When you really love something, it’s all good even when it’s bad. I feel that way about a few things, and fortunately running is one of them. Otherwise, I’d be sorely disappointed with my race today.

As it is, I’m just sore, though only in a few particular places. I ran a fantastic eight miles, but the Soapstone Mountain Trail Run is a 24K (14.5 mile) course. I walked the rest of it, so my finish was rather unimpressive.

Still, it was a great day to be out in the woods.

The skies were cloudy all morning, and rain kept falling, on and off, but the air stayed just cool enough for comfort and keeping the bugs down. Even walking, I didn’t get chilled.

Soapstone is in the Shenipsit State Forest in Connecticut, a short haul over the Massachusetts border. It’s a fabulous course, one of my favorites so far, and I look forward to doing it again next year. It’s a loop, rather than out-and-back, which is nice for variety’s sake. It’s technical enough to be fun and interesting, but there weren’t any really scary sections. Most of the descents could be taken at a good scamper, and while there were plenty of hills, there was only one big steep climb.

The start was blazing fast, along a dirt road. I hung at the back of the lead pack for a very short while, realized I was way out of my league and dialed down a notch. Still, by my own humble standards, I was flying.

I’ve been trying to bounce back from strained hip flexor all year, but I was feeling pretty good from the get go. I recently got a new, prescription-strength anti-inflammatory and I had my first PT appointment last week.

Soapstone – the first seven or eight miles, anyway – was the first race I’ve done this year where I could run to redline. I was hauling, and felt as though my legs could have carried me faster still, if only my lungs would keep up.

The course was muddy, thanks to a week’s worth of rain, but that was no big deal, at first. Somewhere around seven miles into the course, we came to a really nice stretch where we ran through a brook. Not across, mind you. We ran with the flow, in a stretch where the stream joined an old farm road.

Alas, I was so focused on washing my shoes that I missed a sharp left turn into the woods. Coming out into a field, with no blaze or ribbons in sight, I stopped and called out to the fellows behind that I had deep doubts about our chosen path.

I had already warned these guys I was prone to go off track; they’d caught up to me after I’d paused earlier to be sure of my way. Still, the trail seemed clear and they thought it best to carry on, so we did. We ran down a gentle slope along the side of a grassy meadow, and then back onto the old farm road, which soon turned into a graded dirt road. We realized we'd run astray when we saw houses.

Several other runners were able to learn from our mistake as we headed back. Sheepishness loves company, too.

The extra distance was certainly a blow to my morale, but I was eager to fight back and make up time. I also was cultivating a berry-red blister on the side of my left foot, however, and I was starting to feel the shortness of my slumber (I pulled the night shift Saturday, and the 9 a.m. start required an early rising).

I tripped a few times. That’s what did me in. I kept myself upright, but my sore leg began to throb. I tried slowing down, but after a while it all got too discouraging. My right leg just refused to keep up with my left. I started thinking about the marathon I plan to run in two weeks, and how completely out of the question it would be if I let my leg go from bad to worse. So, I started walking. That felt better, so I kept at it.

At first, I was confident that I’d made the right decision. Then people – lots and lots of people – started passing me. I wasn’t real happy about that, but running still didn’t feel like the thing to do. People kept asking if I was OK, and I’d nod, thinking dark thoughts. Eventually, I got over it, and just enjoyed the trail. I jogged every now and then, but mostly I just walked. Even Michelle couldn't coax me to keep up. Toward the end of the race, I kept company with a guy with a sore hamstring who seemed to be hurting about as bad as myself. He, too, pulled ahead and passed me later. I jogged a bit more toward the end, and then slowed to walk at the finish, and tried to smile for the cameras. I’m not sure I managed it. I have no idea about my finish time. It must have been over three hours.

Results were posted pronto on cool running, and I see that my estimate of three hours was pretty close. Not bad, considering I walked more than a third of the course. Michelle was among the many runners who beat me. She was kind enough not to say so, but I think she enjoyed that, and I'm happy for her.

I didn’t feel much like sticking around afterward. We headed off, stopping for coffee at the slowest Dunkin’ Donuts we’d ever encountered, and bought a bag of ice for my leg at the funkiest smelling 7-Eleven I’d ever entered, both in the otherwise lovely town of Stafford.

I can’t honestly say I’m happy with my race, but I’m not overly bummed about it, either. I got some great speed work early on, then had a nice walk in the woods. A guy could fare worse on a rainy Sunday morning.