The hazards of trail running.
“So, Bill, you want to hear a funny story?” I ask over the phone.
“Yeah.”
“Ten minutes ago I was ready to call and tell you I was completely lost in the woods and needed help.”
It all started with a simple trail run in the Hawaiian hills.
Several months earlier I’d been researching good hiking/running trails and happened across a website for a park in Aiea. It had a 4.8 mile loop around the Halawa Valley and I’ve copied the description below:
“This hike is not strenuous but involves some gradual uphill climbs with a steep switchback and stream crossing at the end of the trail. The trail may be muddy with sections of exposed tree roots. Give yourself about 2.5 to 3 hours for the hike and enjoy the plants and the sound of birds around you.”
It sounded perfect for a budding trail runner like myself, just long enough to get in a good workout but not so long or technical that I couldn’t finish it. I noticed that they told people that hiking it took 2.5 to 3 hours but assumed that half that time was sight-seeing or enjoying “the plants and sounds of birds”.
The Aiea hiking/running loop starts and ends in a state run campground. The only caveat to running here is that the gates to the campground are locked at 6:45 p.m. No big deal. It was, however, on the other side of the island from where I live but I figured one of these weekends I’d get over there and give it a shot...
I had plans today that took me to the ‘leeward’ side and I packed my running gear in the hopes that I’d have time afterwards to give it a shot. I printed out the directions, mixed up a couple bottles of Gatorade, and set out. Hell, I was thinking that if it was early enough I might even get to do the loop twice. I did a difficult trail race two weeks ago and though my pace was slower I was still running a 10 minutes per mile. The math is easy, 4.8 miles = 48 minutes. Even giving myself an extra 12 minutes, I should have been able to complete the loop in an hour pretty easily. I was confident, too confident.
I arrived at the park around 4:45, the sun was still high in the sky and the temperature in the shade of the large trees was perfect. The first warning sign that this simple trail run was going wrong happened shortly thereafter. I looked all over and finally had to ask directions to where the trail started. A maintenance man pointed me to a dark corner of the park where there was a tiny little sign and a trail almost invisible to the naked eye.
Thankfully, before I set out I grabbed my hydration belt. I’d been debating over whether or not I should take it. Did I really need it for an hour-long run? If I made it back quick enough to enable a second loop I could just stop by the car and get a drink. I decided that because I hadn’t done the trail before I’d play it safe. I topped off the two little bottles and set out.
Then I got my second warning sign, also unnoticed at the time. All of the hikers I saw on the trail were breathless and asked how much further it was. At this point in the run the trail was very gradual and their weariness seemed a little extreme for the minor difficulty of the terrain. Whatever, I thought, and continued on.
About a mile later, feeling good, I suddenly came to a fork in the trail. Both trails looked about equally well worn, there were no signs or guides… What the hell? Following the motif for the day, overconfidence, I assumed they all went to the same place and took the trail to the right.
About five minutes later I came to a second fork, though both of these trails seemed far less trail-like than the one I’d been on. Again, I took the one on the right.
Five minutes later I dead-ended into a chain link fence.
Twenty minutes of backtracking later I arrived at the original fork and took the one to the left. It turned out to be the correct trail and not the right one (If I couldn’t laugh at myself this would be a terribly boring existence).
Very quickly this simple run was turning into a headache. Not only had I already gotten lost, I wasn’t even positive that this was still the same trail I started out on. The doubts started to creep in.
The run itself was nice, though far more complicated than it’s description had implied. Large areas were washed out, trees had fallen over the trail in multiple places, and the entire thing was muddy and criss-crossed with animal trails that were nearly as well traveled as the main one was. If a runner wasn’t careful, there were also times that the thin trail turned 90 degrees on the edge of a large ravine.
I kept glancing at my watch as it started to get darker out. I’d been running for nearly an hour and, though the sun hadn’t yet set, the visibility in the dense woods was starting to decrease.
It’s all right, I thought, I’ve been out for about an hour and must be getting fairly close to the end. That is, if I was still on the right trail. My sense of direction had been thrown so completely out of whack by all the switchbacks and turns around the valley I wasn’t even sure I was heading in the right direction anymore.
Then I came up on a pair of female hikers. I asked the first one if she knew how much further it was. She looked around, and smiling, told me that I was about half way there. I checked my watch again, 5:56.
It began to dawn on me that it’d taken an hour to make it half way and if I didn’t finish the second half in less than forty-five minutes than I was going to end up sleeping in my car, locked into the campground. Well, I could live with sleeping in the car but taking another wrong turn in the dark woods… I briefly wondered how long my remaining Gatorade bottle would keep me alive in a survival situation.
I sped up, flying recklessly over downed trees and mazes of exposed roots.
Every once and a while there would be a downhill just long enough that I would get my hopes up that I was approaching the end. Then the trail would turn back upwards and I’d start to wish I’d decided to carry the flashlight that I’d brought but thoughtfully left in the car.
In the midst of this craziness I realized something odd. I was having fun. More than that, I was having a LOT of fun. It was a race against the darkness, a race against time, and if I didn’t put every ounce of attention I had into where I put my feet I was going to end up at the bottom of a ravine.
It was awesome. If someone could bottle up that mix of adrenaline, fear, and excitement they’d make a billions. I imagine Olympic downhill skiers would understand this version of living on the edge, the speed and the barely maintained control.
All at once my aches went away, my energy returned, and I started to really push myself. The next twenty minutes passed in a blur.
More sections of the trail were washed away. Several times other trails intersected with mine, the correct path obscured. Still I continued on.
At 6:25, the light mostly gone, I was composing the conversation I would have with Bill:
I’d say: “Hey, I went on a run up in Aiea and I’m lost in the woods. It’s dark. I decided not to bring my flashlight but at least I have some swallows of Gatorade left in one of my bottles.”
He’s say: “Ok, where in Aiea are you?”
I’d reply: “I started out on a trail from the park… but I don’t know if I’m still on it. I might have taken a wrong turn a couple miles back.”
Bill: “…”
That was as far as I got in the mental discourse. One moment I was running through dense forest, the next I was stumbling out of the woods next to the restrooms. Laughing, I ran back to the car and managed to scuttle out before they locked the gates for the night.
I pulled out my phone and made a call.
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