by Randy Ashley

A few years ago, I met my running buddies at a trailhead in Pisgah National Forest near Brevard. Skies were overcast-as they always seem to be in Pisgah. We stretched quickly, laced up our shoes, and downed the last of a quart of Ultra Fuel. We had the 15-mile Cove Creek-Daniel Ridge loop on tap, so the four of us started out easy. Early on, we bantered a few jokes and discussed the alcohol-induced antics of the previous night.

Two miles into the run, we crossed a few wooden bridges near Cove Creek campground and began a long uphill climb. The chatter faded as we focused on the rugged singletrack. A trickling waterfall to the left enticed us to look away from our footsteps, but the terrain demanded that we stay on our toes.

Rain began to fall as we reached the 50-foot waterfall near the connector trail to the Daniel Ridge loop. Parts of Pisgah National Forest are a virtual rain forest. The soft rain shower quickly built into a full-on deluge. We soaked in the symphony of sounds: rain against leaves, feet splatting puddle, souls being cleansed. The forest seemed to amplify the rain music.

After reaching the top of the climb, we coasted downhill for a couple of minutes. The trail had turned into a river. All of the water noise and imagery inspired a pee break at the bottom of the hill. So there we were, four rain-drenched runners pissing in the woods together. We looked down, as if at our own private urinal, and said nothing. It was raining so hard that the sounds of rain pounding the forest filled the awkward silence.

Just ahead was a rock-strewn trail of exquisite beauty that paralleled Daniel Ridge Creek. Suddenly, in a flash, I knew what had to be done.

“Do you know what time it is?” I said to the boys.

“What time is it, Randy?” they replied.

“It’s time to run a mile in the woods along this beautiful creek in this pouring-ass rain with your goddamn running shorts on your head.”

The guys looked at each other, then their watches.

We dropped shorts, placed the waistbands around our foreheads, and began to haul ass down the trail. Our feet barely seemed to touch the ground as we danced over the rocks. Our ears were filled with the sounds of the rushing creek and our own muffled laughter.

Within two minutes of sprinting naked down this trail, we passed two women hikers. There was nothing left for us to do but say, “Hello, ladies,” and keep running.

Miraculously, as we stopped just short of the trailhead to put our shorts back on, the rain ceased. Back at the parking lot, we changed into dry clothes, refueled, stretched, and chatted briefly about the quality session. But to this day, not one of us has ever said a word about running a mile in the pouring rain along the Daniel Ridge trail bare-assed. I guess it was just another run.

Randy Ashley is a coach with Zap Fitness in Blowing Rock, N.C. Feel free to email him at wrashley@hotmail.com.