In a Different World

I found myself firmly gripping the seat beside me and expelling weird squeaky noises while Drew slammed on the brakes. The advent of abruptly stopping on the interstate, slowly speeding up, abruptly stopping again, and continuing this for miles was foreign to me, and it was stressing me out. The other passengers briefly enjoyed my struggles, and went back to looking forward. The Twin Cities is a different world.

The traffic on the interstate reminded me of the race I had just run the day before. Down in the deep, dark depths of the metro area sits a grandiose cross country course that normally serves as a golf course, but on that day it would serve host to hundreds of college and high school runners. I found myself tangled in with more than 400 runners in the Maroon II race, competing unattached. I ran a smart, strong, and conservative race, even-splitting the whole thing, feeling good, and never going too far outside my comfort zone. In layman's terms, it functioned practically as a hard workout rather than a race. As a result my claustrophobia was put to the test, because I wove my way through more than a hundred people between mile one and the finish. Many a time I simply wanted to 'get out', but once I settled in, I had a much more enjoyable time. The Twin Cities felt much the same. At first every fiber of my being screamed to get out into some open space, where the permeating sound of the interstate ceased. However, once we went around the area a little and ran in some quaint places, I eased in and found some contentment.

I pondered all of this while I sat alone in the back seat, shirtless, buckled in, and letting the warm wind blow violently through my short hair. The vehicle we were in did not have AC, and for the third day in a row temperatures were hovering around 80 while the sun attacked through every open space and window it could find. I was quite uncomfortable. Earlier in the day we had gone to Battle Creek Park in St. Paul (well, TECHNICALLY it was in Maplewood, argued Drew's mother) and ran for an hour forty-five minutes. Little to my surprise, I was drenched with sweat head to toe. Fortunately many of the bike trails snuck through the woods, providing shade. Unfortunately these same areas were characterized by unsympathizing, unforgiving hills, something my Red River Valley legs still don't tolerate well. I would keep looking at my watch, begging time to go faster and dream of air conditioning and water. I would think back to my summer runs in the North Dakota countryside, where shade is something of folklore. How I survived the relentless assault from the sun then I know not. What I did know is that I was sweating. A lot.

As we continued on our way out of the Cities, it was clear that there were many more cars going into the metro than out. The weekend was rapidly coming to a close, with the cool door of fall every week closing tighter and tighter, with winter on the sidewalk, about the come into the driveway. We were leaving the area. I thought about how many colleges can still be found in smaller towns and cities, and how large meets like Griak draw in colleges from all walks of life, sucking them into the area, throwing them through a course, and sending them back on their way. The travel buses fill up, the local restaurants go through two hours of chaos, the hotels are busy cleaning up from the onslaught, and even the airports fill up with like-colored groups of thin, fit, young adults. The excitement for a time overwhelms, but this too should pass, and teams return to their quiet stomping grounds, ready to head out on their favorite trail the next morning. The Twin Cities is just a different world.

As we come into North Dakota, I put down my book on the Presidency of Theodore Roosevelt and enjoy the scenery. The Red River Valley is my home. No matter the wind, the cold, the flat, the human void, the lack of 'culture' (whatever the heck that means)- this is home. A part of me dies when I hear tough talk about the great need to exodus the Valley ASAP, but it may be for the better. As we drive north on I-29 headed for Grand Forks, with the sun setting and glowing red off of the clouds, the full moon rising in the east, the dust settling in the air and a general cool and calm taking over the area, I couldn't help but feel the itch to go out on a gravel road and run; I wanted to hear the scratching sound of shoes on dirt and have that be the only noise I could hear. I didn't get much of that in Twin Cities, but after all- it's a different world.

I can't help but remember the morning of the race though. We did a short jog from the house we stayed at and went down the road a couple miles. The sun was cracking the horizon, illuminating the landscape flooded with trees and grass. Some lazy fog sagged on top of the grass, refusing to move, and with no breeze, the air and water stood still. There was coolness in the air, and a sense of hope seemed to lift from the ground. As I jogged along down the road, I smiled. Maybe it's not so different a world after all.

North Dakota's Best-Kept Secret

We pulled off the gravel road into the gravel parking lot. This enormous space was covered currently by two pickups, each with a trailer behind it; finding a parking spot was not difficult. We exited the vehicle and were greeted to full sunshine and breeze from the south. After getting in our normal preparations for a run (clothing, bathroom breaks, hiding my car keys in a nearby flower patch), we ran through the entrance, under a big iron sign with 'Pembina Gorge State Recreation Area' cut out of it. It helped that this time Ryan had his GPS watch and we were better prepared than last spring, our first time here.

Last spring we had be misled by a post on the PGSRA page saying that they had prepared a 12-mile dirt loop to go on. Naturally we assumed that we would keep following the trail to its end, and after our two teammates turned around at 6 miles, we kept pushing forward, confident that we would get back to the same spot. 6 miles turned into 7, then 8, then 10. We were starting to become fatigued, and we assisted ourselves by walking up the hills instead of running them. It was dawning on both of us that we were in for quite the run. Our suspicions were confirmed when we reached the end of the trail, 90 minutes into the run, and we were greeted by a sign letting us know that the trailhead was 7.5 miles down the road. Ryan and I gave each other the a forlorn, understanding look, took a short break, and started down the road. I said a little prayer in my mind, asking if we could be helped somehow. Sure enough, within a minute some ATV-ers came by (this is first and foremost an ATV trail, but hardly anyone uses it) and let us ride back to the parking lot with them. Such nice people.

This was on both of our minds today and we started plodding down the dirt trail into the Pembina River Valley. It's amazing, this area. The Red River Valley is a completely flat tract of land spreading east and west from the north-flowing Red River, but once out of the valley, the land can change magnificently. Thus the Pembina River Valley is a quite rugged, tree-covered area on both sides of the river, with some smaller cliff-faces hugging the scenic byways to drive through. The whole area is simply stunning, even now before the leaves begin to turn in for the fall. 

As we begin our mile-long ascent early in the run, it dawns on both us that the first 15 minutes had literally flew by without our noticing. Much is to be said about how doing something you love with somebody else who loves the same thing can be one of the greatest joys in life, and this was no exception. In the trees the shade protected us and showed us great views of the surrounding area and trails ahead. When we peaked out of the trees, the breeze was there to greet us and the we could see the other side of the valley, protruding greatly from the North Dakota countryside- well, at least most of it is North Dakota countryside, because only a few miles north lies our friendly Canadian neighbors. 

Miles 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 went without much trouble. Around mile 3 I was stung by a bee for the second time this week (I was stung in the arm 4 days ago, and today was my leg), and it was stinging because my sweat was 'washing' it out, or so that's how I reasoned it. Most of this running was downhill, so naturally when we turned around, it was back uphill for awhile. Ryan and I were starting to tire from all of this, and our focus increasingly became making it back to the vehicles. Late in the run we were passed by some ATV-ers, but for the most part it was just he and I bantering back and forth. The ATV-wide tracks made it easy for us to run side-by-side, highly motivating in this environment. The views were still spectacular, and the running still difficult.  

About a mile from the end, we decided to take a quick break, because we had been going up and up and were about to die. So we relaxed (whatever that means after 13 hilly miles), and charged hard to the finish. There we chatted with the ATV-ers from Grand Forks we had earlier encountered. It seems in this huge area of wilderness we were the only people here. They took off for more riding, Ryan and I absorbed our food we brought along, and we got back into the car. We had been here for two hours, but as we pulled out of the parking lot onto the quiet gravel road, the wind blowing dust across the nearby sunflower field, we could see still the two pickups in the parking lot. Nobody was to be seen anywhere. 

-Nate

An Ode to Morning Practice

My alarm went off at 5:45, and I quick hopped out of bed, shut it off, grabbed my prepared backpack, and swept out the door. The air was damp and muggy, a sign of the hot day to come. The streets were cautiously quiet, and a few early morning (or potentially late night) vehicles lit up the road. I wasn't tired at this point because I was amped for practice.

Upon arriving at the Hyslop I was surprised by how many vehicles were already in the parking lot. I figured that some of them were swimmers, because they always seem to have morning practice. I scurried inside where I could see not only half of my team ready to run, but the ROTC program at UND doing their conditioning. My my how busy it can be at 6am. I threw on a pair of shorts and no shirt and came out with the team. Some of the group looked tired, but most people looked awake and ready to go. I couldn't help but think of how this can be considered almost a bonding exercise rather than a workout, because everybody is making the same sacrifice. There is a sense of accountability relevant to the whole team when practice comes up in early- it's as if we understand each other.

We began running down the gravel train tracks, the sun still a little too tired to wake up, and the fog starting to come in. I couldn't tell if it was raining, or if it was just that humid. Maybe that's why the sun didn't want to come out yet.

We arrived at University Park to an eerie view. No people, limited light, no wind, and fog settling over the area. Our tempo workout began and seemed to go pretty well. Most people complained that their muscles were having difficulty waking up to the pace, and times suffered accordingly. I'm still proud of the guys for all the work they've been putting in and I know this is going to be a good year.

We finished and the one thing we all had in common was sweat. I was without a dry spot on my body, and in fact my running shorts were dripping onto the back of my legs. My shoes were wet from the dew in the grass, and everybody else was in the same boat. We looked around at each other, enclosed in this world that we created early in the morning, with nobody watching.

We jogged back to the Hyslop as the sun was beginning to get out of bed. As expected, so was everybody else, and the roads were beginning to fill up. We promptly headed over to weightlifting to get absolutely jacked stronger for the season, and called it a morning after more than 2 hours of work. I can't help but go through the rest of my day with a sense of pride about accomplishing an early morning feat, much like I feel every day I'm up early training (i.e. every day all summer). I think that this is not specific to running, but to everybody. Most people will acknowledge that getting up even 30 minutes earlier than normal to work out, read, or do something else feel more refreshed and ready for the day than if they had simply hopped out of bed. Now, I'm not saying that sitting through lecture was any easier, but it does help the day move along better when the hard work is put away early in the morning.

So now it's afternoon, and it's hot out. All of the dew has evaporated from the park, our footprints gone. The sweat from the morning has disappeared, and the runners have all gone their separate ways. The physical evidence of the morning workout is not to be found at the park, the athletics building, the weight room, or the locker rooms. To the city of Grand Forks, we weren't even there. No, the physical evidence comes later in the season when workouts start showing up in races. The evidence will appear on race results. The runners themselves will feel it as they become more fit. One must endure sacrifice to achieve a goal.

So this is an ode to all you early-morning and late-night trainers. The alarm clock can be your worst enemy, and at times the loneliness of the morning or evening can be overwhelming. However, that's when some of the best work gets done. Keep grinding.