HOW TO GET THERE:
I-84
East to
I-205 North.
Exit 24B onto Northeast Airport Way eastbound. Left on Northeast
122nd Avenue. Left onto Northeast Marine Drive. 5 miles to
Broughton Beach.
Nothing makes me feel worse than a good jog. Ever since an
acute case of shin splints crushed my high-school dreams of
cross-country superstardom, I've been skeptical of what good,
if any, running can do for me. So it was with a certain trepidation
that I set out to find a cool place for jogging nuts to enjoy.
But I think I might've found one. It's close in, as easy or
rigorous as you want to make it, and if you're looking for
surreal solitude in the middle of the city, it doesn't get
much better than this.
Wedged between the Columbia River and Portland's International
Airport, this running path is a terrain that begs for your
sneakered feet to scurry all over it. To get there, head
to the west end of Marine Drive and the Broughton Beach
parking lot (open dawn to dusk). Immediately to the left
of your wheels, you'll find an asphalt bike path. At this
point, stretch your hamstrings and take in your bearings.
At first glance, the surrounding area doesn't look like
much more than a good place to dump a body. The barren strip
of beach, the wood-pile skeletons of rotting wharfs, and
the feeling of utter remoteness remind you that nature isn't
all meadows and wildflowers. The mood here can be downright
ominous. Soon enough, however, couples running with their
dogs on the beach let you know that the only thing you really
have to be scared of is slipping on some errant dog poop.
In fact there's a strange kind of beauty here that can
be more interesting than, say, a trot through Forest Park.
There are no pesky trees to muddle your line of sight, the
paved path looks like it could carry you all the way to
Mount Hood, and all the Marine Drive traffic can help quicken
your pace. But once you hit the trail, it drops down to
the river and the sound of rushing cars disappear. Here
you can listen to the squeals of seagulls overhead and the
forlorn whistle of a barge chugging down the Columbia River.
Music, I tell you.
At this point, set your sights on the Glen Jackson Bridge.
Spanning the two states, this four-mile marker is the perfect
place to turn back.
If you're insane, feel free to push your endurance to the
limit and try to reach Gresham's Blue Lake Park. That would
add 10 more miles to your jaunt (and a few close calls with
cars), you jogging freak, you.
Whatever you decide, when you finally do turn back you'll
more than likely be graced with the sight of jets heading
straight toward you. And I'll tell you, there's nothing
better than landing lights stretching into the distance
as you're buzzed à la North By Northwest.
This jog should leave you with leg muscles smoldering nicely
and a healthy glow on your cheeks. Hmm.
Sounds strangely satisfying. Maybe this running thing ain't
so bad after all.
|
The
Run For Your Life 
