Running

In the past two weeks, autumn has arrived in full force. Our trees are exploding into colors, there is a bite to the air, we've even had some frost...and the farmers are out harvesting.

I'm excited for them. This is when they find out if a year of hard work was worth it. Some of them will have a difficult year; this spring's flooding means that some fields are stunted. But, while I am certainly no expert, most of them look pretty good to me. At night I can see the lights of our neighbor's combines as they lumber around the fields. In the morning, they are already up and running at 6:30 am, when I get Bryn up to catch her bus.

The only downside to all this activity is that it's driven my runs indoors, to the treadmill in the basement. Not that I don't appreciate the trusty machine. I do! Winters are long and bitterly cold here. The wind never stops. Ice and snow piles up in drifts taller than I am, hiding ditches and dips, making the way far too treacherous for running outside. But the never-changing view of the basement wall does leave something to be desired.

When I started running out here, in mid-June, the corn and beans were just barely sprouted. Astrid was 6 weeks old, and in my mind I could already hear the clock ticking down to my Physical Training Test in November. That first day, I ran for a minute, walked for five, repeating a few times. I didn't get very far, and I certainly didn't go very fast, but I came back to the house red-faced, panting, and cursing a blue streak about all the doggone hills. I had ten thousand reasons to not drag myself out again the next day...but I did.

I came to love it. Running our gravel road helped me learn the area, helped me become part of it. The wildflowers that grew in the ditches made me smile. When I saw the neighbor out mowing and baling the ditches, I thought I would miss the flowers. Instead, I just enjoyed the cut-grass smell. Someone's beef herd grazes about half a mile down from us. At first, they looked at me in placid, bovine confusion, but after a few weeks, a black cow with remarkable white markings over her eyes, who I call "Eyebrows", started to run along the fence when I came by. I frequently ask BJ if I can track down the farmer and buy her as a pet, but it seems I have found out just exactly where he draws the line on my crazy ideas. Chickens? Yes. Goats? Sigh, ok, fine, but not until spring, ok? Cows? No.

In July, I was joined on my runs by a 5 month old Blue-Heeler/Husky cross named Henry. He's a wild critter, and he wants, more than anything, for me to let him off the leash so he can herd those cows, but he's a damn fine running buddy. I've never really been a dog person, so it's a little surprising to me that getting Henry was my idea, but, chewing aside, he's a nice addition to the family. After all, whats a farmhouse and an acreage without a dog?

The days started getting shorter right around the time my runs started getting longer. It got harder to fit in an evening run before the sun went down. One night, I started off later than I would have liked. I run for time, not distance, and I was planning on 40 minutes of running, with a five minute warm up, and a five minute cool down.  It was a much longer time than I had run previously, and because it was already getting dark, I opted to go straight out and back, rather than making a loop, since I wasn't totally familiar with all the roads on the loop.

Night always seems to creep up slowly, and then rush you. I wasn't very far down the road before I lost all concept of where I was on this road I thought I knew so well. The fields were just dark patches, with only the switch from corn, to soybeans, and back again to break them up. I felt like I had been running forever. I felt like I was struggling more, going more slowly than usual. I kept checking to make sure my phone hadn't died, since I hadn't heard the chime that would tell me I was halfway, and it was time to head home.

I was pretty shocked when I came to an intersection, and my shoes hit pavement. This blog wasn't titled randomly; no matter what direction you go, there is two miles of gravel between us and the hardball. I was over the road and just even with the sign that warned drivers headed the other direction of the upcoming stop sign when my phone chimed. It's amazing what a change of perspective will do; minutes earlier I had been exhausted, irritated with my pace, and just wanting the whole thing to be over. Suddenly, I was excited, proud, and determined to finish the return trip without a break. Turns out I can do a lot more than I think I can, especially when I stop trying to talk myself out of it.

For now, though, since "squished by a combine" is not on my bucket list, I will be plugging away on the treadmill. And there might be a little piece of masking tape over the the block that shows the details of my run. Maybe I should even turn off the lights...