Making the Case for Solo Runs

[Listen to an audio version of this blog here.]

The first time I climbed a mountain, I had only been a resident of California for a few weeks. I went with my ex-boyfriend, our flatlander quads burning as we strained our way up 4,000 feet. The peak was hard-earned and glorious. The next day, our legs ached and we marveled at how the mountain challenged us in a new way. We were both former Division 1 runners; we knew pain, we just weren’t yet familiar with mountain pain.

Over a year later, I started trail running, slowly and cautiously exploring the mountain ranges in Southern California. I got lost too many times to count, underestimated how much food or water I would need, over-dressed and under-dressed, and eventually found myself a running partner, who I ran with every weekend. We pushed each other, encouraged each other, and picked each other up. Having a good friend to share mountain miles with made remote landscapes less daunting.

As time went by, I grew more adept at running down technical trails. I started falling less and noticed my quads grow thicker and hard with muscle. When that friend moved out of state, I started running more on my own. I missed our constant stream of chatter and the companionship we’d found. I missed knowing he’d be at the trailhead waiting for me to arrive, and I missed our belly laughs. But having to run by…