the facility via both paved sidewalks and grassy knolls and ended the mile run going back and forth on a closed-off path that led to an experimental garden area. My pace was that of a swift walk, but the deed was done, and West Virginia was conquered.
We spent the night at a hotel on the Virginia/North Carolina border. Virginia was another state in play. I planned to run on a trail that began at the next town over, but I was unsure where to park. When I inquired at the hotel's front desk, I was told there was a trail in the city that started at the local community center and that parking would be no problem. Sounds like a plan.
After a warmup run, which featured a whopping 143 feet in elevation and left me gasping for breath, I found myself in a parking lot behind a courthouse. The trail seemed to end here, so I figured I would just navigate back down the hill and lap the community center's flat parking lot. This worked out great for one mile. Then, I spotted a fellow runner coming out of a wooded area directly behind the building. I wanted to put another mile and a half in, so I blindly headed up the path, which turned into a trail that the woman at the hotel seemed to be discussing. The trail was either crushed stone or dirt and featured areas of inclines, declines, and stretches of flat terrain. I went out about three-quarters of a mile, running adjacent to backyards, a gun range for local law enforcement, and old-fashioned brooks and streams. Four kilometers and 250 feet of incline later, Virginia can be checked off.
Fast forward two weeks, and we are staying at a hotel in Woodbridge, NJ, a state that needs to be checked off. My wife and I patronize a local Thai restaurant and an ice cream shop. All the while, I am sizing up the terrain; the streets are flat and thickly settled, and the architecture looks precisely like what you would expect for this part of the country. With a wide range of house sizes, shapes, and ages, it seems like you could walk back in time just visualizing the neighborhoods. A perfect running scenario.
The anticipation is short-lived. I woke early the following day feeling tired and congested. My wife has been battling a respiratory issue all week, and after putting up a robust defensive blockade, it looks like I have caught whatever she has been dealing with. It doesn't take much to roll over and get a little more sleep.
As we are leaving the hotel, we need to stop for gas. The nearest gas station takes us on a back loop through the neighborhood where I had hoped to run. In the light of day, it was very easily noticeable that the nature of the neighborhood was exactly what I had imagined. You could easily envision people sitting on their front porch in the 1930s, listening to the radio broadcasts of Yankee games, intently hoping that Joe DiMaggio keeps his hitting streak alive. The kids in the 1960s, working on their old cars in the multi bay garages, wondering if Vietnam was in their future. The whole family gathering in the prominent dwelling at the end of the street for Sunday dinner. I missed more than a run; I missed a trip through American sentimentality.
I am confident that I will take a run in New Jersey sometime in the future, barring any kind of permanent injury. I also think that that run will take place somewhere that will not stir up any nostalgic emotion, the sort of run where I contemplate things like pace, distance, and fatigue. It's said that a good run can clear your mind and fill your soul. It can also take you to a place that can only be imagined. "Perfect game!!!"
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