Balance

The streetlights glowed orange, shining small circles on the road, swallowed up in increments by the looming darkness of the night. The Virginia air was muggy and calm, with only the sounds of cars somewhere through the trees on a nearby highway. A few stars glittered in the sky, overpowered by the abundance of light. I stood, soaked and panting, after finishing an evening easy run. I began doing some short sprints back and forth on the road, noticing some discomfort in my right knee. I turn my head to the sky and catapult back......

 With my arm raised to the sky- trying and failing to acquire GPS satellites- I felt the gravel underneath my feet. It was a cool September morning, with the temperature dipping into the low 40s and the morning glow beginning to overpower the deep darkness in the east. I hear the beep telling me my watch is ready, take a few ginger strides on the gravel, and hop onto the grass. I work my way up the hill and into the prairie trails. Each step lands softly on cool, damp grass, while each push scatters formerly mown grass into the air. As the light continues to pore over the horizon, I run near the lake and soak in the morning breeze. Waves ripple orange, and there are no sounds except the early birds. I complete my 30 minute loop and finish back at the gravel. I wipe off my feet and step inside; now it was time to get ready for school.....

Running in Virginia has presented new challenges, for example finding quality places to run. Where we live, there aren't many running paths, sidewalks, trails, or even road-shoulders to run on- we make due with what we have. Ingrid and I have even went to the local middle school to run on their magnificently manicured field hockey field, just to find something new. One night we were running around town, and at one point we ran through a particularly dark space, where no streetlights could reach. I looked down and saw only faint outlines of my legs, and I wondered what it would be like to lay down on the road right there- how long until someone drove up on me? Of course, I didn't do something ridiculous like that, but it did get my mind travelling back a time when maybe I did....

It was another late night White Shield run. There were still a few cars driving on the main highway through town, but all was fairly quiet, and the milky way shone brilliantly above my head in my driveway. I turned on my headlamp, so I could be easily identified, and started down the road. Soon thereafter I was outside of town on the main highway. The silence was deafening and the stars were begging for my attention. For as many miles as I could see and hear in every direction, there were no cars- only black darkness. I slowed to a stop and exhaled. The steam from my breath rose up immediately into my light and temporarily blinded me. On this cold winter night, I shut off my headlamp and let my eyes adjust to the dark; instantly the heavens above opened up and trillions of twinkling lights flashed around me like a disco ball. I was mesmerized. I sat down on the cold, frozen asphalt and contemplated the vastness of it all. As I looked around, still seeing no one, I lay down on my back and began to stargaze, right there in the middle of the highway. The milky way right above my head....

I snap back to my Virginia run. Finding identity has been another struggle here. For so many years I defined myself as that person who unconditionally loved North Dakota and took joy from all of it's many 'drawbacks'. I learned and taught life lessons, and always tried to be positive when things looked grim. Many people were surprised that I would move. If I went to a race in North Dakota, I would know many people there, especially those people in the top packs. Over time it became who I was.

Here in Virginia, people don't know me. I don't stand out more than anyone else, and there are tons and tons of people who not only know more about this area, but also have such a love for it that I don't yet understand. People love the beach, the Appalachians, and the supposed 'country' feel here. In all of this rests an identity crisis: who actually am I? It's something I'm working on, but the hardest part immediately is trying to have an open mind. Students, coworkers, and even my wife have all commented that I seem to be hanging on to this concept of North Dakota. Some of my geometry students recently asked me, "Is there anything here that you think is better than North Dakota?" I jokingly replied, "Nope", but when I think critically, I haven't really allowed that option to be on the table.

So how does a person keep hold of all of their cherished memories without holding them back from progress in the present? Well, if I knew that answer I wouldn't be typing this in my "North Dakota Runner" blog right now. This is all new to me, and something I never thought I'd experience. However, so far I've been able to go to the ocean, visit Yorktown, Williamsburg, teach in a new school, walk to a restaurant from home, order pizza delivered to home, and read up on new histories. This learning process is necessary, and I am thankful and blessed every day to have this opportunity and to share it with Ingrid.

So I guess I can try to find that balance between new home and old home. New memories and old memories. Still though, with the advent of fall comes old memories as well....

I woke up needing to pee really badly. I contemplated my options: I was sitting in a sleeping bag in a tent, next to my wife (also in a sleeping bag). It was cool (low 40s/upper 30s), and I had no bottle or anything to use. I would have to step out of the warmth, open the tent, and somehow hope to get back to sleep after all of the cold sucking into my whole body was finished with me. I collected myself and got up and out. As I stood to relieve myself, my eyes were attracted to something funky in the sky. I looked up and waited to see if whatever it was would come back, or if it was all in my head. As my eyes focused in, there seemed to weird, green, faint streaks of light moving through the sky. As I stood there, exposed, I suddenly realized that, for the first time, I was staring at the northern lights. I quickly finished and went into the tent to wake up Ingrid. She was not pleased, and only came out at the prospect of seeing the Aurora. At first, we couldn't see it, and I was terrified that this would be the last time she ever trusted me again (we were still only dating), but sure enough, green streaks starting darting through the sky again. It was beautiful, and we stood there, just the two of us, in an empty campground in the turtle mountains, in the middle of fall. And it was beautiful.

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