Hurley Rail Trail, Hudson River Valley, NY

I drove out to Rhinebeck, NY yesterday afternoon to hang out with my sister Christine, plan our upcoming trip to Costa Rica, and make a long-overdue trip to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY. The meal at the CIA was sublime...hard to even describe. Suffice it to say, it definitely beat the leftovers I had at home on Friday night...

The drive to my sister's was peaceful and gave me a chance to run through an ever-growing list of things on my mind, listen to some good music, and make the most of a few quiet hours of driving through hills and valleys and watching the sun set.

I packed light for this trip but made sure to throw all my cold weather running gear into my overnight bag. As on my previous visit back in August, Christine and I planned to start Sunday morning with a run on the Town of Hurley Rail Trail, a paved and re-purposed segment of the Hudson Valley Railway.

After the three hour drive and the meal at the CIA, I slept like the dead in the comfy little guest room and awoke to the sound of birds outside my window and the smell of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. There was also the vague and comforting smell of something baking...is it any wonder I like visiting my sister? After a few cups of coffee and the NY Times, we drove out to the rail trail, which is just over the Hudson River and about 20 minutes away from Rhinebeck.

We made a brief stop at Caffe Aurora in Poughkeepsie for espressos and some homemade Italian pastries. To be honest, I was still full from last night, but Aurora came so highly recommended by my friend whose family owns it that my sister and I had to share sfogliatelle (flaky pastry filled with sweetened ricotta) and mostacciaoli (chocolate-covered spice cookie). We lingered over our coffees for a little while, watching the after-church crowd filter in and listening to the old men chiaccherando in italiano while they waited for their wives to pick up cannolli. It reminded me so much of my two years in Italy that I almost had to fight back tears of nostalgia.

Fueled up on espresso and dolci, we drove to the Rail Trail parking lot, piled on our fleeces and gloves and hats and took off running. After last week’s 7.5 miles, and in preparation for next week’s 10, I figured 8 miles or so would be a comfy distance. Christine agreed and off we went. The sun was shining brilliantly and there was no wind. It was cold but not freezing, and I knew we’d warm up quickly.

After my usual concerns that I’m going to have to walk or drop dead, we settled into a comfortable cruising speed, admired the scenery, and chatted. The rail trail is pancake-flat, surrounded by rolling hills dotted with little white farmhouses and churches. We made our way along the paved portion of the path, with a residential neighborhood on our left and the highway on our right. Despite the occasional cars passing by, it was very peaceful. Before long we dipped into the woods, running on crunchy gravel, frozen dirt, and papery leaves. Surrounded by mature pines and rocks, we continued on, enjoying the fresh air and nature and greeting the occasional runner or walker who passed by.

I should mention that Christine is my oldest sister and she began running just one year ago at the age of 37. She was more surprised than anyone else by how much she liked it and how quickly she took to it. Since then, we’ve run two half marathons and a bunch of shorter races together. A month ago, Christine signed up to run the Boston Marathon, which has been a compelling enough reason for me to keep running despite the cold weather.

Because Christine went from college to grad school to vet school to residency, each in different states, she and I have not lived in the same state since I was 16. Not only have our paths of education and career been fairly different, but our paths in life have been dissimilar, too. Though we've always shared the bond of sisterhood, it sometimes felt like we lived in completely different worlds.

Christine has always been the quintessential ‘big sister’, looking out for me, providing rational advice, and letting me crash on her floor while she was getting her Ph.D. in California and I was doing community service. She can be the epitome of a scientist, balancing my emotionality (is that even a word?) with her level headed intellect and logic. As we’ve grown into adulthood and created lives for ourselves, our sisterhood has evolved into friendship. The fact that now - in all our glorious diversity - we share this hobby of running is something that brings me great happiness.

We continue on the trail talking about everything and nothing, enjoying the fresh air, crunching pinecones beneath our feet, planning our upcoming trip to Costa Rica and talking politics, religion, science, finances and life (nothing too heavy…). I felt tired when we started but am happily re-energized and warmed up, especially once we reach the turnaround point. I ask Christine if this is four miles and she responds devilishly, “welll….not really. I kind of tricked you…”. We turn around and keep running, and I don't push for an answer. Sometimes it's better to just not know.

We maintain a steady pace and conversation and the final miles fly by. It’s brilliantly sunny and just cold enough to be refreshing, not numbing. The rolling hills around us are tranquil and the path ahead is completely flat. Two hawks circle above us. Christine and I both turn on our ipods and sprint the last mile. By the time we return to the car, we have run 11 miles, not 8. Maybe surprisingly and maybe not, I’m more than okay with that.