Connetquot: The Recounting of a Nine Mile Inner Monologue
May 31st, 2023
When I arrived at Connetquot River State Park Preserve, I paid $8 to enter. I questioned if it was worth the money when I could have easily run anywhere else. However, thinking ahead to the many trail and park races that I have planned for the summer, I deemed the cost acceptable. After checking the park map, I set out to run the blue loop. I quickly realized that there was a lot more sand than I had remembered from the first and only other time at this park. The oppressive heat and undulating sandy surface would have had me convinced that I was in a desert hellscape, were it not for the patches of tall grass and dead leaves reminding me that this northeastern habitat posed another threat: ticks. I would have been rather disappointed to find any on me at the end of the run and this fear occupied my thoughts for a while.
I approached a fork in the trail. The diamond-shaped trail blaze was blue with a thick black arrow pointing to the right. I followed the way indicated by the blaze, my run completely dictated by this man-made route. Just as I had conformed to the idea that the enjoyment of this preserve had a monetary value, I conformed to the predetermined routes through what once was an untouched forest.
As if the world had heard my qualms about following the blue loop, the sandy trail became more packed and the overhead trees provided more shade. A small consolation prize for choosing to follow the path that Man had created. Great big trees flanked the trail, their trunks seeming to lean toward me as if straining to reach their arboreal brothers and sisters on the other side.
Their canopies continued to provide relief from the sun but my thoughts returned to the ticks. Don’t they have a tendency to drop from branches above? My thoughts remained on these tiny insects until a creature quite opposite in size appeared on the horizon. A horse and a rider approached from a grassy trail to the east. I slowed my running and finally stopped, opting to play it safe should the horse get spooked. Likewise, the horse slowed from its canter to a walk. I wondered if I posed a threat to this animal, as the ticks did to me. Maybe I was just an inconvenience. As the beast sidled closer to me, its tiny human counterpart— the rider— encouraged me to continue running. I did so and upon finding the horse to be docile, I concluded that we were not afraid but rather quite alike. After all, didn’t we both have Man telling us where to go?
I continued on down the trail and eventually my meandering resumed. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground for some time, switching to the side of the trail where soft sand gave way to sun-baked soil. Often, piled sand served as a median between my cheat path and the main trail which would have actually served as better training for my races. Nonetheless, I continued this dance among the sands.
As I neared the halfway point of my run, it became apparent that the path I had taken was all too similar to that of the first time I came to the park. Once again, the blue blaze at the final stretch pointed in a direction opposite to what I had anticipated. And yet again, I chose to follow it without a second thought. A few more minutes down the path had me understanding that I was returning again a different way than I had intended. Was it the subdued memories of the first run which had me taking the same turns or did all travelers struggle to follow the blue loop?
I did not deem this issue to be one worth resolving, so I kept running down the familiar trails. Eventually I came upon a long stretch of sandy trail that held no respite from the unforgiving sun. My thoughts turned to the tank top I was wearing, a small garment from my high school running days. As I peeled it off in one swift motion, I commended myself for putting on sunscreen before the run. I tucked the shirt into the straps of my sports bra and continued on, the loss of the garment doing little to ease my overheating body.
After a brief stint of running on shaded trails, I made it to the sixth mile of my run on a sunny path heading back south toward the start. The last time I had reached this spot with my friends, I remember marveling at how quickly the miles were passing by. My friends acted as shepherds, pulling me and the last dregs of my willpower along with them. This time I was alone, but no less engaged in conversation.
While my thoughts may not have been audible, they still demanded to be heard. I thought about the sand and the ticks and the blue loop and how my feet felt like they were sinking into the ground. As I struggled for purchase against the sandy trail, I realized that this was a mockery of the white sands that many others had spent their sunny days lounging upon by the ocean. It is these people who will ask why I like to run. They are baffled that running can be recreational or competitive, not simply a tool for survival only to be wielded in the most desperate of times.
On this run I realized that there cannot be just one answer to the question, why do you run? The answer is a collection of moments, threaded together by the thoughts flitting by as I run down a trail. The answer is a need to keep up with personal goals. The answer is a fear of falling behind and a need to prove something, even if that something is that my two legs still work.
The black GPS device strapped to my wrist serves as evidence that I have made any of these achievements. The orange app on my phone is how I shout it out to the world, my profile cultivated as if it is a social media account.
I was still thinking of how I might be able to explain this hobby-turned-lifestlye of mine when a group of four people appeared up ahead on the trail. Save for the rider of the horse, they are the only other people I came into contact with. I greeted the young woman at the front of the group, hoping that this would suffice. However, my need to appear friendly got the best of me and I nodded to the man at the back of the group, earning a “How are you?” from him. I responded, “Good.” The word was more of an exhale. After I passed them I did not see anyone else.
The miles did start to tick by, the monotony of observing my surroundings once again keeping me company. Having failed to actually run the blue loop, I was running the opposite direction on the trails that I started on… more like an out-and-back path. The seventh mile became the third one and the eighth mile became the second. The expansive plane of the preserve would not yield a point-to-point run. I imagined folding the plane of the preserve in half, the way I’ve seen a scientist fold an 8.5 x 11 paper in half so that two points on either end of the paper met to demonstrate how wormholes or time travel might work. If the Einstein-Rosen bridge theory were real, I might use it to make my runs easier.
I was nearing the end of the run, thinking back to that one blaze at the halfway point which pointed contrary to what I expected. One arrow turned 180 degrees from its intended direction caused thousands of steps to be led astray. I wondered if the other portion of the blue loop felt sad for the lack of travelers or if it was relieved to not have to bear so many feet trampling its surface. I had finally returned to the initial fork where a park map stood proudly in its wooden and plexiglass encasement, blissfully unaware of the misleading miles. I continued without stopping to check it.
I was on to the ninth mile and quickly approached a decision about my route that could not be made by anyone but myself. Would I finish at the parking lot for nine miles or continue for a longer run? When I finished the run, I would need to turn the switch in my brain back on. No more mindless thoughts and observations. It was not long that I ventured down this path of thinking before I realized that I had it backwards. My brain was more active and my thoughts more clear than going through my other daily activities. If anything, I would need to turn a switch off when I finished my run.
My watch chimed at 9.00 miles in the parking lot by my trusted Jeep and I strode a few more steps before ending the run. I grabbed a towel, water, and rope from the car intent on getting in a good stretch. As I clutched the items in my arms and looked upon the nearby ground, I found it to be full of ant hills already occupying the space. Forced to stretch elsewhere, I picked a spot on the other side of the lot where the critters were more sparse. This way, I might see the odd spider or lone ant before it came too close.
But rather than stretching, I sat cross-legged and recounted my entire inner monologue. I had wanted to write it in a linear manner, with each mile and the accompanying thoughts progressing chronologically. But the thoughts twisted and folded like the 8.5 x 11 paper in my head. I settled on a quasi-linear recounting of the run. No one could possibly know if I got it right anyway. This way I might retain some semblance of control over the run, not remembering it for where the markers directed me but for where my thoughts led me.
I picked up my shoe from where it had been laying as I stretched and tipped it upside down to evict the ant who had claimed it as his new home. I put on my shoes and shook off my towel before returning to the car. Work was not for many more hours and I wondered what I would do until then. Mostly I wondered if my friends would have an enjoyable time at the preserve when they came in the evening.
