The grass beneath my feet was cool and damp. A soft orange glow hovered in the sky, accentuated by rays of light from the still-hidden sun. After a full night of breathing a sigh of relief, the dense air sat calmly, preparing to be attacked by sunlight once again. Nearby, birds welcomed the coming of the day with chirps that filled the silent countryside. I was in a sleepy fog, having recently rose from my slumber after another exhausting day of student teaching. My mileage was high, my sleep was low, but nevertheless I needed to continue. Wearing only a shirt, a wedding ring, and a pair of running shorts, I endured the creaks and cracks of tired legs and started putting one foot in front of the other.
The first few steps of a tired morning run are miserable. You're cold, you're still waking up, your legs don't work, and you're already thinking about the day ahead. My bare feet, still wishing for the tenderness of the bed, became acutely aware of the hard ground, and gravel road I had to cross soon after starting. The pace is slow, and breathing is more difficult than it should be. But then you remember that you love it, and you forced yourself out of bed for a reason. You remember what your goals are, and you know that doing this is how you accomplish your goals.
I ran through dew, with damp grass hugging my bare feet, as I continued past the evergreen row, attracting the attention of two deer. They paused their dinner to stare at me, and I slowly bounced past them on the other side of the road. I again crossed the gravel road and climbed up a short hill towards the woods. I looked behind me at the hilly upper Missouri countryside- Lake Sakakawea sitting still, a shimmer of steam silently rising up; a small herd of cattle on the hills, munching up the cool prairie grass; the glowing horizon, announcing the coming of the morn. I again faced forward and ran onto the cut prairie trail in between the woods.
As I run barefoot through grass on a calm morning in rural North Dakota, I hear nothing but the air flowing past my head. I hold my breathing, and I cannot hear my feet hitting the ground. There are no cars, planes, trains, boats, or people. It is at this point that I choose to do my favorite thing on a run in North Dakota: I stop. There is nothing. The English word 'tinnitus' is used to describe a ringing that people will hear in their ears, possibly during times of silence. This scientific-sounding word doesn't even begin to appropriately communicate this noise that I seek. One of my favorite things about North Dakota is the silence. There are many times that I have stopped a run because I can no longer ignore the heavy silence around me, and I love it. Every place I visited was judged by its ability to produce that ringing in my ears that only appears in the absence of any noise at all. Here at Camp, that sound was my daily morning mediation before school.
Land holds memories. As I continue running down the path, I see deer in the place where I see deer everyday. As the path branches off into the trees, I remember seeing my first porcupine. I look left and see where I had once made snow angels while searching for tinnitus on a cold winter's day. I come over the hill and see myself carrying the wooden cross while wearing the Jesus costume every Wednesday during summer camp. I come over the next hill and see myself sitting in the grass, watching thunderstorms roll across Lake Sakakawea while listening to whether or not God's plan had me staying at Camp my first summer.
By this point of the run, my legs are waking up, and each step takes less effort than the previous one- I'm floating. My feet are relishing the dew-covered grass, and my eyes are enjoying the colors bouncing in the sky. Above me and to the west, the sky is still dark and the last starry holdouts shine weakly in the approaching light. A circle of deeper orange is standing up in the eastern horizon, and the Lake, already reflecting the numerous colors in the sky, has started rippling to the push of a gentle morning breeze. I run the loop that represents my crucifixion in the summer, bound back through the prairie trails, and turn around at the gate to do it all again.
No matter what the day brings- teaching, planning, coaching, cooking, cleaning, talking, learning, sleeping- this is perfect. Though my watch continues to show the slow march of minutes, time stops. The beauty around me is undeniable, the silence unimaginable. There are no spectators, bosses, peers, students, campers, on-lookers, hunters, boaters, or fishermen. In this moment I have no other purpose but to keep running and feeling alive.
As I approach the hillside overlook on my way back to the Camp Wellness Center, I stop. Sweat beads roll down the side of my head, and I can feel my heart beating blood through my body, pulsating through my feet. I stare as the first sunlight cracks the prairie horizon. It's beautiful. For a few moments I take it all in, while my ears fill with tinnitus and the occasional moo-ing in the distance. I'm lost in it all. Eventually I'm snapped back to reality by the sound of a car traversing a gravel road miles away, and with the moment gone, I run back to the front door. As I begin the mental transition to stretching, eating, and getting ready for school, I take one last look behind me at the new morning, and I smile.
