When Work Becomes Rest

beep beep…beep beep….beep beep….beep *click*

Still groggy, I rolled over and looked at my watch. Yup, 6:15 am. I was so pumped for this last night, but holy cats was my bed warm right now. I fished out my phone and checked the weather: 6 degrees with a wind chill of -3. Ugh. Well, I guess I gotta burn off this pie somehow.

I began the tumultuous process of putting on layers for a cold run: socks, two pairs of long pants, a long-sleeve shirt, a running jacket, a warm hat, gloves, watch, and certainly a pair of shoes that were just as tired as I was. I turned on the light and examined my room. I was sleeping on a futon in the basement where just two days previous my family and I had made about 10 dozen lefse (hard to accurately gauge because we ate a bit while cooking); I was the one who added the flour to the potatoes and rolled it into small balls, where my dad would then roll them out flat and give it to my brothers, who would watch over them judiciously on a grill. When it was done, the lefse would be placed onto an open towel, sprinkled with water, and eventually was collected by my mom on its way to the garage for cooling. Once cooled, my grandma, mom, and uncle would fold them and put them into bags for storage.

For now, however, I was about to head out the door. My watch had graciously found satellites quickly this morning, and so I was able to focus on closing the door quietly- a much harder task than you might imagine. No one stirred in the house (I was going to bed earlier than everyone else on account of needing to do morning runs), and so I was conscious of the CCCRRREEEEEEEAAAAAKKKKKKKKKK of the giant wood door guarding the house. Fortunately, I made it outside without rallying the troops. In this small town of about 1200 (the biggest town in the county, I might add) I heard nothing but the hum of homes trying to stay warm. Stars twinkled down at me, and local light posts were reflected straight up into the air by the low-laying fog. I wanted to stand there and soak it all in, but thus is the life of the runner. I started off down the driveway.

The first few miles trotted slowly by with no really exciting events. Two vehicles drove past, probably wondering what in the world I was up to, but other than that it was quiet. Even though the sky was clear above me, ahead of me the fog worked in. It became so thick that I could see nothing but the dark road laid out before me, disappearing into nothingness. I couldn’t see where my feet were placing themselves, but I’ve rolled my ankle enough times to not really care. As I exited the pavement and continued on the gravel part of the county highway (spoiler alert: most of this road is gravel), I went past a farmstead with a large light in the front yard. The farm was protected by a row of evergreen trees currently wrapped in fog, and as I ran past, the light shone through the openings in the trees and scattered through the mist in the air- it reminded me of disco ball because the light would shine and go away, shine and go away.

By now I was comfortably grooving along to the scratch scratch scratch of running on gravel. My face was beginning to ice over, and my eyelashes were collecting frost. It was still dark, but then I saw a deer in the ditch! I was surprised that it hadn’t run away yet, but as I got closer I realized it was just a mailbox. Shoot. A little ways down the road I really did see a deer though- even the tail was obvious! But that too was simply false; it was actually a green transformer box sitting at the edge of the field. Gosh darnit anyway. Around mile 6 I stopped to take a quick leak, and I couldn’t help but pause for a moment and enjoy the quiet. I had escaped the embracing arms of the fog, and now I was looking across the landscape while the sun lazily rose behind the clouds. Some stars still fought valiantly for position in the sky, and my higher elevation on this road gave me a view of more than 10 miles east of where I was standing. A coyote forlornly called in the distance, the eternal sound of the saddest sounding animal out there. Nothing stirred and the only sound was that buzzing in my ears that appears only in the absence of noise. I had a chance to reflect on the peace of this place.

Being stuck in the concrete jungle that is academia can have its ups and downs, but it took me until I got out here to realize how badly I needed the release and peace that comes from running out in the country. This week I’ve seen sunrises and sunsets, birds and deer, frost and fog, and hills and flat. I did not see any other runners, walkers, joggers, or bikers. I was able to truly enjoy my training, and even doing workouts was more a blessing than a curse. Sure, I fielded a fair number of questions about the absurdity of my pursuits, but hearing a coyote howl out across a dead quiet, stunningly beautiful prairie at sunrise made it all worth it.

At eight miles I turned around and headed into the workout part of my run. The early morning, hills, and extra layers made the next 8 miles a struggle, but there were times when everything seemed to connect. Sometimes during a run, the runner can reach a certain stage of zen where the line between pain and joy disappears and they enter a stage of simply being. After my first couple harder miles, I hit that point. I would look down at my watch, worried that my sudden joy would be a consequence of slower pace. But it wasn’t. I was trekking on foot perhaps faster than anyone had trekked on this road before; I was running straight into the wall of fog in front of me that never seemed to go away; I was completely exposed in the open with no cover, but also no souls to see me or wonder what I was doing; I was letting the silence flow around and over me, and my mind went blank to enjoy the moment; I was breathing harder, but never once would I consider stopping. As the icicles on my beard grew big enough that I could no longer open my mouth too far, I realized that this would be as close to living as it could come. What I was experiencing cannot be explained to a person who has not yet had it happen to them. All fear was gone and my heart was full. This- this is life.

And so I finished my run. 16 miles worth of ice, frost, and quad soreness. I had already went through more thoughts and emotions than some people will entertain in a whole day. I knew that soon we would have to ship out of Garrison and head back. For me, this means back to school, papers, and proofs. If that doesn’t sound appealing, it’s because it isn't. It means back to paved everything and noise without rest. It means light pollution and going to the grocery store without knowing anybody there. But it also means track season is here. In less than one week I’ll be running my heart out around a track chasing times that I have been training for since June. It means access to an amazing facility and trainers. It means freedom from the relentless attack on my body by pies, lefse, and peanut butter m&ms in the last few days.

Yesterday as I stopped halfway through my afternoon run to admire the enormous sun falling to the horizon, I remembered that through the day I caught up with old pals, stopped by the Bible Camp that I’ll be working at for a sixth summer next year, and spent quality time with my family. I thought to myself: it really doesn’t get better that this. My life is a song of worship. Running is worship. Quiet is worship. Sunsets are worship. Sunrises are worship. I started running back towards town on the empty gravel road.

Scratch scratch scratch scratch

Insecurities #4- Talking

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 4.

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Person: “Do you run on the track team?”
Me (oh no): “Yeah I do”
Person: “So do you like run the 400?”
Me (I can see where this headed, and I don’t like it): “No, I’ve been running the mile the last few years, but now I’m moving up to the 3k and 5k.”
(I can predict the next question every time)
Person: “So how fast can you run a mile?”

There it is- the dreaded question. I now know that I have backed myself into a corner enough to where there is no escape. I have two options- try to sidestep the question or tell the truth. I choose the former.

Me: “Well, do we want to include altitude-converted times or not?” I’m hoping that by evading the direct question by bringing up a topic many people don’t know about, I can burn enough time to actually save myself. Usually this doesn’t work, because people don’t care about conversions; they just want to know the answer. We parse back and forth, but eventually it gets back to:

Person: “So how fast can you run a mile?” Checkmate. I brace myself and quickly stammer out:
Me: “Well I’ve run 4:09 at sea level.”

WWWHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTT. Are you serious? I don’t think I could break 8 minutes in the mile right now!

Or

I don’t even think I can drive that fast! Hahahaha

I sit there, turning red. I try to explain how this time is still a full 10 seconds above what I would need to run to even be considered a threat on a stage bigger than the Midwest, but it's too late. I’ve had this conversation plenty of times, and it all jumps back to the fact that everybody had to the run the mile in school growing up. This is a special distance that Americans can relate to, because most people have some sort of an idea how fast their mile time was, and how far a mile is anyway. We speak in terms of miles when driving, for example. This is such an insecure topic for me, because many people find it abnormal.

In many sports, athletes put in BIG hours. Nobody is surprised when the athlete shows up wearing workout sweats with the complementary ice bag, because it is assumed that they just got done with a long practice. Many people even remember those days themselves. Well, 3 hours of practice isn’t that big of a deal, they’ll say, because back when I was in high school etc etc. People can relate with long, hard practices. Many people know about drills, weightlifting, locker room banter, and teammate bonding, and so it’s a lot easier for them to understand the life of that athlete. I have never encountered that sort of understand from a random person.

When I try to describe my training to someone who doesn’t run competitively or didn’t run competitively, I usually don’t get an understanding nod with an interjecting ‘when I was in high school’, but rather wide, speculative eyes. When I say I’m running around 75-80 miles a week, people ask why I would even want to do that. When I tell them about the workout I just finished, they say that’s crazy. When I tell them my races times, they simply shake their heads and remember how much they hate running. I think this is the reason I’ve started spending more time reading about professional and high-level college runners on running websites. There, people talk about training with the full understanding that if you’re reading it or listening to it, you probably care.

What carves away at me the most though, is when people believe that I don’t care about their training or racing because I’m faster. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been talking to someone and they are telling me about some aspect of their training, and they eventually say, “but you probably don’t care about any of this”. It’s almost offensive in a way, because I put all of this time and effort into training, and when I’m listening to somebody share their experiences, they all of a sudden feel like they aren’t good enough. I love listening to people talk about these things, because I personally know how hard it is to find someone who will just listen to you talk about your training without getting googley-eyed. I enjoy listening to my little brother talk about his high school training, because maybe he doesn’t get to do that often. (completely unrelated, not in any way associated with my little brother’s high school team sidenote: if you’re a high school coach and a bunch of your athletes have shin splits and are exhausted from your training, you’re probably overtraining them. If they don’t run well at a meet, don’t make them run more in practice the next week)

So what am I getting at? Well, the insecurity I’m writing about this time is the fear I have of discussing my training with people who don’t run or train. The reactions I get from people, either non-caring or astounded, are actually disheartening. It’s refreshing to have someone who I can sit down with and talk training without expecting some crazy reaction. Maybe this post sounds really whiny, and maybe I sound like a high-and-might type that’s a little out of touch with reality, but the words I write are still true. My thesis is this: Be excited to talk about your passions without fear, and be equally excited to listen to others talk about their passions without fear. Not only will you learn a lot from each other, but you might have a reignition in your passion because of seeing a friend chase theirs. I get a fire burning in my soul whenever I talk about my passions, and I’m willing to bet you do too. Just let it out; I promise it’ll feel dang good. 

Blessings,

Nate

Insecurities #3- Comparison

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 3.

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Have you ever tied your self-worth to a meaningless statistic? I have.

There was about a time frame of almost two years in which I didn't have a facebook account. I had been using it often, but I decided to take a break and deactivate it for awhile. I had noticed a disturbing trend in which I would connect my feelings about a topic with how many likes or comments I could get on a post about it. If a post wasn't garnering much attention, I would delete it. If it was only getting a few likes, I would sit embarrassed, especially when compared to friends who were racking up hundreds of likes simply because they loved their cat or something. On the flip side, I would puff out my chest in pride if I had a bunch of likes, because not only were other people validating how awesome I believed my posts to be, but they must have marveled at my popularity. Well this was completely and utterly unhealthy, so I got rid of it and prayed for a time. The end result was that when I finally did get my facebook back, I noticed that my posts were different. I was trying to uplift others, and not myself; it no longer mattered what the blue likes bar said or how big the red number in the top right corner of the screen was. It felt...good!

As a math guy, I'm a big fan of numbers. I can analyze a group of numbers in more ways than I'd like to admit, and running is much the same. I can memorize a list of someone's personal bests and times they've ran that season. I can recall my times from years previous, who I raced, what their times were, and what they eventually ran later. In fact, I have a memory from high school when I was talking to a teammate about a time he ran, and I was a little taken aback at the fact that he didn't know what race I was talking about- it really wasn't that important to him. Actually, I've found many people don't live and die on times.

I do.

Now again this isn't healthy. I've defined myself by my times. I routinely check my profile on undsports.com or my tfrrs.org page and wonder inwardly what people think of me when they see my times. Do they think I'm a scrub? Do they think of me as competition? Do they think of me as an unattainable goal? It literally consumes me. I see people at meets and my brain wants to think of them in terms of their times, not their personality. I might be talking to teammates about another runner, and if they say 'who is that?', I might respond with 'well, he's the guy that ran X time in Y race'. There has been times where I've been able to run a significant PR (personal record), and I feel a burden lifted simply because people won't think I'm slower than I actually am. It's pathetic. It reminds me of fantasy sports, in which the main goal is to depersonalize athletes in order to see them as statistics in order to accomplish your goal. I see other runners as their best times in order to judge my ability to race them.

One of my favorite professional athletes is Sara Hall. She is currently a long distance runner trying to make the U.S. Rio Olympic Team in the marathon, and she just this last weekend took 2nd place at the U.S. Road 12k Championships behind unarguably the best female distance runner in America right now, Molly Huddle. Sara and her husband, US half-marathon and marathon record holder Ryan Hall, talk often about the 'comparison trap'. The main idea behind this is that we get so caught up in comparing ourselves to others that we fail to see the joy in simply being at peace with our own performances. Who cares if somebody is better or worse than you? The best you can do is to do your best, not someone else's best. It's so easy to let our minds be dominated by the stats of other runners and how we stack up against the group, but in reality it doesn't matter. We need to take joy from what we do and compete at our best at all times. If we beat someone, great! If not, it's not the end of the world.

As I've mentioned in a previous blog post, I've started doing something that is both uncomfortable to me and to most college runners: approaching people on other teams and trying to get to know them. It sounds crazy, but I've come to enjoy it A LOT. The more I get to know another runner on a personal level, the more I find myself cheering for them, and the less I find myself stuck in comparison. I see other college guys chasing some of the same dreams as I am, and with their hearts set on working hard to get there. Suddenly it doesn't matter to me how fast they were at some meet hundreds of miles from where I am at a place I've never been to. Sure, seeing people run well motivates me to train hard, but I don't run a workout envisioning my rival right in front of me, sucking air as I confidently pass them down the final stretch, victoriously stretching out my arms to receive the reception from the crowd at my triumph. No, that was the old me. The new me loves what I do, not what others do.

My last point is the worst of all comparison but perhaps the most common: comparison among teammates. It is my firmly-held belief that we have all done this at some point whether we've been an athlete or not. We've compared test scores and been jealous of a classmate getting a better grade; we've compared jobs, some getting higher pay than others; we've compared stats, some teammates clearly doing better than ourselves. I will never forget the time a teammate that I trained and raced with looked me in the face and told me that it really bothered him when I beat him in a race. That's not what running is about. If we worry about teammates beating us, we miss the joy of being able to race and train at all! I know that there is pressure to make travel squads, conference teams, etc, but the moment you make a teammate into your competition, you've lost. Teammates can push each other towards new heights, but not fight each other about who gets there first, or who gets the best view at the top.

So this is my worst insecurity. I am every day fighting off the urge to compare myself to others. I instead try to live in joy and try to remember the words of the famous passage from 1 Samuel 16:7, "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." What a world we would live in if we saw people's hearts rather than outward appearances. But we don't. So, instead I have to fight and pray to love people for who they are, not what their best 5k is in comparison to mine. We all should do the same.

Blessings,

Nate

Insecurities #2- Injury

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 2.

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Before the beginning of my senior year of track in high school, I found myself grinding out miles on a stationary bike while staring at a predictably bland-colored wall in the backrooms of West Fargo High School. I honestly can't even remember what the injury was, but I came into the season far less prepared than I wanted to be. My first individual race came at the Bison Sports Arena in Fargo (an indoor track that isn't used for indoor track anymore), and I was able to stick with the leaders for a little bit, but my lack of strength caught up with me and I tanked the second half of the race, finishing with a disappointing place and time. It was devastating. I had aspirations of being a conference champion, and here I was sucking wind against guys who I had beaten before. My coach, fine-tuned to high school athletes in a way I have yet to ever see bested, assured me that I would be fine once I got back into shape, and furthermore that it wouldn't take as much time as I thought. His words attempted to lift me out of a pit and set me someplace that I could see clearer and breathe easier. Well, the short version of the story is that two weeks later at the same place and running the same distance against the same competition, I won a convincing victory at the indoor conference meet with a time that even surprised me. My first injury had been endured.

As luck would have it, the week leading up to the outdoor conference meet that same year, I found myself in the empty hallways of my school, head resting against a locker, sadness pulsing through my body. I had sustained a small strain in my calf a few days before, and it was the day of conference and I wasn't 100% healthy. I had been stretching and foam-rolling (well, I was using a rolling pin my parents borrowed me, isn't that a North Dakota family for ya?), but to no avail. When nobody was looking, I would bounce on my toes a few times to see if the pain had completely subsided. Nope. We were hosting conference, so I sought refuge in the school, where I continued to stretch and try jogging to see if the pain would go away. Nope. My races that day were terrible by my standards.

Less than a year later I found myself sitting on the floor of the UND locker room, stretching after another boring pool session, wondering what I was doing with my life. After getting handily beaten in all my cross country and track races, I sustained another injury, and this time I was told it was simply because I was weak and inflexible basically everywhere: hips, quads, back, etc...It was tearing me apart. I recall writing in my math notes one day: "Where would you be right now if not for running?" The question teased me for weeks. Did I really have a place running for a university when my body continually gave up on me? Could I not be doing much more good someplace else? I was still doing that thing where when nobody was looking, I would try jumping or jogging slowly to see if the pain had gone away. Nope. (By the way, I know that other athletes do that too- torment themselves by constantly testing their injuries when they KNOW it's not going to be healed, but they hang on to some sort of false hope. When they realize it still hurts, it only adds to the mental pain)

But then I became healthy enough to run a couple laps as part of my rehab exercises. It was only a few laps, but it was a huge mental relief for me. I literally felt the weight lift off my shoulders. You know, an injured athlete is quite an interesting creature. Sports and training are what they know, and teammates/training partners are their social groups; both of those disappear with injuries. The athlete is no longer in the 'in' group and likely doesn't understand inside jokes among teammates anymore. Their method of exercise and physical well-being is taken away from them, and they can torment themselves in many ways. Their appetite will lessen, their sleep patterns won't be as fluid, and their head will be filled with questions that had never taken hold there. It's especially worse for scholarship athletes, because those signed papers represent something that can't necessarily be filled when injured, and that can contribute to the helplessness they feel. For me, the worst is when I'm injured but go to a meet to cheer on my teammates. I get to field questions about why I'm not racing, and simply walking around in street clothes is enough to make me feel like everybody is looking at me, knowing. Sometimes it makes me just want to leave, because I feel so uncomfortable. I hear the gun go off at the beginning of every race, and a part of me simply dies. That could be me on the track.

Soon I was running more and more, and I even did some workouts. Unfortunately for me, I came back too quickly and re-injured the same spot, but I wasn't crushed as bad this time: I had remembered the joy of hobbling around the track when I had been waiting in want for months. The oft-quoted cliche held true: I didn't really know what I had until it was gone. Injuries can be a source of increasing sadness and discontent. Separation from team, long and grueling rehab exercises, and an unchanging full-time class load are all weighing down heavily on the athlete. The athlete may watch teammates perform outstanding, and have trouble being truly happy for them, because it was their absence that created the void for the teammates performance to even happen. But all that is wiped away when the sport can be experienced again. The joy of reliving the dreams of your past weeks can overcome any previous sadness. Being able to smile with teammates again is a truly wonderful thing.

I have still had other injuries in college, and each time I feel the same way: my world around me seems to crash down and crush my body with it. Smiling becomes harder, and joy becomes less. But I have gotten better over time. I now recognize injuries to be a blessing in disguise. Nothing in athletics can refocus your attention quite like having athletics taken away for awhile. You get to go back to the basics and start loving the game/sport again. In fact, I've started considering myself a lucky person to have had as many injuries as I've had, because every time I learn from it. I learn how to take care of my body in a new way, I learn something about training I had never thought about, and I learn how to endure seeing opponents crush out fast times while I watch. I've even learned how to be truly happy for teammate's success while I cannot run.

Above all, I have a solid foundation. With each passing year I realize how important it is to have a base in my life that isn't running or anything else. I have learned from reading the Bible how unimportant individual success is, and how important loving others and being there for their success is. My life isn't fully invested in running, and it does not serve as an idol for me, because I recognize that the most important part of life is to serve and live and Jesus did. In my most recent injury, it bothered me for a couple hours, but after that I said 'you know what, I know that God has a plan, and good can eventually result from this, whatever that may be'.

Injuries have always been a major stress for me, because it takes away something rapidly becoming an idol and forces me to refocus. It hurts mental and physically, and it truly tears some people apart, but if you keep the big picture in mind, you can actually thrive through them. Don't ever let your self-worth be tied to your success that depends on you staying healthy. Self-worth comes from knowing that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Blessings,

Nate

Insecurities #1- Body

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 1.

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I recall my freshman year at UND when I was already running twice as much as I was my senior year of high school, and my body was going through transformations as a result. The very first thing I noticed was my calves. See, I have tended to run in such a way that my forefoot will land first, and that places a lot of stress on the calves. It stunned me, and it started to almost become a burden. I would be walking up the stairs to my dorm room and there would always be a mirror on the wall, and I would watch my newly-formed calves stretching and contracting and I walked to the second floor. On some occasions when nobody was in the stairwell, I would even embellish a little and get up on my tip-toes to marvel. I wish I was making this up, but I'm not.

It didn't take long into the second semester of my freshman year before I became acutely aware of the body-worship that was taking place. I would be walking around campus in shorts and wonder to myself if anybody noticed my calves like I did, which is completely ridiculous! I started wearing jeans more and more to try to train myself to stop looking at and thinking about it. It actually worked for awhile, but I had to do some prayer to realize that it really didn't matter what my legs looked like- we are all created different. I was satisfied with answer- or at least I was until I had to deal with it again.

The next years went by without trouble, but these past two have been kind of rough. As I've gotten faster and my competition has improved as well, I have noticed that almost everybody I finish near has similar characteristics: skinnier, more defined, and more runner-esque. When others run, you can see each individual leg muscle from miles away (especially in pictures), whereas for me there really isn't any definition- just a white blob. When others run, you can almost picture the wind knocking them over because they have no fat on them, but when I run I jiggle. When others run, their jersey fits loosely over their body, whereas mine fits more snug with less breathing room.The worst is watching professionals train, because they are so ridiculously fit and lean, and I'm usually sitting there eating peanut butter or something.

I know I am not alone in this. How do I know? Look at the prevalence of burn-out and eating disorders among endurance athletes. The desire to be skinnier, faster, and toned all at the same time can lead to disaster. I know I've had workouts where I was unable to finish and for the simple reason that I didn't have enough calories in my body out of fear of gaining weight.* I know a handful of people who have personally struggled with eating disorders, and it can kill a season, but more importantly a person's mental state. Every heard of Dagny Knutson? She was the swimmer from Minot who shattered every record imaginable, made it into the big-time, had an American Record at one point, and then came crashing down due to bulimia. Here's an excellent article about her from the New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/26/sports/swimmer-dagny-knutson-retires-again-seeking-normalcy.html?_r=0

The first time I had any real help with body-comparisons and lack of any kind of self-confidence was conference cross country my junior year of college. We were at Montana State University in Bozeman, and during warmups I was trying to figure out who the big-dogs were; I had seen previous results from earlier in the season, and I knew that there was a guy from Southern Utah who would make it to nationals because he was a stud. I was looking through their team and they had many tall, lanky, lean runners that looked the part, and I couldn't figure out which was him. Fortunately, during the post-race awards ceremony I got to see which was he was- he was the short, stockier looking guy with the enormous calves. He looked to me more like an 800 runner than a cross country runner. I also realized that some of those super skinny, runner-esque guys I had beaten. It dawned on me that perhaps it didn't matter what your body looked like after all. 

With each passing year I become more and more convinced that it doesn't matter what your body looks like. You put in the time and you'll get better. Some people are more naturally talented than others, but that's out of your control. Trying to perfect the look of your body in order to expect some kind of artificial success is worthless and stressful. I know now that when I line up at the start line, chances are that most of the other runners will look more like a distance runner than me. I don't care. Every day I get to do something I love and enjoy it. I eat as healthy as I can, but I don't fear having a dessert or unhealthy snack occasionally. I have gotten skinnier, but if I'm hungry I'm not afraid to EAT. If somebody looks faster than me, I don't care- prove it to me in a race. If they are faster, who cares? I then have a new goal to chase. 

Don't ever let body image control you. There will always be skinnier people out there. There will always be people who look faster out there. There will always be people who have your ideal body image out there. Realize these two things: 1.) An ideal is just that- an ideal. 2.) There are people who cannot enjoy what they love for various reasons. Set goals, but know when to take a break. Above all, realize that, like I said above, we are all created unique and special by our Creator, and never take that for granted. Our body was made as a temple of worship, not a temple to be worshiped. 

I hope you enjoyed this post or were able to take something from it. I have at least three more of these posts on the way.

Blessings,

Nate

*I want to be crystal clear- I do not have and have never had any kind of eating disorder, but that doesn't diminish the argument.

High Performance Center

As I finished running a strider before the workout, one of my teammates came up beside me and said that we needed to get started, because she was getting jittery; I must admit I felt much the same. This was simply a workout- something we do two or three times a week, and yet I almost felt like I was about to start a race. Something was certainly special about this place.

As we finished one of our 400s, we looked over to the entrance area, where some older people were standing around, looking at the building and watching the track team workout. After years of training inside an old historic building, we were not used to people dropping by to check out the freshness. It took me back to last week, when we had the grand opening for the public. Hundreds of people- young, old, runners, non-runners- came out to celebrate. We heard from the some of the wealthiest most influential leaders in the community, and even had a ceremonial breaking of the tape where some of us ran around a small portion of the track and ran through a finishing tape while everyone stood around, clapped, and took pictures. Yet, amidst all the energy, there was a distinct silence in the building.

The inside is so incredibly massive in size and unparalleled in design that even a gathering such as this could not swallow up the quiet resting in far parts of the building. Athletes demonstrating in the other half of the buildings were tiny specks in another world. If they yelled, we may not be able to hear what they say. The roof is far over our heads, and looking into the oval lighting can be euphoric even. We have moved all of our track stuff over from the Hyslop- mats, carts, implements, hurdles- and yet the space still seems empty.

As we continued to pump out 400s it dawned on me that a large majority of the track team was in the building at that moment, and yet the amount of open area was stunning. Most lanes were dormant and the turf was recovering from whenever last the football team used it. A thought crossed my mind, one that I have many times in the past couple weeks: it is surreal that this is for us. Throughout my college career we have been to some beautiful track facilities, and I always marvel in jealousy at the host school and how lucky they are to not only have the facility to host meets, but also to train in. Now we have a 300-meter indoor track with the nicest surface money can buy surrounding a full-length turf football field. We have, no matter the time of year, a place to train where it is 60 degrees and not windy. We have space to accomplish what we want to accomplish. We have full length runways and pits for the jumping events. It continually blows my mind. Maybe to truly appreciate a place such as this, one must come from humble circumstances.

Of course, the grand opening to the public wasn't the first time we were thrown under the radar this fall. A few weeks before that there was a track and field reunion coinciding with the home cross country meet weekend, and that brought oodles of people from all over the place to come check out the new digs. The highlight of my day may have been noticing halfway through a conversation that I was talking to a 7-foot high jumper (he jumped that high- I mean he was tall but not that tall) and school record holder, but the excitement pulsing through the crowd of people was real. I watched as kids ran down the track, smiles erupting from their faces. I saw elderly folks walking around the track, soaking in the large posters on the wall, showing off famous athletes and teams (and the names of the donors for the pictures) of old. Most people could only say 'wow'. This had finally happened.

Yes, this was a long time coming. My freshman year my senior captain told me that when he was recruited in high school he had been promised this building. I've heard stories of people back into the late 90s being promised this building. Many people speculated that it would never be done as a result. It sits literally on the foundation of the old hockey arena, a place where my coach has said that the distance runners would go run 200m repeats in the winter, but eventually were barred from doing so because the building was condemned. Cradled next to Memorial Stadium, now it stands above other nearby buildings, proudly blazing the lit up interlocking ND into the dark skies of late fall in North Dakota, a sign of what has been made.

Going even farther back, UND was founded in an interesting place. At the time a university was scrapped together a mile outside the actual city of Grand Forks, isolated on the prairie. In every direction from the campus there was nothing but wheat bending in the breeze for miles. Trees? Nah. Water? Well the Red River was a few miles away if that dirty thing counts. Civilization? Eh, kind of. However, some visionaries decided that a university of higher learning was necessary to civilize the plains a little. Now we have a law school, med school, aviation school, business school, and everything in between. Every time something like the HPC is built, we are telling a story of strength. We can defeat the North Dakota winters. We can defeat the nothingness of the prairies. We do not have to be at disadvantage simply because of where we are from. It is a symbol of the heart of the people here.

We are going on cooldown now. We leave the building and go into this tiny little parking lot on the North side. We have to be a little careful, because the raised sidewalk is the same color as the parking lot, and Ryan almost ate a cement sandwich last week when he didn't notice that. We go around the dirt that has been seeded to raise some grass in the spring and head out into the city. When we come back, a travel bus sits in the parking lot. We speculate who it might be. Is it the football team UND plays tomorrow? Is is the volleyball team UND played yesterday? As we go into the HPC, it turns out to be a group of people checking out the building- standing over the railing and taking it all in. They seem as stunned as we were the first time we saw it. We went down the stairs to the track area. Yup, still pretty quiet.

As we packed up and left, I forgot to turn around and take a good look before we left. Oh well, I suppose we'll be in here quite a few times between now and May. Maybe by then I'll accept this gracious donation and stop being in shock that we actually get to train here. Then again, maybe not. How could one ever become accustomed to such a wonderful place? We now have a place to show off; we have a house to protect.

When the Reality is Better Than the Dream

The phrase 'deer camp' means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. For my family, it means every year during the first weekend of deer gun season in early November we assemble at the farm for a weekend of hunting, eating, and shooting the bull. With each passing year I realize that the hunting part takes a back seat to everything else. Each one of us is escaping his 'reality' in order to go off the grid for a weekend of bliss.

This weekend was my poorest in a long time in terms of training. I got a workout in on Friday morning before we left, but I barely managed 20 minutes of running on Saturday before sundown, and 8 1/2 miles on my normal long run day, where I'll usually run almost twice as many miles as that. Yet, I couldn't be happier. After a long day of hunting outside sun-up to sun-down, I have zero motivation to change into running clothes, go out into the dark, and run a sketchy prairie road to the section line to the county highway. Remember, this isn't a city where the streets are nicely lit for you. When the moon is not full and shining, you can't really see the ground beneath your feet. Combine that with bumpy, muddy, pot-hole ridden roads, and I think I'd rather stay inside and eat far too much of our perfectly crafted high-protein cuisine of venison, eggs, potatoes, and onions (and that's exactly what I did).

I talked with a teammate recently about a certain high-pitched buzzing that I get in my ears when everything is silent. When I'm outside in a place devoid of human noises and there isn't too much wind, all I can hear is the buzzing in my ears. I feel genuinely sad for him for not experiencing that before, because it is a magical sound that I search for. People in a conversation about why in h-ee-double-hockey-sticks I run as much as I do, the question occasionally pops up jokingly, "Well what are you running from?" [this is followed by some kind of expectant expression, as if I should have expected this question or something] I realized this summer that I AM running from something- noise. Cars, trains, people, buildings, airplanes, sirens, ...the list is endless. Living in Grand Forks sometimes hurts because I walk out the door in the morning and I'm immediately slammed with noise, ruining what might otherwise be a peaceful sunrise. Sometimes I almost feel enclosed.

And that's the wonderful thing about deer camp. No matter what's going on inside, I walk out the door and I see the stars, I hear the wind, and that's it. The world is at peace and I can breathe fresh, crisp fall air. I really have come to believe that everybody runs from something, but people who spend time in the country feel the same way, especially at our deer camp. Work, stress, obligations- all are deserted for a weekend of what some might call 'a dream'. Whether it's seeing the sunrise while sitting in a shelterbelt watching deer come running by; whether it's walking not-so-stealthily through a forest of cockleburs; whether it's watching shooting stars zoom across the light pollution-free night sky; whether it's sleeping in a place where no one will disturb you; whether it's watching deer swim across the river, fleeing the pushers, and keeping your gun on 'safety' the whole time; whether it's sitting around and talking about whatever is on your mind without worries of judgement; and whether it's running down a valley just to sit by a creek and listen to nothing while sweat steams off of your body with the sun setting- this is as close as life will get to 'reality'. I guess now it's back to the 'dream world' that involves writing papers, filling out schedules, meeting obligations, trying to get enough sleep, eating a lot less food, and writing more papers. Until then, I reminisce about the kind of quiet that I flee from. What do you run away from?