During the week, I take my son to soccer practice. If the timing works out, I go for a run. I have a few routes I follow, but there’s one direction I stopped going a long time ago.

That route dead-ends too early. The sidewalk just stops alongside a busy road. There’s an uninviting stretch of grass and a narrow, uneven shoulder. On my out-and-back runs, it always cut me short by half a mile. So I wrote it off. For years, I turned the other way.

But this week, for no real reason, I went that direction again. Maybe boredom. Maybe curiosity. When I reached the end, I almost stopped, ready to turn around before hitting my distance. Then I thought, what if I just kept going?

So I did. I ran across the grass beside the road. It wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined—bumpy and soft, but fine. And just ahead, the sidewalk started again. You couldn’t see it from the other side, but there it was.

The path led over a bridge spanning a set of railroad tracks. I hit my turnaround point there and paused, looking down at the rails stretching straight into the distance. The fall leaves in Atlanta are just beginning to change. It was calm and beautiful, even with the hum of traffic nearby.

Discovery is one of my favorite parts of running. It keeps things fresh. When running starts to feel stale or repetitive, sometimes all it takes is a small change—one turn you haven’t made in awhile. 

Sometimes the best running begins right after the sidewalk ends.