An Ode to Summer Running

It may be true that the early bird catches the worm, but the early runner catches the sunrise. I personally believe that sunrises are more special than sunsets, but that's simply because in summer I see so few of the former, and so many of the latter. So when I rolled out of bed on Saturday morning at 5:25, it was to my dismay that it seemed light outside already; the stars weren't even visible anymore! I quickly tied my shoes, realized I put on the wrong pair, untied them, tied the other pair on, and scampered outside. Turns out the sun wasn't up yet.

I started jogging down the road, not even bothering to start with a shirt on even though the summer morning cool still hung heavily in the air. I celebrated being the first one awake for about 15 seconds, and then I saw the boat trailer in the parking area, dripping with water and with no boat in sight. I guess the early fisherman catches the best fish. 

I sped up from a limp-jog to more of a step-jog because my legs were now waking up a little on this groggy morning. The light was growing in the northeastern sky, but no big ball of fire had yet appeared. The birds were chirping, the rabbits were sitting on the road, and a whitetail deer must have been offended by my smell and ran off into the skyline. The deer had probably been there for awhile, and I guess the early deer catches the tasty dew-covered grass.

I started thinking about how much easier training is at this time of day. In my first two years on staff at Camp of the Cross, my prep time (break) was from 3:30-5:00, and you may recognize that as the heat of the day. I have vivid memories of stopping and walking for awhile simply because I was dying. I pounced on opportunities to run in the mornings on weekends, when I could breath cool air that evades the land during the day. Sometimes I would see farmers up already spraying their fields before it got windy, but I guess the early farmer catches the calm weather.

Summer running is simply more relaxing in the early morning. The whole terrain sits quietly, as if preparing for the incredible 16 hours of sunlight that is to come. Around mile 3 I passed by another pickup, but this one was carrying the boat with it. They slowed down and skirted past me, giving the standard wave that people up at this time of day will surely do, having seen so few people. I guess the early driver catches the quietest roads.

The nice thing about this long run was that it took me 8 miles to sweat through the entirety of my running shorts, unlike the 4 miles it took last week under the summer sun. Nobody is there to see it. I think about the Prairie Lake Festival we have coming up that day, a grueling 9 hours of hospitality and quilt-selling. I think about the concept of distance, and how different our idea of it today is than that of the homesteaders 130 years ago. I lament for those who are still sleeping and missing out on the sun finally peeking over the horizon, checking to see if all is well before leaping up into the sky. It does decide to jump, but it's quickly overtaken by a small group of clouds which bully it for the next 20 minutes. The sun eventually breaks free and illuminates a quiet, clear, and awe-striking landscape. The canola has bloomed yellow, the brilliant blue of the flax fields is showing early signs of returning, and even the wheat is coming along wonderfully. 

I press on towards to camp, mile after mile breezing by. The wind off the lake is picking up, allowing a cool breeze to start what promises to be a warm day. Fortunately we have air conditioning, but that is a relatively new thing. Some people who settled the prairie had ingenious ideas of how to keep their houses/huts cool, including deep windowsills to cut off the amount of sunlight coming in. I wonder if with all of our new technological inventions we are becoming more resourceful or less. The true engineer is not the one who is paid to create a certain machine, but the one who can look at any situation and devise a way or mechanism to make it better. I guess the early riser catches a little philosophy.

I'm back at camp now. It was a good 13 mile run. We're leaving in 30 minutes and I still need to run strides, stretch, eat, grab a camp vehicle, and try to round up the herd camp staff for a full Saturday of work. I can't help but remember how I have no inclination to hop back into bed right now. I'm fully awake all day as a result of my morning summer runs. It seems to me like it's the most rewarding time to run. I guess you could say the early runner catches the peace of the world. 

Yesterday's Run

The campers had just left and the camp was quiet again. We all shifted over to the lodge for staff meeting and worship, our bodies starting to shut down after a week of excitement and constant motion. We sat and listened to some music, periodically singing along and relaxing from the week. One of the pastors brought us root beer floats, which we happily took in. After that we had our meeting and we dispersed for the weekend. Being already close to normal supper time, I hastily put on my running clothes and prepared to go run. I brought my iPod with me because with all the traffic leaving camp, I preferred not to listen to all the cars driving around on the gravel roads. I started jogging down the road.

The sky was overcast as it had seemed to be all week. A cool, humid breeze was coming off the lake, forcing me to remove my shirt since I was sweating hard within the first mile. A half mile into my run I already knew this was not going to be a fun by any means. Going into the second mile I started climbing up a steady 3/4 mile hill into the wind, and my stomach was starting to do backflips; this was going to be bad.

Mentally I started struggling. Should I turn around and head back? Am I really going to finish 9 miles? Where should I turn around? Where are the trees for me to stop at if I need to? After all, this is central/western North Dakota and groves of trees are few. I prepared conversations that I would start to a passing driver if the shirtless sweaty runner needed a ride back. In addition, my legs were sore from my first tempo run of the summer the day before, a beautiful day where all the pieces fell together perfectly. I should have expected today's struggle.

Last year I probably would have turned around at some point, but this year I wrote out my running schedule day-by-day for the summer and so I continued telling myself 'you need to run 9 miles- you can finish this'. People were driving past me on the gravel road, waving at me and likely unaware of my struggles.

One of the great things about running out in the country is that it comes down to you and the road. There are no places with lights to make you stop. There are no public restrooms. There are no convenient trails to slip into or people to run with. You either need to tough it out or give up. I prayed for strength to get back safely.

During the second half of the run my legs were beginning to loosen up, but my stomach was getting more and more agitated. Being able to only handle small amounts of dairy, I quickly began to chastise myself for having two cups of ice cream before I went out on this particular run, as it sure wasn't helping anything. A couple times I had to stop and walk in order to let my stomach sort out its problems before I continued. All was quiet, the wind continued to blow, and the hills didn't go anywhere.

With about a mile and half remaining, I peaked over a hill and could see camp for the first time in a while. It dawned on me that I was actually going to make it back. My body was starting to feel better and I relaxed a little. I coasted back into the camp to the ever-so-familiar gravel parking lot and removed my headphones. It was quiet. Everybody had left. There was a couple fishing in a boat not too far offshore. I went and did some tough hill strides (legs still tired), and I called it a day. It took about 3 hours for my stomach to settle down, but that's how it goes. We need some 'crappy' days to help us appreciate the good days. For every sunset, we are promised a sunrise. For every winter, we are promised a spring. For every failure, we are promised forgiveness. Praise the Lord for the bad days, because how could we enjoy the good days without them?

Have a Great Day!

Lessons From Children

Well I have returned from a week of doing day camps (vacation Bible school) in Carson, ND. The family that we stayed with owns a ranch outside of town in the Heart River valley, and the house we stayed at was at the bottom of the valley by the river, and it had little-to-no cell phone service and extremely poor Wi-Fi. Needless to say, it was heaven. Carson is in southwest North Dakota and is a pretty hilly place, making running out there tough. To make it tougher, there were two directions to go- north or south- to go with the fact that the house was at the floor of the valley. This meant that no matter which direction I picked, I signed up for around 10 minutes of tough uphill running at the start of each and every morning run (when my legs are still trying to wake up). It was worth it. I’ve been discovering the amazingness of morning runs out in the country this summer. The quiet and peacefulness of it all is simply stunning, and the beautiful western North Dakota scenery helps too J

So back to day camps. During the camps we stay with somebody and work with kids for around 6 hours a day. We play games, do crafts, sing songs, learn from the Bible, and play more games. One of the interesting things about kids is that they’re pretty easy to read when it comes to what they want. They generally tell you outright, whether you want to hear it or not. One of the kids was annoying me with his 5000 questions, each one of them going exactly like this: “Can we play octopus?!”

Octopus is a game similar to tag. Kids line up on one side and have to run to the other without getting tagged by the octopus (or multiple octopuses [octopi?]). If they get tagged, they sit where they were tagged and become seaweed. As you may expect, this game favors the fast on their feet. This camper thought he was really fast (to be fair he was the fastest of the campers), and so he always wanted to play octopus because he knew he could win. When he won, he didn’t want to be the octopus because then he wouldn’t get a chance to win. And when he won, it was not in a respectable fashion. He would walk as slow as possible to the other side, only running when somebody was chasing him specifically. He would look around for validation from other kids and us counselors, hoping that somebody would acknowledge how good he was at the game. It drove me crazy. But then I had the sobering realization that I am no different than he.

When I go to meets or races, I know that I’m constantly looking around for validation from other athletes, or maybe even the slightest hint that I could be as good as my brain tells me I am. Even doing strides after an easy run, I find myself looking around to see if anybody is watching. It’s pathetic, really. I’ve tried to force myself to not pay attention to other people, but it’s hard. When I saw this camper’s wandering eyes, I could see myself before meets. When I saw him walking across the field instead of running, I saw myself running strides harder than I should at meets, trying to show off. When I saw how angry he got when he finally got tagged, and how he searched for broken rules to get out of being tagged, I saw myself falling apart when a workout doesn’t go my way.

So you know what camper? I’m not mad at you anymore. We are alike. I hope you join track and cross country someday, and I hope you do a better job than I do at making it more about serving others and less about yourself. Because that’s where true joy can come from. It’s something I work on each and every day, and we all should do that. Running is much more fun when you can share it with others, only as long as you can have some alone time in the North Dakota countryside every now and again! J

Have a Great Day!