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.