Guest Blog written by Paula Kiger
We have a popular trail here in North Florida. The “St. Mark’s Trail” starts at the southern edge of Tallahassee and goes south to the point where the St. Mark’s and Apalachicola Rivers merge, at the tiny town of St. Mark’s. In the past, the railroad shuttled cotton from the plantation belt to the coast, to be shipped to textile mills in England and New England. Now the former railroad bed shuttles runners, bikers, inline skaters, walkers -- anyone (canine or human) wanting to put one foot (or paw, hoof, or wheel) in front of the other. Even today, a horse trail runs parallel to the paved trail).
I have visited the trail on and off during my 30 years living here in Tallahassee. There were a few inline skating expeditions in college; one (just one!) cycling attempt pulling a toddler carrier when my teenager was little; a bit of recreational running; a few 5K’s; and an 8K. The most memorable 5K was the one where I won the “snail” trophy (it was literally a snail) for coming in last. My family laughed at me, but honestly I treasured the little ceramic snail for years, until one of its antennae broke off and it eventually disappeared during a move.
While training for my September 2012 half marathon in Massachusetts, I visited the trail as many times in two months as I had in the past 30 years! After one disastrous run here in Tallahassee that was hot, hilly and miserable, I adopted the St. Mark’s trail as my home ground for half-marathon training.
I woke up as early as possible on the Saturday mornings when my coach had assigned a long run, trying to get out of the house in time to be at the trail at sunrise. That part never quite worked out, but I was still a member of what I would consider “the early crew.”
What a boon to my training it was to have a course that was:
- A. equipped with restrooms
- B. shady
- C. flat
- D. easy to measure (because of the mile markers)
- E. populated by familiar faces (I never ran the trail that I didn’t get a “way to go” or other encouragement from a fellow local runner)
- F. traffic-free (except for a few road crossings)
- G. interesting. I will never stop wondering what would happen if I actually patronized the home that has a sign saying “Willkillyacounty Merchandise Sold Here.” (Willkillya is a take-off on the county’s name, Wakulla)
- H. conducive to losing myself in an audiobook or awesome playlist
Once race day arrived on September 16, the road through Boston, MA, was devoid of anything southern. The Atlantic Ocean conjured up thoughts of sailors and sea salt; bands played, crowds cheered, and impatient motorists lined up waiting to get “their” road back.
I was up north geographically, but this runner’s half marathon foundation had started down south, on a trail thousands of miles away. A trail where even a snail could find a comfortable pace.
