Some runs just aren't good enough to make the catalogue

Freeport, Maine - Vacation runs can be astounding: bounding up a mountain North Carolina; majestic strides taken next to the Pacific Ocean in California at sunrise; picking through the rocks and tree roots in a forrest in Nova Scotia - but getting to the finish nonetheless.

And then other times, vacation runs are plodding along on the shoulder of a two-lane highway hoping that a truck driver won't nod off and make you road kill.

The first leg of my summer vacation took me to Nova Scotia; the second took me to Maine. On my first night in Vacation Land, I stopped at a Holiday Inn Express in Freeport, a town known for being just outside of Portland and the home to a 24-hour LL Bean. I didn't really mind stopping at a roadside motel. After a year of long road trips, I developed a fondness for Holiday Inn Express and its free breakfast. Freeport was also a good stopping point after nine hours of driving before I moved onto in Portland and points south.

I woke up Tuesday morning feeling - mentally - that I should run even though my body didn't want to. Per usual after a long drive, my ankles creaked, my hamstring whined, and the bug bites I picked up in Canada laughed at me when I pulled on my bra and shorts. My diet the day before consisted of typical road trip far: Burger King and some kind of chicken wrap bought from a Circle K. I don't know if it was the bathroom mirror lighting that made look so bloated, or the Cheetos that I'd paired with the chicken wrap the night before, but I felt gross, sluggish - not exactly ready to do any kind of athletic feat.

But I still wanted to get in some miles. I could have driven to a more picturesque location, but I was meeting a friend for breakfast that morning, so down Route 1 I went.

Route 1 runs along the coast of Maine. In Freeport, it's parallel to I-295. The shoulders of the road are wide, but the speed limit's still 45, which sounds a lot faster when cars are moving past you at that speed than when you're driving it. The scenery wasn't exactly ocean glory: more motels, yacht sales stores, antiques emporiums, a car repair shop and grass, spread out under the tune of highway traffic buzzing in the background.

Last summer, when I flew to Texas to buy my Jeep and then drive it home, I stopped in a town called Texarkana, which is both in Arkansas and Texas. I was training for a marathon then, and before starting the next leg of that journey, ran around the parking lots of the motels clustered there. It was an odd run, but along the way I came across a shuttered diner, which looked both retro and sad at the same time, and I can now always say that I ran in Texas.

Along Route 1 in Freeport, I looked at more yachts that I've probably seen in my lifetime, even if they were parked on the side of the road.

The run was slow, and my legs still felt like lead, but by the time I got back to the Holiday Inn Express parking lot, and picked up my free coffee with free breakfast, I felt refreshed and ready for the adventures of that day, which included of course shopping at LL Bean, and then walking 10 miles around Portland, ending with a dinner of raw oysters and potato chips.

I've written before that running takes you places. Sometimes those places aren't spectacular, but they're different, and that's what makes it worthwhile - highway noise and all.

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