UPDATE: June 2, 2020

Today while revisiting the original version of The Long Run", I realized something. What it boils down to is complaining about people wearing masks while hiking - which carries such little significance about anything. The argument that this behavior will lead to the downfall of American civil liberties is ridiculous. My intention was to point out how wearing a mask while on a trail could set a bad precedent. And that may be true - but I failed to effectively communicate the message.

I myself am not currently in the position to complain about much of anything. I’ve always known that - being born in America is kind of like hitting the lottery when you look at some of the suffering that goes on in other parts of the world. There’s also the fact that something as vain as my skin being white has granted me access to certain resources/privileges that are unavailable to others, whether they live in this country or elsewhere. Wearing a mask while hiking is silly. But the visceral response it brought out in me is even sillier. To complain about much of anything given my circumstance is silly.

It’s easy to be irritated by something in the moment. What’s harder is pausing and reflecting on that frustration, questioning the reason for it’s being. What I should have done is hit pause and realize that I am overconflating something that is small, a microissue in the grand scheme of things. There are people who are dealing with far greater circumstances. And let’s not dance around the subject - that’s gone on for far too long. When I say ‘people’, what I mean to are black people.

In its original version this post ends with me advising people who are stressed over the coronavirus to ‘just breathe.’ At the time the primary agitant on our society was COVID-19 and the isolation that’s come alongside it. These words seem idiotic today. Advising people to ‘just breathe’ - relax - doesn’t do justice to disenfranchised black citizens who do not have the luxury to relax, to just breathe. Black people in this country deal with the constant worry that they will be the next victim, the next name to join the list of victims of racism. The freedom to breathe can be taken from you at any moment. A routine stop by a police officer could mean that. It doesn’t stop there. I imagine there is a constant angst amongst black men, women and children. That the threat never quite dissipates, whether in a public or a private setting. I wouldn’t wish that burden on anyone, myself included. And while I can sympathize with the unjust treatment of black people in the United States, I can only do so in a human sense, as a fellow American. I cannot claim that I know what it’s like to be black in 2020. All I can do is acknowledge what I do know; that we as a nation should be ashamed by how long we have allowed overt racism to persist, and that now, not later, is the time to change how this country views race.

Next time I notice a Seinfeld-esque opportunity to complain about something inconsequential, I’ll consider my own circumstance first, alongside the circumstances of those who can’t cry ‘boo-hoo’ whenever they feel betrayed or offended. I’ve decided not to erase the original version of “The Long Run” - despite its flaws, I still think it’s enjoyable to read. Even if you feel differently, I hope there are other lessons that can be taken from it. The fragility of time. The power of change. Whether you continue reading or not, go into it with a better sense of how I have changed, how we all have changed, over the past week.

Here are a few places you can donate to help ensure a brighter future for black lives in America:

Black Visions Collective: https://www.blackvisionsmn.org/about

NAACP Legal Defense Fund: https://www.naacpldf.org/?_ga=2.266874954.595467896.1591148006-1235451836.1591148006

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It's summer. The sun is shining. Nights are longer. Grills are ablaze. It's summer and that means there's yardwork to be done, beer to be drunk. Only handle fireworks while sober. Mostly. Ah, the beautiful noises - the birds chirping, a basketball bouncing. Can you smell that? Fresh-mowed grass. Tomato vines. Say - what's that? Ah, now I'm getting it - a zest of COVID-19 in the air.

Summer brings one change to many peoples lives. If you live in a variable climate and enjoy running, now is one of the best times to do so. Running season typically begins once the snow starts to melt in the spring. Initially it's mostly road running - the trails are still a mess from the precipitation and the ground being cold. Going out in the spring or on the occasional warm winter day is the best. Its brisk, runner friendly weather. You can shake off the winter blues, move your legs and post good splits.

This week I went on my first run of the (unofficial) summer. The weather was too good to miss out on - 80 degrees, sunny, dry. I geared up and drove the short distance to my favorite trail, my go-to training grounds. I found the parking lot nearly full. Hard to find a spot - but I wasn't going to let a little extra traffic stop me. I jumped out of my car and did some light stretching. Ah - feels good. Once I got some blood pumping through my legs I got moving. I jogged to the trailhead, earbuds alive. Let's do this.

The trail introduces you on a gentle slope and then quickly adapts to an extreme downhill. What goes up must come down. Climbing back up would be a bitch. I was welcome to the challenge. Minding the roots and wooden steps underneath me, I almost ran into the lady hiking ahead of me. The trail is only 1 person wide, with steep slopes on either side. I saw her too late - I couldn't stop myself. I"m about to truck this lady! Luckily I managed to plant my front foot on an even patch of dirt and halted to a stop. "Excuse me!" I shouted over my earbuds (which she of course couldn't hear - whoops.). I stepped around the lady, glancing back as I kept on going.

She was saying something.

I considered continuing but hesitated. I pulled out an earbud, jogging in place. "Sorry?" I said, my voice flimsy and flight-oriented given the aerobic circumstances. Even from behind her thick-rimmed designer shades I could tell she was glaring at me.

"6-feet!" she shrieked.

Eegad! "But ma'am!" I began, ready to defend my actions. But as I opened my mouth to speak the woman covered her nose with the collar of her t-shirt, like I had shit-breath or something. Huh. I huffed into my hand and only detected regular mouth-smells. Then I looked down at my own gray t-shirt, noticing the sweat collecting at my chest. I must really smell. I replaced my earbud and spat a glob of runner's phlegm to the side, going on my merry way.

Two miles in I was feeling good. The lack of motivation I'll oftentimes get at the start of a hard workout had disappeared. It was just one foot after another, keep hammering, ramble on. My eyes were peeled now, watching - on this piece of trail you were more apt to spot a deer than a housewife on their bimonthly hike. My feet a blur in my peripheral, I spotted a shape in the distance. The figure drew closer and I recognized it as an ally - a fellow trail runner. As my de-facto friend approached I noticed something strange about him. From the bottom down the guy looked normal - neon-colored Merrell's, runners shorts and a tank top - but his face was covered by a dark face mask. How odd, I thought as we were ready to pass by each other. I'd worn a nylon mask during particularly cold weather, but today was one of those days some might call 'too-hot' to go out for a run on. We were nearly beside one another and I popped out an earbud to submit a friendly Runner's Wave. The man craned his neck away and as he passed and shouted:

"Ever heard of a mask, buddy?"

I laughed and turned to answer the question - No, but you sure have! I was going to say (or something super-hilarious along those lines). But the man never stopped, just kept going, shaking his head slightly as he went. Huh. Must be talking about one of those altitude masks.

I guess I should get one of those.

I was past the mid-point of the run. The 4-mile, hill-dotted trail abruptly ends, challenging you to make it back to its starting point. I was well on my way back, just a couple miles left to go. You got this, I told myself. I cranked up the music and gritted my teeth. The hill before me seemed especially daunting. Legs are heavy, I thought hazily. Still, this was when just adversity coming into effect. I wouldn't let it defeat me.

I started hammering up the slope.

Fear is the mind-killer. Another step.

Fear is the mind-killer. Another.

Fear is the mind-killer.

I could see the hill's peak. Just a few more paces. I felt my thighs rubbing together, pooling with blood so my body could pump energy to them. The ground began to keel out - FUCK YEAH. My lungs were on fire, but it didn't matter. It was a good feeling - runner's high. The rest of the going would be easy. Flat ground, smooth-goes it. A cool-down.

I rounded a bend, noticing that my lungs were still recovering. I slowed my pace, allowed my heart to tick down a few tocks. My heartrate stayed the same - elevated. I slowed to a jog. Weird. An angry guitar riff sputtered to life in my ears. Rage! Just when I needed you. Lyrics of political dissidence gave me the gusto to shift up half-a-gear. Still, I felt slow.

Summer bug noises echoed around me. It had been hot from the get-go but now it felt humid too. Water vapor pooled on my skin. Sweat leaked into my eye. I tucked up the collar of my shirt to wipe my brow and realized I was drenched. A drum began to beat in my head and my throat hurt. Fucking allergies. I inhaled deeply and cleared my throat, trying to empty out the 'ole sinuses. I spat into the greenery beside me - when it hit the ground it caught my eye. It was speckled with red. I shrugged and continued. Almost home.

Now I was dizzy and my mind was foggy. I had to stop for a few minutes to clear my mind before i kept going. My chest got tite. I tryd to run but my legs wouldnt go and i think a trainn was whistling inmy throat. the lightcoming streaming in from the canopiesabove made shadows onn the wooded floor that made me feel sick. i think i got sick annd then i tripped and fell and scrape my nee. i got back up and tried to keegoing bu i fell back down an d layed downe. whne i looked at my hands my fingertips tthey were pruple and k tried to bretah but it was hard so i stopped brthing and then everytheng whent blak.

When I woke up I was inside a plastic bubble. A bunch of men dressed up all like welders were looking down at me. I tried to ask where I was but I couldn't talk. I looked beside me and saw a machine that looked like an accordion steadily inflate and deflate. Someone knocked on something outside of my field of vision and they all turned and looked.

"Doctor - lab results just came in."

One of the welder-men turned and left. The others turned their heads back to me and watched.

Should've never pissed that lady off.

Of course this never really happened - if it did then I guess these words would’ve never been put together. But I did go on a run and I did ticker out early. This is pretty typical of the first run of the summer. The heat drains you unexpectedly, and if you don't have water or an electrolyte drink with you then things can get ugly. I found myself slogging and out of breath, so I stubbornly walked the last mile of trail. It pissed me off. Nothing fires me up like finishing one of those long, arduous runs, and failing to do so made me feel disappointed in myself (maybe you've had a similar experience). Still, I've tried to find something positive out of the ordeal. I tell myself that that failure is fuel for the mind. Next time I'll be more prepared; I'll properly fuel my body and use it to sharpen my mind. Next time I feel shitty I'll force myself to dig deeper, because I know nothing feels worse afterwards than having failed yourself. I have 4 months’ worth of summer runs to get through - in the long run, the lessons taken out of this experience will make me stronger, more mentally and physically disciplined.

Despite my best efforts to block out the sky-is-falling news media, COVID still managed to dominate my run. The trail was just as packed with soccer moms and skirt-short runners as mentioned. Some had even chosen to filter out the nauscious fresh-air with face masks.

People - use ya noodles!

COVID isn't going to manifest itself onto you while you're out in nature. The spirits living in the trees aren't asymptomatic carriers. Everyone is doing their best to stay healthy and avoid unnecessary risk. It's the most logical, responsible behavior you can take right now. If you're at risk, or if you live with someone who's at risk, stay home and self-quarantine. On the flip side of things - use common sense (it's this new thing - have you heard?). If you regularly exercise, maintain a healthy diet, and get enough sleep - in other words, if you have your shit together - there's nothing to be worried about. In the case that you were to contract COVID, you have a 99.94% chance of surviving - it wasn't hard to calculate.

Realize that what may seem like a micro-decision in the moment has the power to negatively impact American society in the long run. Going shopping at the local grocery store, where 12 people before you have already fingered that avocado you just put in your cart? Go for it - gloves, mask, emergency Lysol syringe - the whole shebang. Out birdwatching? Stop. The fleeting cockatoo bird subspecies isn't going to projectile-vomit COVID onto you.

Weigh your options. What's best for me, for my family, in the long run? Encouraging a society that values personal responsibility and common sense? Or endorsing one that lives in fear and obedience, one that blindly follows the orders of a bunch of politically-motivated cockatoos? It's not just a question of personal freedom or liberty. It's more than that. It's mental health - which is the same thing as health. It's about the future generation - promoting a world of sanity to our children, instilling normalcy so that in the future they can enjoy what we do. And it's about values. Your values - preservation, community, identity, family. Not the values of some unaware oligarchy of egomaniacs.

Go on your hike. Sit in the sand. Unplug yourself from the chaos for a moment and leave your masquerade behind.

And remember - breathe. Just breathe.