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