Chasing the Sunset

     The day had finally come. We loaded the bus on an overcast Tuesday afternoon and started off on our way. Our destination? Bozeman, Montana, some 12 hours of non-continuous driving to the west. It seemed extreme, as many team members were eager to point to on social media, but after all, it was conference week. This wasn’t the first time we’ve endeavored on this journey, in fact three years earlier we had done the exact same trip, and it constantly amazes me how little I remember from it. The landscape, the towns, the road signs- all of it will be unfamiliar the second time around. I’m ok with that.

     We never drive west through North Dakota, and sitting in a travel bus with team while we progressed was a weird feeling. Every time we stopped somewhere- a gas station in Jamestown, a restaurant in Bismarck, a hotel in Dickinson, the North Dakota badlands- I could vividly recall memories of what seemed like another life, whether it was high school sports or working at a summer Bible camp. I guess it is indeed true that visiting the same place with different people can actually make it feel like a place you’ve never seen.  We even went for a run in Dickinson in the morning, a nice and comfortable morning run on the surprisingly quiet streets of a past-oil-boom town. Though the streets we ran on were the same streets I had once strode across in years past, everything was different. This time I had teammates with me, and that combined with my previous experience, made it not only feel smaller, but less exotic. It seems to me that in some places, the more you visit the smaller it gets, while with others, the more you visit, the larger and more mysterious it gets. However, I can’t really think of anything that has stayed the same since the first time I saw it.

     As we drove through the badlands, many faces (including my own) were rested up close to the windows, absorbing this magnificent transformation of the landscape, the result of years upon years of erosion by the Little Missouri and its nefarious tributaries. I heard one of my teammates, upon seeing West River Road, ask another if she had seen it. Wouldn’t that be a great place to run, she wondered aloud. I couldn’t agree more. It seems that as I grow to love running more and more, the more I find myself looking at places as more than just a place that exists, but a running opportunity too. I look at a gravel road and I can see myself running casually away from the road, headed for someplace quiet where I can put in some serious work while entertaining my sight at the same time. Apparently I’m not alone.

     Then we crossed the border. Now, some borders are easy to find, like the Red River between North Dakota and Minnesota and the Atlantic Ocean between New York and France. The border between North Dakota and Montana was a little less spectacular. We drove through Beach, ND, and then soon after there was a sign proclaiming our entrance into Montana, and that was that. The landscape looked much the same- the open range. The gently rolling and treeless hills were occasionally sparkled with obstructing buttes, and tucked into a hillside somewhere would be a quaint little home with a winding gravel road leading up to the doorstep. As we entered into Montana, the common theme of the drive seemed to keep going- more rural and hillier the farther west we go. You could almost picture a cowboy perked confidently on his horse at the top of a hill, disappointed in his observation of the nearby noisy interstate, designed for people to travel through an area quickly without actually seeing it (hat tip to John Steinbeck and his book ‘Travels With Charley’). The thin clouds in the sky sometimes hide behind the sun for a little bit, but the sun fights enough to shine a rainbow of colors through the outside of the clouds. The wind never stops blowing.

     As we keep going into Montana, it becomes apparent that we will be stuck in a perpetual state of driving along the valley of the Yellowstone River while being surrounded by badlands-esque hills and buttes. We cross the Yellowstone more times than Allen Iverson said ‘we talkin about practice man’, and I can’t imagine all of the large bridges were fun for the engineers and construction companies to plan and build. After all, the wind never stops blowing here.

     It’s strange that this area doesn’t produce professional runners. We are nearing the point where altitude actually affects you, hills abound everywhere you look, soft gravel surfaces turn off in every direction, and the wind is something that could only make a runner stronger. Is it the winters? Probably not if Minneapolis can have a professional team. Is it the wind? Mountainous areas get windy too, so I’m not so sure about that either. Is it the ruralness of the area, therefore implying a lack of good coaching, facilities, and runners to run with? I would lean more in that direction. What is there to inspire kids here to run and be great at it? Yeah, I don’t really know either.

     It’s easy to see why they call these ‘fly-over states’; most people simply go through these areas to get to someplace better. I remember when I was talking to a park ranger at Theodore Roosevelt National Park this fall, he said one of their struggles is trying to make the park a destination for travelers, not simply a checkpoint on their way to Yellowstone or Glacier National Parks. If, perchance, someone had to endure the tragedy of having to drive through North Dakota and half of Montana to get to something special to see, then I would feel bad for them too. Missing out on an opportunity to appreciate all that is around and the people that can make the area vibrant are definitely worth it. I remember a former teammate of mine who was from far eastern Montana, and she would tell us that people would learn that she was from Montana and instantly be jealous, mostly because that meant that she was able to see mountains and they couldn’t. It was difficult for her to explain that in fact she was quite a drive away from any mountains, but that’s how the ball rolls I guess.

     I remember, three years ago on our journey to Bozeman, the first time mountains came into view in the far distance. The energy on the bus instantly increased, and people started getting out phones and cameras to take pictures, because this would be moments that we had to keep forever. What is it about mountains that enthrall us so? I have never met a person with a negative opinion of viewing a mountain, and I don’t think I ever will (if you feel the need to prove me wrong, don’t). Why is it that a huge pile of dirt sometimes covered in trees makes us stop and rethink everything about our life? Why do we become reflective at the sight of something as majestic as a mountain? Let me pose a question: let’s suppose we flip the world for a second. Let’s pretend a child is raised and taught the opposite of what we are taught: mountains are boring, the flat prairie is stunning, and people go out of their way to spend a lot of money on yearly trips to the prairie. Would this child look upon the prairie and gaze longingly, while looking upon a mountain and questioning what could be better done with their time? This is a nature and nurture question: are we as humans hardwired to have an appreciation for mountains? Or is it the North Dakota life I have lived that makes me so appreciative of them? I sit here on the bus, loving the views of eastern Montana around me, but also eagerly awaiting the arrival of the promised mountains. We are still following the Yellowstone River and its amazingly steep valleys beside it- wouldn’t a kayak trip down the Yellowstone be fun? It’s still pretty windy.

     We hit the mountains now. We could see them coming from almost a hundred miles away, but now we are in them. I look around and I see teammates staring quietly out the window, lost in thought. I feel the same way. Looking at the mountains messes up my eyes and depth perception, and the hugeness of it all is difficult to take it. I find myself sitting there and wondering what exactly keeps my eyes going back to the same view over and over, like a drug. I picture what it must be like to glide silently through the mountain trails, running at a comfortable enough pace to absorb the serenity of it all. I continue to sit, captivated by Creation, until we finally arrive in the more open area that is Bozeman. The drive was great, but we all breathe a sigh of relief having reached our destination.

     It’s crazy to think how far we can travel in such short of a time, because we can move across time zones and landscapes in a manner of hours, making sure to watch movies, read books, or listen to music so that we miss the journey. Sometimes I wish that we could simply apparate like the characters in Harry Potter, but then again I also love seeing the places where few people travel. Perhaps that’s a reason why I love running- I get a chance to slow down and pass through landscapes as I ought. Distance means a lot more then, and every step brings something both new and special. I can take in every sight, smell, sound, and taste around me, all while doing something that comes perfectly natural to our bodies. As always, it isn’t so much about the final destination, but about enjoying the journey to get there. We may be here, but a part of me still is on the bus, following the Yellowstone River west, waiting to see what’s on the other side of the next hill, hoping it will captivate my attention. Odds are it will. 

Bluegrass Music

It was sunny and 80 degrees when we arrived. We had been driving for more than an hour through some fairly hilly terrain, and we now descended into the valley and followed the gravel road right up to the country-style entrance. They had cameras; I had running clothes and an apple. As we entered the park, it was clear to us all that something was special was going on- no state park in North Dakota has to make extra parking space in a field on any given Saturday. As we counted the number of vehicles and saw everyone walking around, we quickly concluded that our hopes of seclusion and quiet were dashed. I asked the ranger what was going on, and he told us: a bluegrass festival.

Fortunately for us, Cross Ranch State Park is big. There are miles of trails and loops tucked far back away from the campground, nestled up tight against the mighty Missouri and presided over by towering cottonwood trees. As I ran through the mowed-grass paths and spooked up a few deer here and there, I couldn't help but fall entranced by the leaves fluttering far above my head. There was a breezy west wind blowing through the trees, and cottonwood trees make a distinct, calming sound in the wind. The rustling leaves sound like gently flowing water in the sky, overtaking the quiet passing of the nearby river. The farther the trail went north, the quieter it became. Eventually I saw no one else and heard no one else; the only sound was the rustling of the leaves. I was running through this cottonwood forest and I started reflecting on the beauty of it all.

I remembered back to the summer before when my Day Camp (Vacation Bible School) group stopped by the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center and Fort Mandan near Washburn, ND. We learned from a worker there that the cottonwood-lined Missouri River was in a much different situation than in past history. The Missouri, like many rivers in the northern US, would regularly flood due to snowmelt and spring rains, and in this process would deposit sediment in the floodplain. This yearly renewal helped cottonwood trees (among other things, of course) thrive and maintain a strong presence in the stunning river valley. Natives used to camp and settle along the river, because the trees provided shelter, kindling, and material to build with, while also being right next to a water source.

In the 1950s things changed. It was decided that flooding out half of an Indian Reservation and literally putting entire towns under water was worth the risk in creating a large lake for recreation and flood control. This flood control, which has the added benefit of allowing the continuation of building $400,000 homes right next to a river that floods on a yearly basis, has had a negative effect on the cottonwood population along the river. It's incredibly sad to hear and see, but there are still some places hanging on to the beauty. Here at Cross Ranch State Park, the trees surround you and shelter you from all trouble. The problems of this world seem to disappear behind the trees, and the quiet instills a peace inside the heart. It's almost as if this is how it should be...

Man, the mosquitoes are bad today! I've finished my run and I'm stretching back at the parking lot now. I want to use a nearby picnic table to stretch, but it's over-run by unmowed grass, and it's literally teeming with ticks and mosquitoes. I'll pass. As it stands, I decide to stretch in the sun (take that you wimpy mosquitoes) and listen to the bluegrass music still going on. The last band played some fine old-time music, and in fact I had some goosebumps going during some of those songs. This next group is a group of elderly folks that either started playing their instruments in the past few years, or dusted the 40-year-old rust off of their own ones; either way there's a few more mistakes. No matter- it all sounds beautiful in such a place.

I'm reminded of earlier in the summer when we were having one of our worship services on the shores of this man-made Lake Sakakawea. We have a little worship band that is hooked up to smaller speakers, and the music pulses through the camp. Sometimes when the musicians all stop at the same time, the sounds can be heard reverberating off the surrounding hills and valleys. Birds chirp nearby, and rebellious fish jump out of the water, splash down, and create beautiful circles on the surface. It's almost as if there is one melody pulsing through the countryside, and for a moment the quiet prairie seems to be livened up a little.

I've yelled before. Sure, sometimes I'll be running on some gravel road somewhere, and on an impulse I'll yell at the top of my lungs, and usually the sound is devoured by the quiet, and it quickly disappears into nothing, while the wind tears it to pieces and destroys it. It usually makes me feel small, and sometimes I'm afraid to try singing or playing music altogether in the country, because the enveloping quiet can feel so deadening. But get a group together, and something beautiful can take away the silence. As I sit and listen to the bluegrass music flow through the trees, the crowd, and the North Dakota quiet, I can't help but smile at how today the silence was losing. One of my favorite metaphors for life is that darkness came first, and light comes in to drive it out. Today the music drove out the never-ending silence.

I now walk out to my car, parked on the snow-covered Grand Forks street. Cars blow past, and the birds have long since disappeared. The dead winter quiet has settled back in. As I sit in the driver's seat, I think back to that day. I feel the grass beneath my feet; I see the bright blue sky above; I hear the mosquito buzzing in my hear; I watch the pulsing bluegrass music light up the crowds; I feel the wind drifting through the valley; It again seems as if Creation has it's own music and pulse. But most of all, I hear the sound of the rustling cottonwood leaves, putting me to sleep like gently flowing water.

The bluegrass musicians are still playing.

I'm still listening.

January: An ND Runner Month-in-Review

I'm starting to a new thing where I attempt to give something like a summary of what's been going on in the world of running in North Dakota. My goal is to find as much info as I can about different races, both here and out-of-state but with North Dakotans competing. We'll see how this goes.
-------------

Well January is behind us. We had warmth, brutal cold, and then warmth again. It's too early for the high school teams to unify and start practices, so that leaves us with college competition and some professional activity.

Women's Race of the Month: I don't think this is even close: the mile at the Bison Classic in Fargo on the 16th. Looking at the heat sheets beforehand, this was the list of top competitors:
-Erin Teschuk, D1 All-American in Cross Country and Track, Representative of Canada at World Outdoors last August
-Maddie Van Beek, Former D1 All-American in Track competing unattached (now competing for Brooks)

Zeis (formerly of Bismarck High)
is tearing up D2 right now.
*From U-Mary's website*

-Alexis Zeis, D2 National XC Champion in 2015 and All-American in the indoor 3000m
-Molly Montonye, D2 All-American in both the indoor mile and outdoor 1500m

Well, as could have been predicted, the race was pretty darn fast, with Erin Teschuk (NDSU) winning in 4:37, which from what I have been able to find serves as the fastest women's mile run on North Dakota soil. The second-place finisher was Alexis Zeis (U-Mary), and her time of 4:49 still as of January 31st stands as the fastest time in women's Division 2 so far this indoor season (and snuck into my top-ten lists as well). Molly Montonye (MSUM) was third in 5:00, a time that sits her at 13th place in Division 2 at this point. So, it's safe to say
that there was plenty of talent in the Shelly Ellig Indoor Track Facility in Fargo earlier this month.

Men's Race of the Month: I have to give a hat tip to Jake Leingang and his 8:10 in the 3k this past weekend down in Arkansas, but I'd like to go to another former Bismarck runner doing some pretty neat things out west.

They should've given Gotta
at least 3 more seconds
for the stache.
*From MSU's website*

Remember Matt Gotta (Bismarck High)? He won the Class A 1600m (4:16) and 3200m (9:15) at the ND State Track Meet back in 2014. Now he's running for Montana State in Bozeman. Just this last weekend he raced in Gillette, Wyoming and raced an altitude-and-track-converted 3k time of 8:20.68. This places him third in the Big Sky conference and is the equivalent of a sub-9 in the 3200m. He also ran an altitude-converted 14:54 in the 5k earlier this month. Watch out for this guy in the coming months!

From Roesler's Instagram

So what else has been going on? Well, Laura Roesler (Fargo native and professional trackster) is back from an injury-plagued 2015 season and is getting the rust out. She raced three times this month, running the 800 in 2:05, 2:04, and 2:03 respectively. Building up for the grind to the Olympics!

Hovind isn't even a senior yet!
*From NSU's Website*

Back to Division II for a moment. On the 23rd down at the Jim Emmerich Invitational at South Dakota State University, a Northern State University record was broken in the 3000m. Sasha Hovind ran 9:58.9 to break her own school record and at the time was in the top 20 in DII. According to NSU's website, Hovind is from Stirum, ND, and in high school XC she competed for Lisbon, while in high school track she competed for Sargent County. I can only find her in state results her senior year (if I'm woefully off forgive me), where she was top-20 at 2012 State XC and 12th in the 1600 and 4th in the 3200 at 2013 State Track. She also has the indoor 5k, outdoor 5k, and outdoor 10k records at Northern State, while she was also an XC All-American. From doing this research, I've also added her to the top-10 lists now too. Go Class B!!!

The last race I'll mention is actually the men's mile from the aforementioned Bison Classic. State Class B record-holder in the 1600 and 3200 Elliot Stone competed unattached for NDSU and ran 4:22, while former EDC champ Camron Roehl (NDSU) ran 4:19. An interesting side-note of the race was that Andrew Carlson rabbited the first 800. Carlson is coaching at NDSU now after a career that gave him the fastest 5k and 10k times ever by a North Dakotan. Ironically enough I just came across this article talking about next month's Olympic Trials Marathon (http://www.run2run.com/learning-from-the-2012-olympic-marathon-trials/) in which I was reminded that 4 years ago he took 6th with a time of 2 hours, 11 minutes. Dang!

Next month we got track meets everywhere, people getting in serious training for the Fargo Marathon, and don't high school practices start around the end of February? Anyway, that's all for now- thanks for reading!

The Mountain We All Climb

I remember the first time I saw the mountain. It stood towering above the earth, majestic in every way. The snow-capped peak lived a world very different than my own, and I tried to imagine myself standing on top, frigid wind blowing through my coat, eyesight insurmountable. To be able to say I had arrived at the summit- now there was something special! I decided then and there I would climb to the top.

I entered on a trail in the foothills, not quite sure how far the trail went, but ready to attack this path. The first few miles went by like a breeze; the trail was clean, smooth, and ever-increasing in altitude. I passed by some pleasant people on their way down, overjoyed to be so close to returning to their vehicles. The sun shone bright while weightless clouds wisped by quietly. To my left some deer stared at me, completely unafraid, while birds chirped at me from a safe distance. I could not have written a better story than what I was experiencing. My body, my gear, my view- everything was amazing! I felt as if I could do this forever. One thing I did notice, however, was that the peak really didn't seem to be getting any closer.

I continued on through the day, making it through the heat by finding shade in trees. I had plenty of water, and my legs were still working as I expected them to. The trail was winding back and forth more, and the steeper sections were getting steeper. I was still seeing people on the trail, but they were not as friendly as those towards the beginning- they seemed to be a little more focused. Clouds had started to roll in, but I paid them almost no attention; the wind had picked up too. I looked up at the peak, a little closer than before and still beautiful. I wanted simply to reach up and grab it, pull it close, and make it mine. I had full faith in my ability to get there.

Around sundown, I picked a spot nearby the trail to set up my camp for the night. I assembled my tent, sleeping bag, food, and prepared for a great night in the mountains. I was a little disappointed that the clouds were blocking the stars, but worse things could happen. I fell asleep dreaming of another great day of hiking and all-around loving life. Unfortunately, I was disturbed around midnight by a fierce storm coming through the range. The wind howled, rain poured down, and I became scared. My tent started taking in some water because I hadn't properly water-proofed it, and I had to gather all of my belongings into the middle of the tent in an effort to keep it dry. I asked myself it maybe this wasn't right- had I made a big mistake? I spent the rest of the night huddled with my full bag, trying to stay warm and dry.

As it started becoming light out, the rain tapered off and eventually died. I packed up and prepared for another day up; I was not a quitter. As I about to take off, a kind gentleman walked by and offered to hike with me and of course I said yes! I had realized that having somebody else along might not be so bad. We hiked. He was incredibly fit, and his pace pushed me all day, and though I could have asked to slow down, I didn't. As a result, I missed a lot of the sights that I'm sure would have been stunning. I didn't even get a good look at the peak that day- my goal. I hadn't really thought much about my end goal, but instead simply putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps this wasn't so bad, because my eventual task had been daunting to me the last few days.

After a truly fast day of hiking, we spent another night on the mountain. My friend seemed a little strange to me, and true to his word, when I woke up in the morning, he had taken off- I don't know where exactly he went. So I was alone again. This third day was another great start, but conditions worsened throughout the hike. Soon I found myself getting pelted with cold rain pushed by the wind, and I was starting to slip on the muddy path. I surged on, slipping almost every step. I went up and up and up, turned around a corner, and the trail disappeared. It stopped right there. No sign of it through the trees, up the hill, and no peak visible for directions and guidance. I turned away from the wind and gasped. The trail behind me was washing out and was becoming harder and harder to see. The only way up from here was a scary yet climbable cliff.  I couldn't believe my bad luck. I sat down and pouted for awhile. I made up my mind to turn around and head back down- abandoning my goal for now (probably forever as a result). I started to head down the trail, but then I remembered the view of the peak that very first morning- how stunning it stood! I remembered how I had wanted to climb to the top, and it started a fire in my mind and heart; I turned around and surged up the hill to the cliff.

I had forgotten how difficult this was going to be, but right as I started to get some footing, I saw my friend sprinting up the trail! It turns out he too had decided to head home but reignited and tried to catch up to me. Fortunately for both of us, having a helping hand made traversing the cliff quite easy, and as we reach the top, the clouds began to break up and we were treated to the most beautiful sunset either of us had ever seen. Our breath was taken away and we stood there, starstruck. We looked at the clouds glowing pink, the first glimpse of stars coming out of hiding, and at each other. I realized at that moment that it might not be so important whether or not I get to the peak. I can try my hardest, but how could it be possible for a moment such as this to top any view from the peak? I asked my friend if the next day we could walk slower and truly enjoy our walk. He agreed.

So this morning I woke up to the stillness of high-altitude wilderness and stepped out of my tent to be greeted by the sunrise. The head of the mountain still protruded over our heads by a hefty distance, but we did not care. Each day we will try to get as high as we can, but we also want to enjoy the process. These moments cannot ever be returned or taken back, and so we treasure each moment. This will not stop me from looking at that peak every morning and saying "that's where I want to be", because, well...that's where I want to be! Whether I'm alone or with someone else, whether I encounter horrific weather or beautiful sunshine, whether I struggle up the trail or bound effortlessly, it's the journey that's beautiful. I never want to let that go.

I've decided that the mountain shall be named 'adversity'.

-------

Never give up on your goals, even if things get rough. And NEVER forget to enjoy every step of the way.

Nerves

The first track meet of the new year is tomorrow, so that means no morning run for me today. What do I do with this new-found time? Write up a blog post for your Friday viewing pleasure, of course.

I'd assume that if you're reading this, then you're a human being, and that immediately implies you're familiar with Harry Potter (right?). Remember during the part where Harry and Dumbledore* are going horcrux-searching and Dumbledore has to drink the special water that makes him not want to drink it? Well the story goes that Harry has to force feed it to him, because Dumbledore doesn't want to stomach it anymore. Yes, I'm going to relate this to track.

In distance running, and many sports in general, competition is designed to test your abilities. I can only speak for distance running, baseball, and swimming, and baseball games are not even close in difficulty to swim meets or distance races. As the time of a race approaches, I find myself hitting a familiar mental crossroads: I don't want to do this. I like training, I even like training hard, but racing is a-whole-nother monster. Running a distance event is basically pushing your body to its limit, and then trying to see how much farther you can get away with. Most of the race is spent by your body screaming at you, YOU IDIOT WHAT ARE YOU DOING NO STOP PLEASE YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME I TRUSTED YOU WE WERE FRIENDS YOU'RE GONNA REGRET THIS LATER and your brain screaming, YOU KNOW THIS IS UNSUSTAINABLE RIGHT drop out YOU CAN'T HOLD ON TO THIS PACE FOREVER drop out YOU CRAZY. With each passing year, it's actually something that passes through my mind more and more before a race. I feel like Dumbledore when he saw the pan of 'water', and realized what had to be done. It was going to be hard, but it needed to be finished.

So this is where nerves come in. Our bodies and minds are much more understanding than what we give them credit for. Thus, the day before or days leading up to the race, or bodies start giving us hints that amount to something like "ugh, he's going through with this again- this is NOT going to be fun", when in reality it can actually be fun. Since there's no good way to say it, for me this means that my pre-race warmup includes a 10-minute block set apart for a bathroom break. The lines of people in my race/heat who are also using the facilities at this time lead me to believe that this is a universal feeling. Errrbody has nerves.

I've tried some fairly nifty maneuvering to deceptively lie to my body about what's going to happen. I think to myself, 'I'll tuck in and be comfortable for the first part, ease into it, and do what I need to do. Simple'. My body, however, is much smarter than that and I can feel my stomach starting to fight itself the day before the meet. I know I'm not alone because I see it in teammates and competitors. One of my new favorite pastimes it to watch the freshman at their first few meets of the year. They come from all over the midwest, Canada, and even reaches of the far-away US places that I've read about in the newspaper (Washington, California, Minneapolis, etc) and yet they always have that look in their eyes leading up to the first few meets; they literally change. There's no possible way for me to accurately describe what I see, but I can at least try.

When the freshmen show up for welcome weekend and come with their parents to different meetings, often they'll tuck behind their parents while they do the talking with the coaches and captains. If the freshmen are asked questions long enough, they might loosen up a little, but there's no guarantee. Throughout the first semester, they ease into the team atmosphere and become comfortable with the school, classes, and the team. They even become so bold as to challenge me in foosball, a foolish proposal; becoming good at that game takes years of steady locker room homework procrastination practice and dedication. In October, we move in to our in-season phase of training, and this is met with excitement, and already you can feel the hunger around the locker room- that first college competition. When any of them are asked how they feel about it, they normally respond that they don't really know what to expect, which is totally understandable- Why should they? However, as we get within a week of that first meet, there is a noticeable change. Track meets are talked about more, while the upcoming one is purposely left out of the discussion. If the meet is brought up, you can see the gears grinding in their mind.

When meet day arrives, everyone hops on the bus, all masters of this drill after years of the high school that we all had to go through. Sleeping on the bus is the norm, not the exception. BUT, when we get to the facility, everything changes. I watch these freshmen, the eager-to-learn and starting from the bottom teammates of mine, change into competitors. They walk around and fidget nervously like the rest of us. They listen to music to either 'get into the zone' or 'try to not think about the meet too much' (I'm in the latter group, btw), and the nerves are there. They hear the starters' gun go off, and they know that sound. They know the sound of the pole landing in the pit and somebody being lifted from the ground. They know the sound of screaming parents in the stands. They know the sound of the announcer telling them FIRST CALL or SECOND CALL or FINAL CALL. They know the sound of abused hurdles slamming into the ground. They know the sound of the high jump bar hitting the ground on an unsuccessful attempt. They know the sound of a loud scream released by a thrower occasionally in the weight throw or shot put. It's all there. They may be freshman, but we all speak the language of track and field. The nerves are their body telling them that it's going to be hard, just like mine does- just like all of our bodies do.

I'll end with this thought: many athletes at track meets can get the 'deer in the headlights' look. I've become convinced that this means exactly one of these two options:
1.) The person is so incredibly nervous that they are about to actually die.
2.) The person is so incredibly in the zone that if some naked person came streaking across the track, they might not even notice or pay attention to the spectacle.

Well, I need to put my speed training to use and try to make it to class on time. Peace out y'all!

-Nate


*I'll refer to Dumbledore as 'Dumbledore' here, even though it's an incredible disservice to his brother who so happens to have the same last name. I'd imagine if everybody knew me as 'Peterson', things would get real confusing at any gathering of 100+ people from the upper Midwest. Guy: "Hey Peterson!" 15 different people: "What?"

Defeating the Control Freak...Or Something

(Before I start, some shameless self-promotion here, but on the right side of my blog page I've been working on two sets of top-ten lists, one for North Dakotans, and another for races on North Dakota soil. Feel free to check them out and throw any names my way if I've missed people. Thanks!)

I'm a control freak. I have a consistent schedule in the back of my mind, and if anything unexpected pops up, I...well, freak out. The best example I can give is dentist appointments. Now, we all know that there is no convenient time for a trip to the dentist, but yet there they are on the calendar every year (or every 6 months, or every 5 minutes, I don't tell you how to live your life). For me personally, this means that every December, upon finishing the grueling fall semester and returning home for a couple weeks of doing absolutely nothing school-related, I am reminded of a visit to my favorite gum-stabber, usually at some early-morning time that I scheduled 370 days earlier and promptly forgot about. This can send me into a frenzy, anger me, and make me say things I normally regret to people who don't deserve it. It was the same high school. I don't transition easily.

It might not come to anybody's surprise, then, that I am currently stressed about about the fact that I have a cold. Now, to many people I know, getting a cold would not warrant a blog post, but for a control freak who has taken care to not get even a little bit sick any time in the last 398 days, AND for a distance runner who happened to have a track workout scheduled the same day and will now have to miss it, it sucks. Sickness is right up there with the Yankees, the cost of university textbooks, mosquitoes, and right-handed scissors as some of the worst things you will happen across. Believe it or not, getting sick is not part of my plan, but of course neither is leaving homework at home, my car not starting, or eating peanut butter by the spoonful because I can't control myself. My main point is that things come up that we have no control over, and if we stress over things we can't control, we are probably in for ulcers by the time we are 37 years old. It might be cliche, but don't fret over the things you can't control.

I did.

In high school, I seemed to get sick during the last week of October and the first week of November every year. EVERY SINGLE ********** YEAR. In college, this unfortunately coincided with conference XC. My freshman year, two days before conference cross country, I felt that familiar tingling in my throat, and I knew exactly where I was headed; needless to say, I had arguably the worst race of my life two days later (*shudders*). My sophomore year, two days before conference cross country, I felt it again. I can now say that flying in an airplane, driving from 1000ft to 7000ft altitude, and racing an 8k at high elevation while having a sinus-stuffing cold is not something I would ever recommend (*shudders*). Going into the week of conference XC my junior year, I could feel my body getting run down AGAIN, but I fought it off through neglect of studies diligent sleep and some luck. Every single time, I would sit and worry and stress, hoping and praying I could avoid the inevitable, but more often than not, it would come. I've since come to terms with it. Sickness will come and go, and even though for a little while it's not fun at all, that's life. Deal with it and move on, or be a debby-downer to everybody around (apologies to anybody named Debby who may be reading this- I'm sure you're a wonderful person!) Be uplifting at all times, sickness included.

Want to know something I don't do when I'm sick? Stuff myself with medication. I honestly detest how medicated we are as a society. We are too clean, too medicated, and too insulated. The big push nowadays is to buy everything 'natural' (whatever that means). Want to know what is not 'natural'? Hand sanitizer, vitamin C pills and packets, taking two showers a day and thoroughly scrubbing your hands with soap 8 times a day, and medicating yourself through sickness. Through this cold, I am being assisted by a roll of toliet paper (too lazy to go buy tissues) and oranges. I will not take cold medicine, cough drops, or anything of the like. When I'm sore, I don't pump myself full of ibuprofen. When I get a little headache, I don't take Tylenol, I drink more water. I'm not a doctor, but I honestly believe one of our problems in America is that we have managed to make our lives so clean that it's affecting our health negatively. OH MY GOSH I SWEATED A LITTLE I NEED TO SHOWER or BETTER PUT ON HAND SANITIZER BECAUSE I'LL BE SHAKING SOMEBODY'S HAND SOON really bother me. At the summer camp I work at, I don't shower every day. Yeah, I get pretty dirty, but that's a lot more natural than being squeaky clean all the time.

What exactly am I trying to get at with this post? I don't know. What I do know is this-

1.) Being sick sucks. No way around it.
2.) I try every day to let things in my life happen and not worry too much about control.
3.) #2 doesn't always work as well as I hope for.
4.) In the event of #3, prayer is always helpful.
5.) We over-medicate everything.
6.) I despise #5.
7.) This is my favorite number.
8.) The worst part about colds is that I can't taste my food. I love food.
9.) I didn't want to end this on an even number.

So there ya have it. Sleep well, eat well, and be ready to get sick, because nobody is immune. As for today, I have "Travels With Charley" by John Steinbeck to crush and a couch that needs some attention. Peace Out.  

Red River Running Slang

Here's a handy dictionary for running in the Red River Valley:

1.) Hill Workout: a myth that outsiders try to convince you exists. Substitutes include: man-made sledding hills, flood dikes, parking garages, and maybe climbing the local water tower/grain elevator.

2.) Uphill: Running into the wind

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3.) Downhill: Running with the wind.

4.) Overheating: wearing 4 layers when only 3 are needed for a winter run.

5.) Freezing: two definitions:

a. Not having enough layers on for a winter run. Side effects include (but are not limited to): frozen hands, feet, head, entire body, stopping in a gas station to warm up, or dying.

b. Having too many layers on (overheating- see no. 4), sweating through all of them, and then having all the layers freeze solid. For side effects see no. 5(a).

6.) Car: Something to be yelled when the vehicle that your group heard coming up behind you for the last 4 miles actually gets near you. This is supposed to be yelled and effectively means 'get out of the middle of the road until the car passes by'.

7.) Cottonmouth: two definitions:

a. The dry mouth you get during any kind of workout or race indoors (indoors is a season that lasts a very long time here).

b. The dry mouth you get when somebody doesn't slow down while passing you on a gravel road and you breathe in all of the dust kicked up. Side effects also include loss of eyesight or lacerations due to rocks thrown up.

8.) Technical Ascent: Running into the wind while traversing the tire ruts on a minimum maintenance road.

9.) Technical Descent: Running with the wind while traversing the tire ruts on a minimum maintenance road.

10.) Fire: When you don't wear good enough gloves on your hand during a winter run, you get back inside, and your hand begins to warm up again.

11.) Dog-Runners: the folks from town who are too lazy to walk their dogs, so they drive out of town, let their dog out, and follow in their warm vehicle. 

12.) Exhaustion: looking out your window after you wake up and seeing the trees bowing over to the unrelenting wind, all while realizing you need to run. 

13.) Skiing Trail: something great for skiing on the winter months, but also something great to run on during the non-winter months.

14.) Humidity: something people west of here think is fatal, while people from east of here scoff at.

15.) Outdoor Track Meet in April: synonymous with 'the weather is going to suck'.

16.) Indoor Track Meet in March: synonymous with 'the weather is going to be warm and perfect'.

17.) Running Store: something only found in Fargo and Grand Forks. Don't expect the rarest of prizes here, but if you want something good, it'll be there.

18.) Mountain: lol

19.) Laura Roesler: probably the most famous trackster from the Red River Valley. We'll forgive the fact that she went to Fargo South.

20.) Weightlifting: wearing so many winter running layers that picking your legs up becomes a workout.

21.) Gas Station: synonymous with 'bathroom'. NOTE: you have to have a shirt on to use. Trust me.

22.) Bathroom: see no. 21. If not available, alternatives include: agricultural fields, work sites with porta-potties, and public park bathrooms.

23.) Woods: the 4 or 5 trees you find along the river, if there is a river. If not, then lol. 

24.) Torture: synonymous with 'treadmill' and 'elliptical'.

25.) Wildlife: seeing someone on an Elliptigo. 

26.) Steeplechase: having to jump over large piles of snow at each intersection while running through town.