Getting Hooked

Meeting the Trail Dogs in the Summer of 2011

“Start a blog,” they said. “But who will want to read what I have to say?!”... I guess we’ll find out.

So, here we go. My first post. This feels weird. Hmmm, where do I even start? This feels almost as weird as my first time tagging along with the “Trail Dogs” for a lunch run in my red cotton cut off t shirt, basketball shorts, and shiney new shoes.

I ran into a Vetran Trail Dog, Mark, one day at the company gym who saw me out running the roads around the building by myself. Mark told me there was a great group of people that would go out regularly at 11:10 and they’d be willing to show me around the trails just outside our complex. Sweet, I love running, and now I’ll meet some friends to run with! ....if only I could keep up. But I ran ~5 miles regularly on my own or at home with Andrew after work, so I can hang, I thought.

The next day, I showed up a little before 11:10 in the corridor and waited eagerly. The “Trail Dogs” appeared right on time. I can remember specifically John and Rene (aka Sam - not sure where that nickname came from) were very friendly and happy to have me tag along. They planned to do the “Ridge Loop” (apparently all of the trails have names). These guys looked about double my age give or take, so I became confident I could hang. We jog out of the tunnel, exit the turnstiles and trot along the flat gravel trail leading out to the main trail head with the “Iron Mike” statue standing there welcoming us. “Ahhh this is going great!” The guys were chatty and welcoming - “Yay, new friends!! I love this!!”

We come to a giant log bridge with a guide rope to cross the river - “Now this is fun! Who knew this was even here?” We carefully traverse the bridge like acrobats on a balance beam and head off along a single track trail.

.. not even a mile in, I’m falling behind, tripping over roots and rocks, struggling up hills, sucking wind, dropping F bombs. “Who are these guys? And how are they so fast?” Oh, now we are casually leaping over logs and small creeks, “Sure - I got this. NBD”. Next we were knee deep in mud - “Great, my new shoes are douched 😣”. Alright, time to navigate through some overgrown thorny bushes and 8ft tall bamboo - “WTF? Where the hell am I? The jungles of Vietnam?!” My legs are scraped and bleeding, my red cotton shirt is stuck to me and sweat stained, and these guys are making it look easy, laughing and chatting away!! How?!

It was at this point I made the wise decision to retire from trail running, assuming I made it back to the building alive. It would be a short career, but hey, at least I gave it a go. It just wasn’t for me...

I made it back to the gym. I looked down at my battle wounds with a slight sense of pride. I excitedly showed the guys the blood dripping down my leg, “Hey, check this out!” Rene shook his head - unimpressed - he said, “Doesn’t count unless it hits the sock.”

Defeated and humbled I thanked the guys for showing me the trails and hit the locker room. My skin was irritated in the shower from all the foliage that had relentlessly attacked my legs. I took off my previously brand new, now caked in mud and smelly shoes and cursed the stupid cut that wasn’t good enough to drip all the way down my leg onto my sock.

I went back to work and thought, well, guess it’s back to the roads or treadmill or whimpy feel good workouts…

And then a message from Rene pinged on my desktop: “So... see you tomorrow?”

….“You bet your ass!”