Hills.
We are currently standing in the middle of a gravel road in rural Minnesota, waiting for a fellow runner to finish fertilizing the nearby corn field, and watching the west sky swell up dark blue, periodic flashes of white hurtling through the sky. We continue down the road, mile after mile passing by relatively calmly. Towards the end of the run the sky erupts in heavy rain, to which we start sprinting down the hills, headed for our final destination; we decide also that if the rain turned to hail we would make a break for a tree patch and bunker down there. Fortunately for us, all we received was a soaking that was borderline-baptismal. When we finally wandered back to the vehicle, rain abounding, I realize that we've been running for more than 90 minutes and that this was my longest run in more than three months. I take a deep breath and look at the clearing sky to the west: in two days I have a half marathon race in the North Dakota badlands. My legs hurt.
I'm panting and struggling up another hill. I'm on a warmup with a recently-made friend who is racing in the badlands with me. We are ascending a hill on the road that will take us to the #ndlegendary (sponsor) Maah Daah Hey trail. We are bunkered down at the Buffalo Gap Guest Ranch, a small western-style main street that almost nobody knows exists. They have the rustic western restaurant with expensive steaks, motel lodging with hitching posts right outside the door, and a cattle guard upon entering the area. Our half marathon race starts on the Buffalo Gap trail because trail miles 5 through 10 of the MDH are through Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and going through a national park presents all kinds of logistics problems. (For example, bikes aren't allowed in the national park, because they are too invasive on the experience or something. We can pave roads and make 'scenic drives' for people and their gas-guzzling campers through the wilderness, but if you want to ride a zero-emission bike on a dirt trail, that's a big no-no) Thus, the BG trail was created partially so that bikers and hikers (who would need permits for overnight stays) would not have to go through the national park.
The sky is clear blue and the temperature hovers in the 40s as the sun bounces back and forth off the buttes, the drops of water still holding onto the grass before the morning heat eats them up. We finish our warmup and congregate with the other folks out here to run in an area named for how unappealing it seemed to human habitation. Two days ago when I ran too far, I thought I wouldn't have people to race with; now I look to my right and see a guy who will absolutely roast me. I end up not being wrong.
The first few miles go by in a flash- the course is dry and relatively flat- so we pop off a few miles in the 5:45 range and ease in. We take turns lifting up the gate for each other (these gates are spring-loaded on the left side, so you pick up the right side, set it down, and it stays down. It's genius and I'm sure the local ranchers love it) and engage in conversation here and there. In fact, I'm even beginning to entertain notions that I could actually win this interes
Hills.
I'm hurting now. Being a product of the famed Red River Valley and raised in her oppressive flatness, hills and I have a respect/hate relationship, but the hills definitely wear the pants. By mile six I'm sucking wind, and my opponent is kind and gracious, waiting a few moments at the gate to let me through without dropping it. Soon it's not even worth his time anymore and he's gone, and when I say gone I mean he's over the next valley, and by the time I get to the top he's over the next one and gone. I'm alone.
I had never before been in a race where I found myself completely alone. In cross country or track, you may be by yourself, but you can still see your opponents. You may be leading the race, but you can feel the competition behind you. My legs now felt like the 10 pound brick that lifeguards retrieve during training, and I was becoming quite hungry. On some of the tougher hills, I found myself walking to the top, periodically turning around and checking for runners coming up behind me. There were none. The trail had received a slight rain the night before, and our favorite cattle friends had duly walked every inch of it, and as a result the whole length was covered in hoof-sized ruts and muddy stream crossings. I could feel my shoes beginning to weigh more.
As I finish a short trudge to the top of one hill, I opened a gate, walked through, set it down, and paused. I had traveled sufficiently far from the interstate that I couldn't hear it's annoying sounds anymore. I still could not see or hear another human being; there were no homes or sign of human life save a power line powering through just south of me, hell-bent on Medora. The gentle breeze was flowing through the prairie grass, and the prairie animals and insects sang that summer buzz in the valleys; this hum is one of the most peaceful sounds I know.
The rest of the race was a struggle. I managed to scare a lady out of her wits (she was talking on her phone while walking the 10k race and ignoring all the scenery around her- quite sad) and my fellow racer had time to finish his race, recover, and run out to jog the finish with me. My legs were done and all I wanted was food. The MDH had chewed me up and spit me out, completely unwavering in its devotion to destroy all that enter. My jersey was soaked with sweat, my throat parched and in need of water, and my shoes and calves were covered in mud. I loved every second of it.
I'm sitting and watching the Olympic Men's Marathon now. The pack has split and the only three left are two East Africans and our random white guy from America (not random if you follow distance running, but nonetheless seeing a white guy in a USA top in the top three of the Olympic Marathon is a strange sight). However, the cameras still take time to focus on all the athletes that have been thrown out the back. These are runners that have put in years and years of training just to get stomped in this race on live tv. They have made sacrifices unknown to the common person, and some even have entire countries cheering them on. I can't help but sit, stargazed, at those behind the lead pack. True grit right there. They are living the Olympic dream.
As I stood on top of the trail in the badlands, I realized that my dream was not far, far away. In fact, it wasn't even across this valley and over the next butte. No, my dream was somewhere in between. My dream was putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying the ride. We are meant to move, not sit. We are meant to run, not walk. We are meant to breathe. We are meant to dream.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Saturday, August 6, 2016
What is Running- Standing Rock
My last post on here dealt with what running actually is to the people who do it, in all the various forms and manners nowadays. A fifth example of what running can actually be has sprung up recently and I think it's worth detailing. But first, the background...
Anybody with eyes and ears knows that North Dakota is a land meant for extraction. Driving through the countryside in eastern ND, it's obvious that every square inch of land is either allocated to farm land or small towns that support those who farm the farm land. Moving into central and western ND, cattle grazing land becomes mixed in with the farmland, but after crossing the Missouri it transfers over to mostly pasture. Sprinkled in are massive coal mines, oil fields, and small, delicate little state parks that are truly meant for either day trips or a place to put a camper so fish can be caught from our little reservoirs. We've taken a wild land and carved it up into neat pieces and mathematically calculated exactly how much of each mineral each acre needs so that over-exploitation doesn't occur.
This is the story of America, really. We expand, we fence, we sow, we reap, we profit, repeat. It's not necessarily always a bad thing- people in the world need to be fed right? In North Dakota this is most acute because we use as much space as possible for farm and ranch land. We fence off little areas of wilderness so people will leave it alone. I mean, look at the national park: there are oil wells literally outside the fences because companies will take any space they can, and how can a landowner turn down that kind of money in a lifestyle of western ND ranching? (not exactly the most luxurious of professions thanks to drought, too much rain, early freezes and blizzards, etc etc). I know that most of the talk is about finding a 'balance', but let's be honest with ourselves: industry always wins.
In the 1950s construction was finished on the Garrison Dam, a magnificent structure with amazing benefits. Hydroelectric power, water level and flood control, water recreation on the prairie- heck, even the Bible camp I work at lies on the shores of the dammed up Missouri River, and it's quite a beautiful place! But we seem to forget the dark side of the Corps of Engineers Project. Pristine river valley land, much of it owned by the Three Affiliated Tribes (Mandan, Hidatsa, Arikara) was flooded, with some native towns engulfed completely and permanently. Sure, the tribes protested, but industry wins.
Now we deal with the oil boom that just swept the state in the last eight or nine years. I recall a teammate who worked out west one summer describing running out around the Watford City area at the height of the boom, and the picture he painted was not as beautiful as it would seem. In the rush to make money and extract, roads were covered with trucks and running was made to be quite dangerous. I remember staying with family in rural New Town during this time, and they warned me before I went out to run that I needed to stay off the main gravel roads because of the truck traffic. They weren't kidding.
Now the infrastructure is starting to catch up, and one of the big pushes lately has been to get the oil off of the rail and underground into the pipelines. One of these, the Dakota Access Pipeline, has been gathering attention on major news outlets. The proposal would have the pipeline cross the Missouri River near the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, which covers portions of South Central ND and North Central SD. Fearing the eventual pipeline leak into the water that they have come to rely on and have sacred meaning in, the natives there are taking a stand, or should I say run, against it.
You may have seen it in the news recently, but youth from the reservation ran more than 2,000 miles from North Dakota to Washington D.C. to deliver a high-profile petition with thousands of signatures and support from some celebrities, and they are asking for the Corps of Engineers to rethink the route and have conversation with the people there.
This is what running is. For them, running took the shape of fighting for what they believe in. Now, some of you reading this may think this whole petition is garbage. Why, you might ask, do they think they can also drive vehicles the whole way to protest an oil pipeline? Why, you might ask, do they use the very oil that they protest? How, you might ask, can we survive as a world right now without oil extraction in an attempt to find energy independence in an oil-crazed world? I don't know. But what I do know is that we all need to open up our ears to what others have to say.
Take for example North Dakota's proponent of worship- Theodore Roosevelt. He was a wealthy New Yorker who originally came to ND for hunting trips where he would shoot and kill enormous amounts of animals simply because he could. Later in his life, after a hunting trip in the Wyoming mountains where he killed hundreds of animals, he met the founder of the Audubon Society and was convinced to take a look at conserving land and animals, which he did. We now know him as the man who got the ball rolling on National Park and Wilderness areas.
We look at youth running 2000 miles for this cause, and we realize how important this is to them. We recall our own experiences running and wonder how awesome it must be to keep pushing forward, putting one foot in front of the other, for a cause we desperately believe in. Running, like I said before, is communal, and these folks had people to run and share experiences with. They used the ancient art of running to accomplish a mighty goal in order to stand their ground. Sometimes it takes a group of people running to get others to turn around and notice.
From an article on Indian Country Today Media Network:
"We are running for our lives against the Dakota Access Pipeline," said Three Legs, one of the participants, in a statement. "Now is the time for the people to hear our voices that we are here and we will stand strong."
Yeah, and they RAN the whole way for it. That's what running is.
Anybody with eyes and ears knows that North Dakota is a land meant for extraction. Driving through the countryside in eastern ND, it's obvious that every square inch of land is either allocated to farm land or small towns that support those who farm the farm land. Moving into central and western ND, cattle grazing land becomes mixed in with the farmland, but after crossing the Missouri it transfers over to mostly pasture. Sprinkled in are massive coal mines, oil fields, and small, delicate little state parks that are truly meant for either day trips or a place to put a camper so fish can be caught from our little reservoirs. We've taken a wild land and carved it up into neat pieces and mathematically calculated exactly how much of each mineral each acre needs so that over-exploitation doesn't occur.
This is the story of America, really. We expand, we fence, we sow, we reap, we profit, repeat. It's not necessarily always a bad thing- people in the world need to be fed right? In North Dakota this is most acute because we use as much space as possible for farm and ranch land. We fence off little areas of wilderness so people will leave it alone. I mean, look at the national park: there are oil wells literally outside the fences because companies will take any space they can, and how can a landowner turn down that kind of money in a lifestyle of western ND ranching? (not exactly the most luxurious of professions thanks to drought, too much rain, early freezes and blizzards, etc etc). I know that most of the talk is about finding a 'balance', but let's be honest with ourselves: industry always wins.
In the 1950s construction was finished on the Garrison Dam, a magnificent structure with amazing benefits. Hydroelectric power, water level and flood control, water recreation on the prairie- heck, even the Bible camp I work at lies on the shores of the dammed up Missouri River, and it's quite a beautiful place! But we seem to forget the dark side of the Corps of Engineers Project. Pristine river valley land, much of it owned by the Three Affiliated Tribes (Mandan, Hidatsa, Arikara) was flooded, with some native towns engulfed completely and permanently. Sure, the tribes protested, but industry wins.
Now we deal with the oil boom that just swept the state in the last eight or nine years. I recall a teammate who worked out west one summer describing running out around the Watford City area at the height of the boom, and the picture he painted was not as beautiful as it would seem. In the rush to make money and extract, roads were covered with trucks and running was made to be quite dangerous. I remember staying with family in rural New Town during this time, and they warned me before I went out to run that I needed to stay off the main gravel roads because of the truck traffic. They weren't kidding.
Now the infrastructure is starting to catch up, and one of the big pushes lately has been to get the oil off of the rail and underground into the pipelines. One of these, the Dakota Access Pipeline, has been gathering attention on major news outlets. The proposal would have the pipeline cross the Missouri River near the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, which covers portions of South Central ND and North Central SD. Fearing the eventual pipeline leak into the water that they have come to rely on and have sacred meaning in, the natives there are taking a stand, or should I say run, against it.
You may have seen it in the news recently, but youth from the reservation ran more than 2,000 miles from North Dakota to Washington D.C. to deliver a high-profile petition with thousands of signatures and support from some celebrities, and they are asking for the Corps of Engineers to rethink the route and have conversation with the people there.
This is what running is. For them, running took the shape of fighting for what they believe in. Now, some of you reading this may think this whole petition is garbage. Why, you might ask, do they think they can also drive vehicles the whole way to protest an oil pipeline? Why, you might ask, do they use the very oil that they protest? How, you might ask, can we survive as a world right now without oil extraction in an attempt to find energy independence in an oil-crazed world? I don't know. But what I do know is that we all need to open up our ears to what others have to say.
Take for example North Dakota's proponent of worship- Theodore Roosevelt. He was a wealthy New Yorker who originally came to ND for hunting trips where he would shoot and kill enormous amounts of animals simply because he could. Later in his life, after a hunting trip in the Wyoming mountains where he killed hundreds of animals, he met the founder of the Audubon Society and was convinced to take a look at conserving land and animals, which he did. We now know him as the man who got the ball rolling on National Park and Wilderness areas.
We look at youth running 2000 miles for this cause, and we realize how important this is to them. We recall our own experiences running and wonder how awesome it must be to keep pushing forward, putting one foot in front of the other, for a cause we desperately believe in. Running, like I said before, is communal, and these folks had people to run and share experiences with. They used the ancient art of running to accomplish a mighty goal in order to stand their ground. Sometimes it takes a group of people running to get others to turn around and notice.
From an article on Indian Country Today Media Network:
"We are running for our lives against the Dakota Access Pipeline," said Three Legs, one of the participants, in a statement. "Now is the time for the people to hear our voices that we are here and we will stand strong."
Yeah, and they RAN the whole way for it. That's what running is.
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