The End

We were walking down a hallway. This straight-line path was well lit, white walled, and had many doors. At the end of the hallway was a beautiful red door with a sparkling glass handle. My teammates and I arrived at the door and stood there, looking at each other; we knew. One of them grabbed the door handle, gently turned the bright knob, and gingerly opened the door. Inside was black. I couldn't see anything past the entry, but I strode forward into the darkness. Immediately all light was gone and a stiff wind hit me in the face, slamming the door shut behind me. Dazed, I immediately turned around to go back. The door was gone. I screamed out "NO!" and frantically searched for any hint of the door. I couldn't see anything in the blackness, and I was disoriented. The wall was gone, in fact everything was gone. I was in a world of nothing. "GUYS!" I yelled out, but there was nothing. I was truly alone. I sat down on the hard, cold ground.

I looked up and there standing before me was the trainer and the doctor. This back room was where some tough conversations happen, and I'm pretty sure this is no exception. Behind this closed door he's saying something about MTSS, which apparently is some kind of fancy way of saying 'you're gonna get a stress fracture if you don't settle down'. I look down at the forlorn carpet, doing my all to hold back tears. I mumble about understanding and just try to get out of there. After two and a half years of sweat and struggle, I finally had my breakthrough, but it will all be for not. I can't bear it. I escape from the training room and stumble into the locker room, finally parking my fragile legs on the futon. No conference. No spring break trip. No more prs this year. I slump. Just don't cry.

Just don't cry. The floor is still cold and I can't see. The wind has gone and there is no sound. I look up and actually see some stars, shining down little rays of light into my dark world, so somehow the roof disappeared too. Where am I? I'm rolling out of bed at 6:00am and putting on layers. I'm 4 weeks away from my breakthrough. I'm running down the gravel road outside of Horace and doing my workout underneath the stars, because I have a big day of driving across the great state of North Dakota coming up. scratch scratch scratch my shoes say. It's -28F actual temperature with no wind. After my last rep, I stop and look at the stars, overjoyed that no cars are disturbing my morning adventures. My breath hangs in the air and distorts some of the stars. I can't even see the road I'm running on. I come back into town right before sunrise, and the locals have all autostarted their vehicles to begin the daily ritual of hastily sprinting to the car to avoid having the cold air touch their face. You know, the cold really doesn't feel that cold when there isn't wind.

I'm cold now, though. I suppose I should get up and move around and try to figure out where I am and what on earth I need to do. Suddenly, to my right I hear some kind of beeping. I look and there's Ryan looking at his watch. We run together a lot these days, and for some odd reason, even when we start our runs in the exact same place and at the exact same time, his watch always beeps, signifying another mile completed, before mine. We were running on the trails recently and my watch beeped before his. "HA! I'M FASTER!" I exclaimed. His watch got me next mile though. I never could figure it out, but this time he unexpectedly started running up and down the hill next to us, and at that moment it hit me like the shower door I ran into last night while searching for the toliet: he's a cheater. And he knows it. He's always looking for ways to take on an extra .01 miles here and there. In fact, he smiles with mirth because he knows I know. I'll get him someday. Someday.

The sound is getting louder as I'm getting closer. I'm getting excited and starting to pick up my pace to a slight shuffle. You know, every time I hear the word shuffle, I think back to 9th grade when we would do physical fitness testing in gym. I can't even remember what the exercise was called, but it was some kind of shuffle. We would shuffle back and forth to pick up these chalk board erasers and get to the finish as fast as possible. I never was too good at that. Now, I don't know where I am or what I'm running towards, but it's something; I have no clear picture of what I need to do with life right now anyway, so why not chase it? I accelerate even more, and I'm running now. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I trip over some large object and fall directly on my knee before faceplanting into the hard, cold floor. Uff! After taking a second to catch the wind recently knocked out of me, I stand up and look at my teammates turning around to check up on me. We all knew this parking lot was icy, like everything is in January, but I had no idea my feet would simply disappear from under me. I sat in midair, helpless while the ground took me prisoner and let gravity have the final word. Quickly rising to my feet, I tell the guys I'm fine, and hobble through the next mile, going through the paradox of running to loosen up something in my leg that hurts really bad. It works. My teammates keep running.

Yeah, where are those guys?? They were with me at the red door, but then they left me here in the dark! Maybe it's the fact that the beeping mysteriously stopped, maybe it's the whatever-it-is that I tripped over, maybe it's the miserable situation I'm currently in, maybe it's the teammates who aren't with me- but I start getting angry. I hit the ground as hard as I can. CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK. I look at my locker. The old green piece of metal had no dents in it. I try hitting it harder. CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK. Why does this happen every year? Being told you almost have a stress fracture after a huge race is bad enough, but two years in a row? Nonense. Dammit anyway. Is this not where I'm called to be? Am I destined to be a failure? What am I doing wrong? Am I going to be one of those promising runners whose career is permanently derailed by injuries? AHHHHHH CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK. I recede to the floor, letting my back slide along the lockers on the way down. I let out a sigh; I guess tomorrow I'll be at the pool.

I pat the ground with my hands and crawl on my knees, forming increasingly large concentric circles, searching the ground for this stupid, ill-placed object. I finally touch it, and it's just some book. I stare at the blackness, knowing that in my hand, which I cannot see, is some book that some person put in likely hundreds of hours compiling, putting their heart and soul into their work, giving up things important to most people, only to have it end up here. The absurdity of it all finally catches up with me and I start laughing. Hearty, heavy, heaves of laughter escape from me and I can't stop. I sit there and laugh like an idiot, all by myself. My breathing wanes and my eyes are watering. I can't even begin to imagine what people looking at me would think. I guess I don't care.

Maybe they would be like my competitors in that 5k in South Dakota, where it was super windy and we came around a corner, got slapped by a gust of wind, and I yelled "WOO-HOO!", causing one athlete to ignore his stride for a second and give me a look (it wasn't joy). Maybe they would be like the frequent flyers of Terrace Dining Center when Econ took that fake fish and ran out of the building, chased by grossly out of shape staff. Maybe they would look like I did when Nick stopped our run to pick up snow off the sand, pulled a vitamin out of his pocket, and ate it with the snow. "What?" he said, "it opens up my capillaries."

I'm walking with a smile now, book in hand. However, I still can't shake off this feeling of helplessness. Ryan and I have just ascended the last of the brutal the hills, only to be greeted with a sign boasting the parking lot to be 7.5 miles away. We look at each other, already 90 minutes into our 80 minute run, exhausted, the wind now out of our sails- we thought we were done. We timidly start jogging down the beautiful, hilly gravel road, surrounded by woods. Turns out the ATV group we passed a while back comes upon us and offers us a ride back to the parking lot, which we immediately accept. It's like the time we were sprinting through the airport to get to our flight that was already supposed to be taking off. Turns out the pilot was a UND grad who heard about our delays and held the plane for us. He was the only one with authority to do that. It's like the many times we would get dropped off on a gravel road, strong winds blowing powdery snow across the road so fast we could hardly see the road. Turns out, running with the wind at your back is wonderful in the winter. It's like when the amount of rest for your next rep is slowly running out and you are NOT ready for the next one. Turns out, it helps you get better. It's like being 4 miles outside of Grand Forks and your gloves are horrifically inadequate, your hands freezing, and sub-zero wind chill not caring one bit. Turns out, mental toughness got me to the gas station and gave me hope.

I run straight into a wall. OW! Naturally, I can't see the wall, but it's there. Without spending precious seconds wondering why there's a wall suddenly, I begin frantically probing it with my hands until I come upon a door handle. I pause. I do a quick inhale and hold my breath. I turn the doorknob, try pulling the door, realize it's a push door, push it open, and become blinded by stunning white light. I take a step forward into the new warmth and hear the door shut behind me. I turn around to watch a beautiful blue door with a shining glass handle disappear into nothing. The wall is gone. I hear the distinct sound of the chickadee in a nearby tree. I look up and see the baseball net. I look down at my running shoes, forward at the huge facility, and up at the ventilation system where the sound is coming from. It's the dead of winter, but this machine makes a sound just like that bird, and it grabs my heart and gets me craving summer. I stand there, in complete silence, having the whole High Performance Center to myself, cherishing every beautiful second. It's relaxing and simultaneously intimidating, but now I'm tired. After having rolled out of bed at 5:30am, I step outside the cabin into the summer morning sunrise. This long run isn't going to run itself, and I need to get going before it gets hot. After all, there's incredibly few trees to block the sun out here in the countryside. I start off down the gravel road. I see the morning star. I hear the sound of the chickadees. This will be a good run. scratch scratch scratch

I look down at the book in hand. It's titled 'Memories', and underneath it is an interlocking ND.
 I stare at the blackness, knowing that in my hand, which I cannot see, is some book that some person put in likely hundreds of hours compiling, putting their heart and soul into their work, giving up things important to most people
I smile. I start walking down the street towards the future. My plan is to