Adventures

Mishaps, mistakes and misadventures ADVENTURES

Two runners enjoy a beautiful view during the 2017 Afton trail run. Photo by Chad Richardson

BY NATE LECKBAND

After almost 20 years of running, I’ve had more than my fair share of mishaps. Falls, getting lost, bathroom emergencies, getting lost – I’ve experienced all these and more. Although I’m excited to be sharing some of my running misadventures, I wanted to hear from readers. When I asked for stories of running misadventures on social media, many runners reached out to me and I thank them all. With so many great stories, I’ll be including them in this column as a regular feature and I promise to get to as many as I can. Getting lost is a very common running misadventure, so after I share my own tale of being lost in the wilderness, I have one even more harrowing.

Lost in the Woods

In 2016 I found myself in a more precarious situation. On family vacation at the Lady Slipper Lodge near Remer, Minnesota, I headed out for what was going to be an easy seven mile run on a hiking trail in the Superior National Forest.

I ran half a mile on a dirt road, then turned at a sign marking the Superior National Forest. The trail was marked with blue blazes, but after a quarter mile the trail became extremely overgrown. Red welts and gashes were appearing on my legs as I fought my way through underbrush. The blue blazes were becoming hard to see, but rather than turn back, I continued.

After a mile and a half, the trail came to a “T.” I turned right, taking note of the “T” so I would remember to turn left on the way back. The next section was much better. Tall grass covered the trail, but it was pleasantly coated with droplets of rain.

When my Garmin 210 told me I had reached 3.5 miles, I turned around. Since the trail was in better condition, I moved along at a faster pace. As my pace ticked down from 8:00 per mile to 7:30, I somehow missed the blue blaze marking the “T.” When I realized I was past the turn, I headed back toward the “T.” The trail came to a fork I didn’t remember, so I turned right. Unfortunately, what I thought was a trail turned out to be a game trail that ended in a bog of tamaracks. I stopped to walk several times tiptoeing my way through tamarack trees. Every time I slowed down I got attacked by swarms of mosquitoes and deer flies so I tried to keep running as best I could.

Finally, I found some powerlines and planned on following them to the nearest road.

Runners near the finish line at the 2017 Afton Trail run. If you have a running misadventure to share, please write the author, NaTE leckband, at leckbann@gmail.com. Photo by Chad Richardson

As I ran, my heart started to slam in my chest. I fought off the tears welling up – how long would I be running under these powerlines? If I did reach a road, how long would it be until I came to someplace I could call my wife?

Trying not to panic, I kept a steady 8:00 per mile pace. I had a plan, and it seemed reasonable. If I ran another two hours and had yet to reach a road, I would follow the classic lost in the woods advice: stay put.

After ten minutes of running under the powerlines, I spotted a trail. I’d been fighting off tears and praying for about a mile, and this trail seemed like a godsend. It was marked with the Superior National Forest blue blaze, and I had this feeling it would take me back to the T, or at least to another trailhead.

Miraculously, the trail did come back to the T. I turned right, and in another mile and a half I was running on the dirt road back to the Lady Slipper Lodge. I feared the family would be worrying about me since I’d been gone for two hours. Instead, my father-in-law was putting together a puzzle, my mother-in-law was reading, and my wife was playing on the floor with our baby. My brother-in-law, sister-in-law and niece were also enjoying some cabin relaxation.

“How was your run, Nate?” asked my mother-in-law.

“Uh, it was good. I got a little turned around, so I got a few extra miles in.”

No one in the family was surprised that I’d been “turned around,” but my brother-in-law did ask me about my cut-up legs. “The trail was pretty overgrown,” I said.

With that, I changed clothes, and headed out for some fishing.

Although I had been pretty shaken up by the Superior National Forest run, it was nothing compared to what happened to Tim:

Lost in the Desert

Tim Podas from Bloomington, Minnesota

A week before Grandma’s in June of 1992, I was staying in Phoenix and decided to go for a trail run. It was 11:00 a.m. and 110 degrees Fahrenheit, and I was wearing just a pair of shorts and a hat. I headed outside of town and saw a trailhead out in the desert. I planned to run 20 minutes out and 20 minutes back.

The trail split many times and I got turned around when I headed back. Since it was high noon, I had no idea where I was, but I thought that sooner or later the trail would to come to an end. I was running about 7:30 per mile for the first hour, but when I realized I was lost, I got conservative and started running for 15 minutes and walking for five. Three and a half hours later my sunburn started to blister, and I was so thirsty and dehydrated I started choking on my tongue.

Soon after, I started sucking the sweat from the headband from my hat. Then, I decided to go to the highest point I could find. I ran toward the high point and reached the top 30 minutes later. From the top, I saw a house on another high point. It looked about five miles away. So, I started running across the desert to get to this house. I was running by bushes where I could hear rattlesnakes, I saw some coyotes, and I was in tears — I thought: this is it, I’m going to die.

About halfway to the house, I was walking by a bush and saw a gallon milk jug filled with a clear liquid — it was water! I drank half of it because I knew someone left it there for a reason. Feeling refreshed, I decided that when I got to the house I’d have them call 911. No one was home, but their sprinkler was on. I started drinking and rolling in the grass, and when I was finished I felt much better.

I followed the driveway and it led out to the main highway. I ran down the highway and a few miles later I met a construction crew. “Which way to Phoenix?” I asked. One of them said, “Straight down this highway about five miles.”

“Thanks,” I said, and off I went. I ran back toward Phoenix and found my vehicle parked at the trailhead just outside of the city.

Author’s Note: Tim Podas, who has run several Grandma’s Marathons, decided not to run the 1992 Grandma’s Marathon after his atypical five hour long run the week before.

Have a running mishap to tell? Email the author at: leckbann@gmail.com