Same Day, Different Trail

The long run necessitated by half-marathon training effectively wrecks me for the rest of the day. During the week, a three, four, even five-mile circuit does not preclude quickly bouncing back. But creature known as the long run lingers long after my heartrate calms and the relentless sweat breaks.

Shelby Bottoms, site of my ill-conceived first half-marathon attempt, just became my twice a week training refuge until October 11 in Murfreesboro. Leftovers from Hurricane Gustav pounded the humidity into submission – instead of the low 90’s, I started my noontime run at 71,breezy and overcast.

Not that twenty degrees or lack of direct sunlight simplifies a seven-mile run. Feet start to extend, tendons frantically remind the rest of the body they’ve not carried it this far in a while, and despite their useless, men’s nipples chafe uncomfortably against any shirt.

But in a way, I was more ready than before – the always-challenging Franklin Classic ensured it. That 10K climbed into the steep hills outside the city square, then descended for the final two. Organizers ran out of water at Mile 3, always a great sign on an 85-degree morning.

Nor did I struggle through the first three and a half alone. My friend Al told me he knew he found trouble when he expected the next sign to announce Mile 5, only to pass the Mile 4 marker instead. No blow lands harder for a runner than underestimating your distance.

As with the Cumberland River Greenway near work, butterflies make the trail. At times, the colors and crazy wing styles make the occasional monarch look quaint. Trail traffic stays thick – this loop is a favorite of cyclists, rollerbladers and lollygaggers taking in the butterflies. A converted rail bridge spans the Cumberland, opening access from Opry Mills and other points east.

But best of all, the Shelby Bottoms trail doesn’t just stop at some distant point – a one-mile loop brings it back around. Traffic diminishes into alone time for me, broken by the occasional flock of cyclists.

A storm threatened to wipe away these optimal conditions, then backed down. I walked for a bit on the final mile as my runner’s knee flared up, then finished strong and ready to collapse into my lounge chair. The sun didn’t push into the argument until three minutes before I pulled into the driveway.