Bored with running the usual 2-point-something miles around the lake, I decided to leave the paved path and run on one of the many trails that branch off the main loop. I prefer sprinting over jogging any day, so this was a fun diversion; finding solid footing and avoiding branches is much more exciting than timing your breathing to your footsteps. So when the trail looped back onto the main paved loop, I quickly ran off onto the next trail I could find. This one, however, wasn’t so well beaten, and so before I ended up in the middle of no-where, I slowed, spotted some walkers on the trail, and dashed off towards them, bursting through the branches and back onto the path. A hill rose up to my right, at the top of which was a pavilion with a faintly discernible line of roots and dirt leading up to it — and so I ran to the top as fast as my legs could take me. Now, I had been running for a little less than 2 miles at this point, so when I made it up to the pavilion, winded, I decided to just walk back to my car, all the while searching for other bifurcations that wouldn’t put me too far from my destination. Imagining what I thought was a trail, I rushed off into the wooded area, crashing through branches and brush. Once or twice, I got caught on something, but kept moving forwards. Emerging, I took note of my surroundings and check my arms and legs; a thorn in each hand, a scrape on my arm, and a droplet of blood on my knee; a small price to pay for a whole lot of excitement.

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