The worker set down a bowl in front of me. It had pasta, cheese, green onions, and sliced grilled chicken. See, I'm a sucker for the Wisconsin Mac & Cheese at Noodles & Company. As I forked down my meal as fast as possible, I noticed around me hockey guys, dance girls, college kids, young parents, and everything in-between. I never ate at this place when I lived in Grand Forks, likely because it didn't exist then. I quickly ran outside and braved the intense Eastern North Dakota cold to get to my pickup. I drove down Columbia Rd and was in awe at the lack of road construction and orange cones that usually dot lanes by the hospital. I pulled up to the High Performance Center on the campus of the University of North Dakota. This facility was opened up during my last year of college, but we never we able to host a meet in it. Now, I walk up to the doors into the second year of the UND Home Indoor Open.
Spectators are funneled through a different line than the coaches and athletes. I humbly follow the green and white flags into the right doors and up to the money desk. I pay my dues, get sharpied on the hand, and cross underneath the flags into the coaches and athletes area--much like most of the other parents and fans had done. I look around the building. There are new stone seating areas, ready to be filled in with spectator stadium seats. Parents dot the landscape of the seating area, most UND, some Concordia, and a minority from other places. On the track, some girls are working their way into the blocks for what I assume to be a 60-meter dash race. The place goes quiet while the starter puts his arm into the air and shoots the gun. I quickly shuffle across the track over towards the marshaling area where two of my former teammates are handing out hip-stickers to the athletes. I join them and put myself to work.
One-by-one athletes come up to get their numbers for their races. These teams are mostly D2 schools from around North Dakota, and I start realizing over time that I recognize almost nobody. In fact, the only people I'm recognizing are last year's seniors from my high school track region who now run in college. I no longer see athletes that I raced against in college but rather athletes that my high school team has competed against in the past. I realize I've been delegated to the past. I look at my two former teammates, one of whom is in his last year of college, and the other who is a teacher in Minnesota. My former cross country coach is retiring, my former head track coach is retiring, and the jumps coach while I was a student-athlete has moved to a different university. It's a new generation.
Change is hard for all of us. For me, the transition into the post-college world has been particularly difficult. It's easy in college to pour heart and soul into cross country and track, and boy did I do just that! Honestly, even though I was taking classes, involved with FCA, and part of the UND Leadership Academy, XC and Track were the most important part of UND. I spent countless hours in the locker room playing foosball and video games, sped through countless miles with the team, and made countless memories on trips that I didn't have to pay for. My classes were mathematics and my job was running.
But things change. I have a job that keeps me busy and tired. I have a marriage that keeps me busy and tired (love you Ingrid!!!). I live in such a remote place that travel... keeps me busy and tired. Getting in a quality 30 minute run has become a novelty recently, and the 70-80 miles per week of college has become a memory. Many of the teammates I ran with in college struggle to maintain the sort of running they did in college as well.
Don't get me wrong, I tried. After college I pushed hard and continued to run. I went to college meets and ran well, but the toll slowly wore me down. Tired and stressed, I had to find a balance. I ponder to guess that we all face those challenges at some point: we have to prioritize. I know people my age who are living in cities they didn't grow up in, most of them single and running massive amounts of mileage with others doing the exact same thing. For many of them, the dream will last a few years, have some successes, but then slowly fizzle out as life builds around them. Where then do they turn?
There's another question we are all faced with. Whether it's what to do after high school, after college, after we finish at a job, or after we've chased one dream and want to move to another, we have to ask ourselves what we really want. I occasionally go to these meets hosted by UND, and they always re-fire a flame inside of me. Sure, coming home to blizzard conditions and no good running options anywhere nearby makes it difficult, but I still hold on to some small dream.
This was on my mind as I sat with my former teammates at Up North Pizza in East Grand. As the group walked in, a man ran out the door, chasing down his pickup, which was being towed out of the parking lot while his family watched. The restaurant was quite full of UND hockey fans, there to enjoy pizza and watch the home game against #1 ranked St. Cloud State. The place was quite happy to see UND score first (and they ended up winning 5-1 actually). As we sat down and enjoyed our pizza, we of course had to ask the expected "what's up with you?" questions, but eventually we settled into discussing the past. At times I felt like a group of 70 year-olds re-living the good 'ol days. We talked about old races, training, and how the spring break trip has changed since we were there.
Yes, the spring break trip. I guess the team is going to Texas this year, and not even for a whole week! Of course, when we were running, we went to Myrtle Beach, SC for 10 days and competed in two different meets. In college we would have these three-day meets where either the first or second night, under the lights, the 10k would be run. One year, we were at the 10k to watch some UND runners compete. It was a perfect South Carolina night in mid-March, with the whole Earth slowly exhaling after a warm, breezy day. The lights turned on, the air cooled off, and the breeze slowed down. The stands emptied until the only people left were distance runners, friends of distance runners (who themselves were distance runners), and distance runner coaches. It was quiet and relaxing, watching runners go around the track 25 times. We stood along the short fence, arms folded over the top, checking the stopwatch for splits. We still had a few days left of spring break, where we would likely be sitting in the townhouse playing Super Smash or Mario Kart, letting our lives revolve around track and spending time with good friends. For now, we all shared together in something we enjoyed-- watching distance running. As I rested on the fence, I exhaled and looked up into the well-light, no-stars-to-be-seen sky, about one mile from the ocean. It was good.
Today, I watched kids who were freshmen when I was a fifth-year senior compete. When they started, they were curious and scared. They were overly-confident and quiet. They were filling up the lower-half of the results and yet passionate. Now, they were the leaders-- the athletes fighting for first place. They were the captains and commanded the presence that comes with the title. I knew what that felt like. But things have changed. I'm alumni now, and I'm here to support. I smiled. I hope these athletes love it as much I did.
