My friend Rachel told me not to worry about the snakes. She ran those hills in Phoenix’s northern suburbs most days and had never encountered one.
She said if I was that worried about it (I was), then I should carry a small rock. If I saw a snake while running, I could throw it between me and the snake. Snakes are ‘fraidy cats, apparently, and feeling the vibrations they will slither away in fear.
That settled, we head out for a quick early morning “snake run” near Rachel’s house. It’s desert country. All red rocks, cacti, adobe houses and (potentially) hungry reptiles lying in wait behind every boulder.
When I wasn’t looking out for said snakes, I was gawping at the landscape. Even the sky looked different. Surely it’s not that high up back home? Is it always so far away? And while gazing skyward I’d stumble on rocks and remember where I was. Snake country. Watch out.
Despite the alien countryside and the fact I was sweating fear, there was unusually, also a sense of “ahhh, home”. It had been non-stop donuts-for-breakfast-pizza-for-tea since arriving in the States a week beforehand. I’d been on token runs since – around New York’s Central Park, up and down Washington DC’s Constitution Ave – but nothing substantial to even begin countering my calorific USA Holiday! diet. And certainly nothing as wholesome and outdoorsy as a trail run.
I felt I was back on familiar ground with my beloved sneakers on my feet, and pacing out that ingrained rhythm of one foot in front of the other. My heart was pumping and I was taking in lungfuls of early morning desert air.
It was such a boost to my energy and mood levels. I won’t start preaching here. If you’re a runner, you get it. But as usual I started wondering how people could NOT start their mornings like this. I saw a warning sign at the start of the trail. Oh yeah, the snakes. Got it.
Mandatory pre-run reading
That be my concentrating face.
runningwithabook 