...does he make a sound?

by Andy Croley


On a cold Sunday morning in January, I headed out with the grand idea of running 14 miles along the Chubb Trail (west of St. Louis) in preparation for my first ultra marathon, the Double Chubb 50K. The temps were near freezing when I took off, and I quickly noticed the ice-covered ruts on the single-track trail. It was warmer the day before, so mountain bikers were probably out in force enjoying the muddy terrain. Now frozen, this created a challenge for my footing that I wasn’t accustomed to as a road-runner.    

The trail was quiet. It led down near a railroad crossing and into an open meadow at the Castlewood Park Loop trail. I ran this loop, then reconnected with Chubb Trail, and followed the Meramec River before reaching another meadow and the Prairie Loop.

Keeping an eye my mileage, I decided to turn around at the Allen Road Trailhead, just beyond the second meadow and loop. When I reappeared at the Castlewood loop, my legs were tired from the uneven terrain, but I was feeling good about hitting my 14-mile goal.

Entering the loop, I heard a train in the distance. The tracks were located on a hill along the right side of my route. Through the tree line I could see the engine and train cars begin to pass.

For the first 9.5 miles, worried about balance and traction, I paid close attention to the varied terrain—frozen bike tracks, black ice, occasional tree stumps and rocks. The passing train cars and the sound of the engine through the trees were truly captivating. I had the forest to myself to enjoy this moment. My eyes were up and looking to the right. It was strangely peaceful.

My wandering mind, and the childlike fascination with trains, got the best me though. Damn train. It was a little something like this…

My entire body hit the ground. The speed with which I fell may have been record setting. Even landing on my side, the wind was knocked out of me. My right hip was in pain; it made perfect contact with a very large rock on the trail. My right shoulder, and the water bottle I was carrying in my right hand, was covered in mud. Apparently, I tripped over a tree stump. Damn train.

Even knowing I was completely alone, I attempted to recover as quickly as possible. What fall? I’m totally fine. I started to laugh at myself, but after only 4 steps, the pain in my hip changed my laughter to a mumbling grimace. I stopped running to really assess my injuries.

My hip hurt. Considering I hadn't seen anyone on the trail in the last hour, it was safe to say I was on my own.  Feeling embarrassed, as well as mad at myself, I skipped the rest of the loop and lightly jogged the 2 miles back to my car. I probably referred to myself as an idiot about 100 times during those 20 minutes.

A few days later, various ugly bruises appeared, but my ego recovered. I found humor in this story as well as a lesson or two. I was even able to relate to my six-year-old daughter, tears streaming down her face and knees scraped, from her own running fall. Even grown-ups like Daddy fall sometimes, and we still get back out there and keep running.

As I continue to train on the trails, I’m likely to fall again. Maybe a real squirrel or deer will be my excuse next time.




Check out more stories by Andy from his profile on our Contributors page!

by Erin Croley

My Chicago Marathon journey began with the dream of a Boston qualifying personal record, and ended with me crossing the finish line one hour over my last marathon time (not even close to Boston, or anything I’d like to acknowledge publicly). 

In between these extremes, I was injured, slowly rehabbing, vacationing, working, supporting the marathon training of my husband, falling way short on my training goals, experiencing small positive steps forward and mini-victories that gave me hope for my health and Chicago, and then eventually, and very publicly, claiming that I absolutely was not going to complete the Chicago Marathon. 

by Erin Croley

Unofficially, I'm taking a stretch break. Officially, I'm freaking out. My chest feels like an out of rhythm college hippie drum circle, my quads like each kid is sitting on one, my right knee like a thick jello is holding it in place, my left heel like it's been fossilized or petrified. It's my birthday damnit. All I say I want is a peaceful morning run, but what I really want is to not feel like I'm failing at this too, like my body isn't breaking down. 

A physical ailment would have an easier fix though, because what is likely more true is that my mantra of strong mind, strong heart, strong body is really less of a mantra and more like a desperate plea. I haven't felt like my runner-self, or any kind of myself for 7 months, and I was reminded of it again today, just like last weekend's Go! St. Louis half marathon and really September's Nashville Women's half marathon if I'm being honest, when for the first time my stomach let me know something was off with my body. I haven't been able to control that queasiness yet.

Maybe control is my real issue. Between giving up my career to stay home with my kids and venturing into the unknown of part-time consulting and freelance writing, I don't really have any control anymore. Either I need a little somewhere or just need to learn to let go completely. My body might display the symptoms, but my Go! St. Louis mile 12.5 hyperventilation (see the graphic) is evidence that a lot of my problems are in my mind.

by Tracy Wynant

I am very new to this “running” thing.  I can’t say that I’m enamored with it, but I can see the health benefits of doing it, I’m proud of how far I’ve come in this journey, and I know that it’s helped me become more health conscious and physically healthier over the past few years.  I have to MAKE myself go out and run.  I don’t ever think, “Wow, I really want to go for a run”.  I haven’t had the experience of the runner’s high, nor do I feel at peace while I’m out there.  I usually think about how much further I have to go until I’m done!  Geez, listening to myself complain about it, it’s a wonder I’ve stuck with this exercise program.