It’s been a great few weeks of running, including my first week of covering more than 40 miles. I didn’t take on the extra miles intentionally; they just seemed to add up. Though I’m tired and sore (good tired and sore) at the end of most days, I don’t feel as if I’m beating up my body or overtraining; I’m simply enjoying being out there longer. After 5 years of slowly building up strength, I suddenly seem able to take on more distance, and I recover more quickly. I’m not sure if this growth will translate into better performance in races–the coming month will tell–but the true benefit is that my running takes me further and I can explore more territory.
One morning last week, I took a mellow 9-mile run, starting at a friend’s house in West Bath, then diverting onto the winding, wooded paths of the Hamilton Audubon Sanctuary. At one point on the trail, I was startled to hear loud clanking noises from the nearby cove (Back Cove). Through scattered pines, I spotted early morning clammers dropping their catch into metal buckets. They had etched dark meandering lines into the wet sand of low tide. I chuckled, realizing that this is exactly the kind of unexpected sensuous pleasure that running has brought into my day-to-day life.