by Casey McGuire

Not that I would call my self old, by any means, but every year it seems, I get about a year older (coincidentally funny note – I just had to increase the font size of this to see what I was typing). I have been trail running for a few years, and I do plan for many more ahead.

It does seem like the speed and distance runs are typically going to the young guns though. I read articles about the trail running youth and their pleasant outings of 6 and 6 and half mile paces for 50 miles. These are the guys that come barreling down a hill at 25 miles an hour and ram trees with their faces. They stop to wipe the blood from their noses, and are only bothered by the amount of time the tree knocked off their pace.

This isn’t at all to say that our youth is in great shape. I am referring to the top names in those articles I read about trail runners.

I was on a trail a few years back, and some young buck passed me as if I were standing still. I thought little of it, as my pride was crushed into the ground like a frail rose petal. Okay, I guess I thought a lot of it, but I ended up seeing that guy about five minutes later, leaning up against a tree for support. He was looking as “athletic” as possible while leaning, but the hyper ventilation gave away that he might have started out of the gate a little fast for his condition. Mended my rose petal nicely too.

On that same trail, about six years ago, I passed this older gentleman one day. I had just changed up my schedule and was running at a different time than usual. This guy kind of caught me off guard. First, he was older, and I was still somewhat clinging to what youth I had left, and only naïve and ignorant for it. Today, I’m just an older naïve and ignorant man. Second, this trail wasn’t treacherous, but it was pretty rough and rocky, and this guy was out about 3 miles on a switchback already.

After a few weeks with my same schedule, I passed this same guy about three times a week. More accurately put, it was exactly three times per week. I would pass him on the way up, and on the way back. One day, I just eased up beside him and started a conversation. For this story, I’m going to call him Jack, because that was his name. I asked Jack about his running. He intrigued me, and I’d think about him for a couple miles each day I passed him, so I just felt I should hear what made this man tick and tock.

Jack told me he ran 3 times a week for 8 miles a run. Always the same trail, and had been doing it for years. Though I didn’t ask, he told me he was 76 years old. I have no evidence, but I’ll bet he’s probably older now, and I’m most certain he’s still running on that trail.

Passing Jack was inspirational, but after passing words with him, I was impressed, and it gave me a great new insight toward trail running. I don’t aspire to be 76 any time soon, but I hope like hell that if I make it there, I want to be hitting the trails still. And, if I’m incontinent at some point, well, I just hope to be dirtying trail running shoes along with my shorts.

Though I blame my parents entirely for the genes I have, I realize I’m not going to win any major events in trail running with them (the genes or my parents). I am aware of my limitations, and though always content with them, they are still fun to push. I do what I can.

For me, trail running is somewhat of a dichotomy; it is to constantly move, and aggressively at times, while at the same time to be markedly relaxed. It is something to enjoy while exploring both nature and the body, through keen physical awareness.

Jack taught me that just being out there is truly enough. As I get older, I still plan on hitting a few races, tacking on an extra mile here and there, and bumping up my speed a bit now and again. Improving is always fun, but just being out there, at my own pace and doing my own thing, is the unassailable concern. I just want to keep going.

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