Taper time. Sometimes it is this blissful period where each run feels short and breezy compared to the long build that came before. Other times I feel like I’m busting out of my skin. Alive with energy, nowhere for it to go. This one has been different.
The demands of shooting for a Boston Qualifying time for Missoula meant more workouts, harder paces, and more pressure on my body. I arrived at my taper a little worse for the wear, still struggling off and on with muscle and foot woes and a set of pretty tired legs.
This Sunday for my long run, I planned on one last hard 13.1 miler, my favorite benchmark to test my fitness. Nailing a fast half would give me confidence heading into race week. But that morning I felt not quite dread, but definitely not excitement to get out there and pound out marathon pace miles on tired, slightly tight muscles.
As much as I want to meet my goal, I just decided to let go. I realized I’ve already done what I can do. The best thing I can do now is to stay healthy and show up to the start line as rested and energized as I can.
I gave myself permission. To slow the pace. To shorten the run. To swap out the usual easy, faster out and back on a flat path to a more adventurous loop around the city.
I looked at the trees. I listened to my breath and the breeze. I decided which way to go as I ran, letting the path unfold before me. I traversed some of my favorite running spots, cobbling together a fun little loop I will gladly repeat in the future.
First, I hit the Monon Trail, my running artery. It is my usual flat and fast out and back route, though I go north most often. Heading south takes me past my old neighborhood and then the State Fairgrounds. I noticed the State Fair Midway sign propped up against an out building. I thought about how soon those grounds will be alive with the ferris wheel and twinkly lights, RV caravans, real life cowboys and their beasts. And I’ll make my annual pilgrimage for fried cheese and corn on the cob.
I connected to Fall Creek Trail from there, a curvier route with the occasional rolling hill and creek views. A brief tweak in my ankle flared, so I stopped and stretched, and felt grateful I’d decided to take it easy. From there, I zig-zagged though Mapleton Fall Creek, a neighborhood with grand old homes, some in disrepair, but with such good bones. They’ll all be rehabbed one day, I think.
At the entrance to Crown Hill Cemetery, a herd of 10 deer grazing the grounds greeted me. I bypassed my usual hill route there, the most challenging climb I know of in Indy, and took a chance on a gentler loop. I stumbled upon the Memorial Scattering Grounds, a pea gravel path with graves tucked into old growth trees. For a while, I wasn’t sure which exit my path would lead to (this is not your average cemetery – it’s 374 acres), and I decided it didn’t matter. I’d figure it out along the way. More unfolding.
Cutting through Butler University campus took me down Holcomb Hill, one I often hit climbing. Instead I enjoyed the ease of heading down its tree-lined shadiness toward the Canal Towpath. Saved for last, this crushed limestone trail is soft underfoot and easy on the eyes. Along the canal, turtles waded and sunned. Birds zipped by. The sound of each foot fall on that gravel is a small, satisfying rhythmic therapy.
I thought I might connect back to the Monon, but as I approached mile 10, I realized while I had loved every minute of the run, I was ready to be done. So I just stopped and walked the rest of the way home, feeling content and full of joy.
This was just the run I needed, no more, no less. A pre-race gift to myself.