Far Away from Everything

I recently came across an interview with Andy Jones—a running machine I admired from a distance growing up (mostly for his 3:59.26 effort at the '91 Strolling Jim, one of my favorite childhood races)—where he was asked, "What inspires you to keep up the training?" His response:

I am inspired by a love of the trails and a passion for pushing myself hard. The competitive side of ultrarunning is certainly a motivator but truly the training and the hard work are what keep me going. I just love being out on the trail, far away from everything. It breaks down life to its core values and all else goes away. To me, it's intoxicating.

This particular sentence caught me: "I just love being on the trail, far away from everything." Its simple truth simply expressed left me with that happy combination of head nodding and gutturals sighs. (If you're curious as to a more concrete example of this happy combination, think of your body's response to the last time you enjoyed your favorite food. It is identical.)

Living in downtown Minneapolis ("the Cities" as the locals say) for the past year or so, I've realized that I often feel simultaneously like a fish out of water and like one trapped inside of a bowl (if being in two places at once is allowed).

Like a fish out of water in the sense of belonging mostly. The city is full of the hustling and bustling of anything and everything you can imagine, often in overwhelming quantities—whether people, buses, cars, cement, sirens, trash, exit ramps, buildings, red lights, or Caribou (bigger than Starbucks here). While some love wandering off in the diverse craziness of urban life, my natural bent is to want to sit down and take notes, to find myself a cozy porch chair to watch this movie called Minneapolis—not really to play a role.

I don't at all intend to sound negative. I've lived in some urban settings before: Seville, Spain; Chattanooga, TN; Clemson, SC (laugh, but living on-campus carries some similar dynamics). And each, without a doubt, carry their own glories unknown to those outside. Yet, having tasted some of them, I'd still just rather be farther outside where life is a little slower and trees grow tall.

To finish the analogy, I often feel like a fish trapped inside of a bowl in the sense that this metropolitan activity is inescapable. The movie never ends. There is no "far away from everything" within the city limits. Only everything. And watching a movie that never ends can become tiresome.

The Mississippi River, though, is one spot that functions sort of like an escape hatch for the city life—a gift from God for slower, reflective souls like myself. I've come to enjoy its refreshing presence between the Cities, and its reachable distance from my front door.

From the run today...

As "far away from everything" as it gets in the Cities.

The "Stairs of Great Height," from above (right) and below (left):

The point of necessary return...(turn-around point, 'til winter that is)

What started off as a dreary day ended in sunshine.

Most of the other trees had given into peer pressure to fall, but I found this one's courage to
stand until the end picture-worthy!