It is a bit past 6 o'clock in the morning in the Walnut Creek Nature Preserve off North Lamar in Austin, Texas. I am running through the trees with a Camelbak handheld with water and Black Diamond head lamp to light the way. I am loosely tracking the faster runners, those who are likely to finish near the top of the pack in races. Behind me, and on the far end of my hearing capacity, I hear the chatter of the slower runners. My pace is strong and solid; my breathing is directly on point; this is shaping up to be a fantastic run. Although I don't know the trails as well as I would like, and rather than waiting at intersections to ensure I'm going in the correct direction, I make turns as I seem to remember them. Unfortunately, these turns were the wrong choice and suddenly, I find myself alone, the sound of chatter has disappeared, and it's just me, my headlamp and water, and the whistling of wind through the trees. Trying to retrace my steps, I run back to where I thought I'd made a wrong turn. Instead of finding my group, I find myself more turned around than I was before. After yelling out into the darkness without a response, my anxiety peaks. As I'm straining my eyes and ears, I see a headlamp bobbing through the trees. Another runner has finally come along; after explaining the situation, he agrees to let me tag along until we run into my group or until the parking lot is nearby. As I drove home later, and while considering the dodgy nature of the neighborhood and happenings in Walnut Creek, the dangerousness of the whole event became more apparent. So, in the future, I either run faster to keep up, or fall back at an easier pace.
