The run started out easy enough, with a westerly breeze pushing us along the rolling gravel roads. The earthen tones of the landscape, left bare after a rapid melt, stripped away the snow, casting a long winter behind.
It has been a long time since my journey there.
And I’m left hoping that spring is here.
In less than 3 weeks, the Fargo Marathon will greet runners, once again serving as a celebration to a long training cycle – this year’s made more difficult by the bitter grip of the unseasonably cold spring. It serves as both the culmination of hard work and the beginning of a race season filled with shorter, faster events.
Since my last posting, I’ve joined friends in Fargo for a long training run, one in which we reflected on the tragic Boston Marathon bombings. While we logged long distances, we celebrated friendships and freedoms forged stronger by our sport.
I’ve kept a regular schedule for speed intervals, endured hours on a charter bus on the way to a productive work convention, and returned to the hills for a run on the gravel roads.
It had been many months, I don’t recall how many, since Tim and I had logged miles on the rolling hills southeast of Hawley. My journey took me up and over the Manmaker Trio – a trifecta of hills I named several years ago while punishing myself on hills to prepare for Grandma’s Marathon.
Out there, on the hills, I have discovered new depths of perseverance, determination and self-discovery. Many of the world’s problems were solved, at least those that existed at the time, over good conversation and wise words of friendship.
This past weekend, it was as though I returned to my running roots. I look forward to more adventures on those rural roads, and discovering new ones near my new home.
Soon, I will adventure on streets new to me, and find more country roads for my mind and feet to explore.