Ten Hour Long Walk | A Recap

by Chase Parnell — October 13, 2021

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Author’s note: I believe this is the longest post (5,000+ words) in Treeline Journal’s history so don’t start reading unless you have some time and are in the right mood. There is more detail than what is needed, it’s excessive, but so is walking for ten hours. If you are one of the brave few to read the whole thing, let me know what you think in the comments below. Cheers.

Since dropping out of the Wasatch 100, a point to point one hundred mile foot race through the mountains east of Salt Lake City, I seem to be entering a contemplative phase. My motivation to get back to training ebbs and flows and I’m trying not to fight it, I’m letting myself do whatever feels good and interests me enough to get out the door.

Last week I found myself thinking about why it is I even run at all. I know, how dare I say such a thing. But seriously, it’s worth thinking about. Am I sure I even know why I run? And am I really sure that I still love it? These are frightening thoughts for a life-long runner, a personal identity that has outlasted all others. I got into youth club running when I was maybe six or seven years old, and apart from a three year party-boy stint in college, I’ve ran my entire life, at least 2,000 miles a year every year since 2008, maybe earlier. So it’s automatic, the daily run is sacred, it’s burned into my DNA by simple repetition, and yet now I’m finding myself thinking about why I even do it. It meaning moving my body forward at a rate of speed, where at some point during my stride, both feet are off the ground at the same time. With walking, one foot is always touching the ground. So why have I chosen to pursue the one that’s nothing more than an accelerated version of the other? Because it’s a sport? Because you can travel farther? Because it’s more fun to go fast? I don’t know. What if my interest in those aspects have waned? Because let me tell you, I do enjoy walking. And actually, when I think about my happy place, my mind always goes to a slow putz through the fells in England’s Lake District. I think about plodding for hours on end through this enchanting and rugged landscape, pausing often to take in the views, identifying the flora and fauna, and finding some sort of peace there. Why am I dreaming about walking instead of dreaming about running in the alps or doing epic loops here in Oregon.

Maybe I should go walking?

Planning and Logistics for the Long Walk

I just sort of spat out the idea to my wife Nikki the other night, I’m thinking about going on a long walk on Thursday. Okaaaaaay, she responds. I’ve gone on short walks on occasion when I just don’t feel like running, but I’ve never planned a long walk in the history of our relationship. I told her I was going to walk for ten hours. It was a completely arbitrary length of time, but double digit hours felt big enough, like something grand. It actually felt pretty comforting, the prospect of getting to be outside for a long day out but without the pressure of having to run.

Another element in play here is I’ve been obsessing about urban planning, public transportation, bike lanes, pedestrianism, and things of that nature recently so I wanted to integrate those elements into the walk. I’ve also been making an effort to decrease my reliance on the automobile so there was sort of no question that I was going to do this walk from home. I could utilize the city paths and sidewalks and urban connector trails to get onto public forest service land and link some trails and dirt roads up the lower slopes of the Cascades, and then boomerang back into town. So I go on Gaia and start playing around with 30+ mile routes. I figured three miles an hour average for ten hours would get me 30. Hakuna matata.

The above was the planned route, which I stuck to with only minor deviations. I would later consider why I decided to plan a route at all, and I guess it was because route planning is engrained in me from all my years of running. I don’t think it’s necessary but because I’d be going deep into the woods, it did provide some security in knowing where I was supposed to go. In the future, however, I might try a different approach. How would it feel to truly wander aimlessly?

Another aspect of this outing that appealed to me was the prospect of doing it in a minimalist style. With a 10 hour run, I’d probably carry a couple soft flasks of water and 12-16 gels, which at more than $2 per gel, that’s actually a pretty expensive run! For the walk, I figured I wouldn’t need as much water so I brought a single 1-liter Katadyn soft flask with a built in filter. I knew of two streams along the way where I could refill. The high temperature of the day was forecasted at a pleasant 75 degrees so I wasn’t overly concerned about hydration. I went to the local Market of Choice to pick up food because eating gels while walking didn’t make much sense, although after the fact I wondered if I could’ve used the electrolytes. As the standard male barbarian that I am, I decided to buy one pound of trail mix. I did the math, there were 15 servings in a pound and 140 calories per serving so in that little bag I’d have roughly 2,100 calories to carry the day. Pleeeeeenty!

So that’s literally all I would have in the Patagonia running vest, a liter soft flask and a zip-lock bag with a pound of Cascade Trail Mix. The extra space in the pack would be needed when shedding layers and the headlamp. The night before prep was laughably uncomplicated. I would wear normal underwear and shorts with regular pockets, a semi-technical tee-shirt and longsleeve, a light houdini jacket, a hat and headlamp. I’d wear my Hoka Torrent 2s, the same pair I wore when I dropped out of Wasatch.

Through Town in the Dark | miles 0-5

I intended on getting out the door by 5am but only managed a 5:20am departure. Pretty funny feeling to be heading out on a walk. And you know, I could be calling this a hike but with so much flat terrain, no real arduous ambitions, and because about 10-12 of the miles were through town, it’s a walk. I’m calling it a walk. I timed it so that the sun would just be coming up when I hit the trails of Shevlin Park, which gave me about an hour and a half of darkness to manage as I traversed the cityscape.

I quietly locked the front door, donned my headland, and cracked a cold brew coffee to enliven the body and mind. Within 50 meters of my house I’m able to hop on the Coyner Trail, a neighborhood paved path that cuts towards downtown Bend. It’s short-lived, however, as it ends at a round-about on Franklin & 8th Street, maybe 3/10ths of a mile into the walk. I take a refreshingly quiet Franklin Avenue west, I pass Juniper Swim and Fitness club and the Safeway that sits on the corner of Franklin and 3rd Street, Bend’s busiest and most congested thoroughfare that runs north-south through the entirety of town. If I were to make up a stat, I’d say 80% of all crime in Bend happens within a quarter mile of 3rd. Under the cloak of night, I wondered if I might stumble onto any nefarious activities, but other than a woman’s drunken screamy slur near a couple RVs parked on 2nd Street, nothing too wild happened. Although in reality, I still hadn’t crossed the gauntlet, which is the underpass where Franklin crosses the Bend Parkway, the high speed option that runs parallel to 3rd Street and sends motorists north-south but at a considerably faster speed. There are these narrow little dimly lit tunnels that must be passed through, typically laden with fresh piss, trash, and a sleeping body or two. I chose the north side tunnel because it’s typically less trafficked. That said, I did watch a man shoot heroine under there a few years ago. I walked by him and he could’ve cared less that he had a spectator watching his blood pulse into the chamber of the hypodermic needle, swirl with the drug like a candycane, and then shoot into his vein as he delicately pressed the plunger with his thumb. It was, as they say, a trip.

The watch dings, I’ve travelled my first full mile in 16m 32s and it feels like a very casual walking pace. I’m already thinking 30 miles on the day will be easily reached. I intentionally didn’t bring headphones for music or podcasts. No distractions, I wanted to think and feel everything the day would bring.

Now in Downtown Bend, I set the cold brew can on the ledge of a trash can knowing that a homeless person would find it and exchange for ten cents up the road at the Bottle Drop.

All is well physically apart from a slight tenderness in my right shin muscle. No idea where that came from but I would feel it for the first 20 miles or so. Beyond downtown is Drake Park, a gem really, old growth trees, lots of open space for the community and a nice path lit by old-english style lampposts. I cut through the park and cross a wooden pedestrian bridge that I’ve crossed a million times. I pause at the middle and look up at the stars, genuinely happy to be out on an adventure that feels both unique and within my current comfort zone given all the existing life circumstances.

After making my way through Drake, I link up to Newport Ave, which will take me all the way to Shevlin Park where I’ll touch dirt under the feet for the first time. I got into a nice flow on Newport, mind was positive and engaged, thoughts revolved around urban planning and all the nuance of the streets and sidewalks, from painted symbols and bike lane widths to curb heights and lighting choices. It’s all pretty fascinating if you take a second to notice all the working parts of a stretch of road.

Coming in and out of some very noticeable frost pockets, I only mildly regret not bringing gloves. I had my hands pulled into my sleeves and my hood up (no beanie or buff on the ears). I passed Newport Market, Ace Hardware, Chevron gas station, Anjou Spa where Nikki and I got a couples massage once, my new employer Central Oregon Community College, the mormon temple, the turn off to my parents house, and beyond.

About a half mile from Shevlin Park I clicked off the headlamp as just enough light illuminated the way. It felt like a generous transition. With it, the body would inevitably start to warm up and the nature esthetics are always welcome. The final stretch of path (shown below) winds its way through classic high desert brush and grasslands before transitioning to dirt and dropping down to Tumalo Creek, a tributary of the Deschutes River.

Zenned Out Effortless Nature Bliss | miles 6-15

Once I hit Tumalo Creek, I go to dip my bottle and couldn’t help but think about the news that a woman drowned in the creek the day before. Glad I had a filter. It was many miles upstream and it’s not like her body was decomposing in the water or anything, but the tragedy of it all was hitting home in that moment with the water acting as a strange conduit. She freaking DIED.

Once I leave the creek I know I’m entering a stretch of trail with little variation for many many miles, a perfect space for unobstructed thinking. I was looking forward to having a lot of time to contemplate life, where I’ve been, where I’m headed, and try to dig some hooks into some sort of grounding next step with my running and life.

I’m not kidding when I say the terrain and environment here lulls you to sleep. It’s ponderosa pine, dusty singletrack, and manzanita for days. Very gradual sloping terrain with essentially no views to be had in any direction due to tree coverage. I actually ended up spending a lot of this time thinking about future walking trips I could do. I was early in this one but having a lot of fun and enjoying the process so naturally I’m already planning my next. One idea I had was to bike the 60 miles to the nearest train station, hop on the train to Portland, Seattle, San Francisco or some other well-established metropolis, do an epic long walk through the city, like sunrise to sunset, and then return home. What might I find? Who might I meet? What might I see? I could take crap photos, tell the tale, and publish it here. Would anyone read that? Is anyone reading this? Are you there? It doesn’t matter. It would be a fun quest, an opportunity for discovery and self-actualization. You can’t place a value on that. It feels self-indulgent for sure, but then again, people spend their time doing all sorts of silly things, you know, like sitting in a tree-fort for days to shoot an animal with an arrow. I mean, if that’s a valid and respected use of one’s time I don’t see why walking around just to see and think is any less valuable. I’ll pick up some meat on the way home at a grocery store.

As I’m thinking about these long walks, the runner in me is of course a bit on edge, as maybe you now are too. Okay, what are you doing here Chase, are you really considering trading in your long runs for some long walks? I push back a little, thinking again about the endless training cycles with long run after long run of running miles with no real purpose or intention other than training for performance at a race. Am I sure I want to continue that cycle indefinitely without question? I think about the Timberline Trail, a 40-mile circumnavigation of Mount Hood that I did with a friend just a few months earlier. That was satisfying, that was fun, that was good, that is something I want to do again. And yes, it takes a lot of training, a lot of less inspired running to build the fitness to pull off something like that, so what if this foray into long urban walks or urban/nature combo walks is simply a supplementary diversion? I continue to run and do races, but maybe fewer races. Again, we justify airfare, hotel expenses, we take vacation days and the whole nine yards for a race, so why wouldn’t I be similarly intentional for future big adventures that really only matter to me, without the big stage or sanction of a race organization. I think a 12 hour, 35 mile walk around Seattle’s varied landscapes and urban centers would be just as formative if not more so than a race. I mean, we’ll see, right? I hope so. We have to be open to trying new things. Even this long form mess you’re reading now is an attempt at something different: how many thousands of words does this story deserve? Maybe zero thousand.

Eventually my floating brain is brought back to the present when I reach the Green Shed, capital G capital S, a middle of nowhere historical remnant from another time, a well known landmark in the community of Bendite outdoor enthusiasts. It might actually be a portal to another realm, an alternate reality, another time. I’ve opened the door but only once. Big nostalgia.

Green Shed also signifies the end of my time on the Mrazek Trail, after which I would need to navigate more closely with my Gaia app to piece together some forest service roads to take me to another crossing of Tumalo Creek near the Skyliner Trailhead parking lot.

The Dog and Existential Crisis | miles 16-20

After following the line on my Gaia app for a bit I find myself in familiar territory, the 4601 dirt road that we run during shoulder seasons. Of course I’m noticing things about this dirt road that I’ve never seen before because I’m, you know, walking still. One sort of hilarious thing is that one of the houses out there has one of those tiny roadside libraries. I mean, there might be a total of a dozen houses within a ten mile radius. True believers.

It was here when my day would take a turn from thoughtful and positive to something else, something a little darker. This is what happened. A white mutt of sorts that looked a bit like a wolf materializes out of the trees lining someone’s property. Honestly my instincts told me to pick up a stick in case it was aggressive in some way. I thought about these runs in Costa Rica when my running partner (a local) would routinely have to pick up sticks at certain junctures where he knew dogs would harass him. Associated thought: one of the scarier experiences I’ve had was running into a mangy pack of dogs on some rolling backroads of rural South Carolina. Mean and hungry.

But this white dog here was not aggressive, at least not with humans. It was hunting. Anything that moved he darted after: squirrels, birds, deer; jumping, pouncing, sniffing stumps. Boundless energy. At first it was sort of a nice distraction, watching this canine doing it’s thing. I mean, I was sad for the animals it was attacking, a clear outsider, a non-native species making terror. And where the hell was its owner? Anyways, the dog came and went but I started to notice that it would pop back out on the road and sort of pause until it saw me and then it would go back to chasing something. And then it dawned on me that I’d picked up a companion and we were getting further and further from the point that it materialized. Wonderful.

Okay, not that big of a deal, this isn’t the first time in my running career that I found myself with a tag-along like this. In fact, I think in highschool we had a dog join our team for a half a dozen trail miles or so and then it just turned around and went back from whence it came. And that’s what I figured would happen here. But the stakes were a little higher, see at this point I was walking along Skyliner Road, which has a speed limit of of 55mph I believe so naturally cars are zooming by much faster than that. I had to be on this road for about a mile before connecting up with the Phil’s Trail network which would take me all the way back to Bend. And this damn dog was still hunting and jumping around and whatever, racing from one side of the street to the other, only barely pulling up to see if cars were coming. I flinched two or three times as it seemed like a road kill situation was imminent. And then of course these freaking drivers thought the dog was mine and got all sassy-like after slamming on their breaks. All I do is shoulder shrug, Not my dog foo! I proceed.

I’m telling myself that if the dog gets hit, I’m not going to feel bad about it because it’s the stupid owner’s fault and how this is just another example of dog owners in Central Oregon being negligent with their animals, ignoring the rules, and making the community around them pay for their nonchalance. But then of course as this dog has a couple more near misses and I’m just walking along about to watch it happen, I think about how it’s not the dog’s fault that their owner is a dumbshit and let’s it run wild without any tags (I checked). Thankfully for my conscience, the dog beat the frogger game and we made it back onto the trails. But all the while I’m still sort of cursing it because it was taking me out of my flow. I had a good thing going, deep thought, feeling good, some exciting ideas, and now I’m just distracted by this dog coming and going.

I even tried to flip the script somewhere in there, saying to myself, there must be a reason why this is happening. What is this dog supposed to be teaching me here? Is this my grandfather reincarnate? Is this a sign? Is this dog supposed to mend my relationship with domesticated animals after it being ruined by all the obnoxious behavior around Bend? I mean, it was being loyal in some strange way, or it at least felt safe to leave its home and follow me on the trail. So I’ll say maybe a tiny bond had formed in the preceding hours. The grinch maybe experienced the tiniest glimmer of Christmas magic.

Eventually, after maybe three or four miles of it tagging along I reached a dirt parking lot where mountain bikers seemed to be congregating, starting and finishing their rides from this access point. I loitered around a trail map sign to see what the dog was going to do. I almost LOL’d when it started to follow these two mountain bikers. I wanted to sprint in the other direction to make sure I was relieved of my dog-sitting duties, but then after a few minutes they came back and asked me if it was my dog and I was like, nah man, nah. Their actions here triggered an ah-ha moment, thinking that I too should have turned around with the dog when it first started following me. Found its owner? But WTF, why should I ruin this blissful walking meditation to return someone’s dog? And who knows where it even came from? Clearly, my guilt was already kicking in.

Mountain biker 1: “How long has it been following you?”

Me: “A few miles?”

Mountain biker 1 to mountain biker 2: “We can’t leave it out here. It’ll end up as food.”

Me: “Yeah, I didn’t know what to do.”

Dog: Panting.

Mountain biker 2: “Oh wow, yeah he’s a tired dog. You’re a tired dog, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU? Oh, yes YOU ARE!!” He squats down and shoots a stream of water from his water bottle to the dog’s mouth.

Dog: Guardedly licks the water.

Me: …

Mountain biker 2: “Come on puppy, I guess we’ll take him down to the road and call someone. Come on puppy! Let’s go puppy! Gooooood dog. GOOD PUPPY!”

Me: …

I watch them ride off with the dog in tow and feel an immediate sense of relief, but then of course I start to think about what those mountain bikers thought about me. They probably were wondering why I let the dog run off with them after it had been following me for miles, how I quietly stood there and acted like I didn’t know what the dog was about to do to them. And then they probably thought I was cruel for letting the dog get all tired and out of breath, as if it was about to keel over at any moment or something. And now they were going to take one for the team and call the humane society while I continue on my merry little way. What a dick move. Maybe it was. Or maybe humanity has collectively lost its mind with pets.

A few minutes later I’m starting to relax, getting back into my flow, when I see a piece of trash off the side of the trail. Without hesitation I bend down to pick it up and put it in my pack. So let me get this straight: you care about the environment, you care about a trash-free trail, and yet you don’t care enough about this dog to return it home or make sure it’s safe? But it’s the owners fault! But Chase, the dog is here and alive in the world. Well, I care more about wild animals than human-manufactured domesticated ones. Well again, that’s not their fault. Okay, but this dog was trying to kill these other innocent animals. It chased a deer and would’ve tore apart any chipmunk it found. The dog is a heathen. But still, it’s a victim of its own circumstances and only doing what it does by nature. Okay, but still, I can’t fake compassion. You need to work on that. I know.

You can see how these thoughts might’ve soured the mood. Self-disgust but also righteous indignation. As the miles ticked off, the mind would begin to clear lockstep with the decline of my physical state. Turns out this 16 mile downhill walk from the far point on the route would legitimately lead to one of the sorest states of my life.

Downhill Death March | miles 21-33

Something happened to my body when I crossed over the seven hour mark. It had been all gravy before that. Had I ended the walk at seven hours I probably would’ve walked away thinking it was a piece of cake and that I could’ve probably kept going forever. But no, no, no, I wouldn’t be getting off the hook that easily. As it turns out, ultraRUNNING does not necessarily prepare you all that well for ultraWALKING. I mean, this should’ve been sort of obvious, I essentially never walk downhill. Even if I’m totally wrecked on a long run or in a race, I can always muster a jog on the downhills. The heel strike while walking sends a unique shudder through the quads, and because I have essentially zero muscle memory of this activity or any fitness or strength apparently, after seven hours of this new continuous stimuli, I was breaking down. Quick.

Once off the trails and back in town, I realized my loop was too short so I had a little bit of time to kill. I called my momma. I’d be walking near her house so I was going to ask if she wanted to join me for a lap or two around the lake in front of their house. She had an appointment but said she was sure my dad would love to take a lap.

My dad and I chatted real estate, who on the block sold what and for how much. That house there was too small for the so and so’s that moved in just a couple months ago, so they sold and swallowed a loss. Market is starting to slow. The so and so’s were the builders of that one. They are making a killing. This one here is the so and so’s third home so they’re trying to cash out. Durango and San Diego.

I appreciated the diversion but also wonder if he thinks I’ve finally totally lost it. So you’re doing a ten hour walk son? On a Thursday? I say farewell and head downhill for the next few miles and I’m literally crawling at this point. My quads are completely shredded, like sharp pain with each step.

It was a sad sight. Imagine seeing a guy in fairly normal street clothes but with a running vest on, passing through town at 3pm, walking like he was just ran over by a car. I trudge on, stumbling my way through the city center, trying to avoid all eye contact with passers-by as I really didn’t want to see anyone I knew. I wasn’t trying to explain what was happening.

I’m bonking bro, and my legs are imploding.

From what?

This long ass walk I’m doing.

I text Nikki:

Mercifully, the final mile is slightly uphill so the quads would get a rest, but before I could enjoy any of that, it was at this point when a beat up SUV full of highschool football players barked at me. Yup, windows down, four baby-faced bros, simultaneous loud barks, followed by laughter. Is this a thing? I was so whooped that I legitimately didn’t even react at all. No flinch, no consenting smile, didn’t flip them the bird.

Once they were gone and I hit the final stretch of path to my house at 3:20pm, ten hours after I set out into the darkness, I shook my head in disbelief when it clicked that they actually barked at me. I can’t escape these dogs. What is the universe asking of me? Was I a dog in a past life? I’m not getting one. I’m not getting one. Maybe I should get one?! No, I’m not getting one. I’m unfit.

As I cross the lawn, I know what’s on the other side of the door: kids screaming, life swirling, boogers, butts, dipes and wipes, but also laughs and joy and hope and immense love. I take one last deep breath, grateful for this experience despite it being an incredibly selfish and painful one.

I did indeed take what was maybe only my second bath in the four years since we’ve been in this house. I turned on the tap, flipped the drain plug, and limped impishly to the fridge. Options were limited, didn’t care. I snagged two of Nikki’s Octoberfest Pumpkin Ales, staggered the eternity back down the hallway, tenderly lowered myself into piping hot water, and double fisted the beers, killing em’ both before the tub was even full.

So what did I learn? What were my conclusions? Well, I couldn’t do any processing after the beers of course so I gave myself some time. Reflecting now, I don’t know that I have anything for you other than to say that the experience was undoubtably a positive one. I’m glad to add it to the memory bank. With respect to how it compares to running, if there’s one thing that stands out it’s that I enjoyed the headspace while walking. When I’m running, I seem to spend a ton of time thinking about running! I’m thinking about training, about races, about fitness, about past races, past training, past fitness. I’m thinking about how I’m feeling, about average pace, about vert, everything. There was nothing competitive about the walk. No ambitious impulse. No visions of grandeur. And the pace, at least for the first seven hours, was so comfortable that I could really get lost in the motion. The mind was totally free to let go and enjoy the experience.

That said, I have gone on a few runs since the walk, and one thing I noticed right away was that running just feels so good. The stride. It’s such an intimate form of movement for me. I can always hop right back into the groove. The arm carriage, the foot strike, the fluidity of it all. But that’s just the act of running. Do I need to race? Do I need to go on long runs every weekend? Do I need to live and die by the 100 miler? These questions are still being answered.

So there, I think I’ve said enough here. The ball is in your court. Maybe you should go walking. And then maybe run. And then walk. And then maybe just sit. Long sit. Ten hour sit. Ten hour silent sit. Hmmmm.

Here’s the Strava data from the walk if you’re interested. If you enjoyed this recap, please consider becoming a patron for as little as $2 a month. We need patrons or we will go away. We will disappear from the internet. And maybe that’s okay. But if you don’t think that’s okay, become a patron!