Run faster... Part 1.

The NFL football season had just started. Brent, Beau, and I sat at Friday's watching the game on one of dozen televisions hung from the ceiling. "An ironman consists of swimming for one mile in the ocean, a 114 mile bike ride, then a full 26.2 marathon." We all laughed as the words came out of Brent's mouth. I couldn't imagine swimming in the ocean for a mile. "I wonder if anyone's been attacked by a shark? Beau leaned back and put his hands over his head in disbelief. "Sharks are scary." I couldn't get the image of a human flesh eating monster out of my mind. I remembered the time I was in Hawaii and swam past the break of the waves. It was mating season for the whales, and I could hear their high pitched calls, tempting each other and terrifying me with every freestyle stroke I made.

Brent and I admitted to Beau that doing an ironman that year was ridiculous, so instead of starting with that, we'd put it on the list of things to do before we die, and start with a marathon. Beau didn't need any more convincing. He was in. We were all coming off another great summer of softball, and needed something to fill the void.

I remember our first run. The next morning we met at the YMCA, and planned to do the Tom O'Leary loop. Brent joked that he could run the marathon that morning if he had to. Beau and I laughed at Brent's nonchalant way of saying that it wouldn't really be that hard. We started out too fast--but apparently I was the only one who knew that. I had ran Tom O'Leary at times when inspiration struck me. When we came down the hill on Ward Road I knew we'd have to go up and I wasn't looking forward to it. Our conversation about how much we missed softball and couldn't wait until the next year slowed as we began ascent. We all slowed down without even noticing, maybe I noticed.

Brent stopped with the final quarter mile to go, and Beau and I drudged the final leg of it together. Back at the Y we joked about how much work we had to do before adding twenty four more miles to the death run of two and a half miles we had just finished.

"Yeah right. Twenty four more. Don't think so." I panted in between words.
"We can do it." Beau offered words of hope, that seemed more ridiculous then anything I had ever heard in my life. I looked over to see Brent, still bent over, hands on his knees, trying to regain his legs.
"Wanna go run around it 11 more times?" They both laughed.

The leaves started changing colors and the miles began to pile up. Looking back at it, I can't believe I was able to do what we did. I was working full time at Cell One, and going to college at night. We did our runs at one of two times. Either at five in the morning followed by a huge breakfast at the Little Cottage, the Cracker Barrel, or some other divine establishment. Then I'd go to work for eight hours, followed by night class, then pass out on my bed--and repeat the next morning. Or we'd do the runs late at night. Brent and Beau were both bartenders at the Green Mill, and being a person that loves to be awake once I'm awake, and a person who can't stand getting out of bed when I'm not awake, I was fine with the idea of going for midnight runs. Either way working at eight in the morning just didn't seem right.

There we'd be running around Bismarck at all hours in the night. I'd think back to when I was driving home the year prior and would see some "idiot" out running around, making me feel bad for having just left the bars. Who'd go for a run at one in the morning?

We did. We became those guys.

It was cool too. We'd be running north on third street on a Friday night and hear music boom out of Bucks, and laugh about how bad it would suck to be in Bucks dancing around to some crappy rap. Then what? Drive home and do the same thing on Saturday night? No. We had it figured out. (I’ve been to Bucks maybe twice in my life, and its not something I’m proud of.)

The long runs came and were intimidating. We would basically run around the entire city. The fun part was coming up with the course. We'd think of all our different options, and normally try to incorporate a bridge. Sixteen miles offered many options. Sometimes we just liked the idea of getting dropped off sixteen miles away from home. I can still see the tail lights fading away as Beau, Brent, and myself look at each other laughing. No turning back. We were outside the city limits and the sky was peppered with stars. An occasional car would drive by, where a driver must've been thinking we were all insane. We could see a grey fuzz that hung above the city lights in the distance. So we’d start running. Foot after foot, our bodies followed one step closer to home. When we'd get home we'd have a gatorade, maybe some chocolate, and if it was a weekend we'd throw in a Sopranos disc with our feet up, and sink back into reality.

All those miles, and all those conversations. Work, softball, I'd normally bring up a different girl I had fell in love with at Starbucks that week. We all subscribed to Runner's World, and could tell you the proper stride, along with the best shoes on the market--which we all owned. I bought a $300 dollar watch that could tell us our distance, along with our pace, and anything else that any serious runner would need to know. I knew we needed it, so I didn't hesitate to make the purchase. Yeah right, a $300 dollar watch-- we had been running for three months but nonetheless, I needed it…