Couldn't tell y'all too much about that 21 miler. Most of my thoughts at the time were absent or layered over with sweet melodies from my iPod. This jog was for my 21st birthday and eventually became my first official #runningjonchallenge state to run across the U.S. before I turn 32. It was misty, around the low 60s. The sun had yet to clock in for the day and consistently used PTO for the few months I was there. Alaska was never on my bucket list for states to visit (never ever?) while I completed my summer internships with the SCA. But this place had carried the thrill and need of adventure for me at the time.
Between the inhales through the nose and the exhales through the mouth, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other strides, and the two granola bars in my coat pockets, there were thoughts of my mom literally having no idea about where I am. There were thoughts of me having no idea where I was. I definitely knew that there were 20 more mileposts along the Dalton Highway that needed to be passed to complete my spontaneous yet necessary challenge. There was only one main road. Just run south. If a bear popped up, the other interns knew where to find me
At the age of 21 (still technically 20 at the time of the run) I had found solitude yet comfort in people not knowing where was located. There were a few animals fully aware of a nappy-headed black man in some Nike Shox sashaying along the interior of Alaska. The silence was so loud I could hear it through the verses of "Hey Ya'" by Outkast. Around the 13th mark, I had taken a light break to show down on some $1 cereal bars and re-hydrate.
My left hip had begun to tighten, and this would start the trend of a tight yet super flexible part of my body after I had fallen on it a week prior. Emile Hirsch's characters in Prince Avalanche and Into The Wild echoed throughout and around my cranium as I ceased my stretching. Alexander Supertramp's site was over 15 hours south of me.
It became daunting to carry myself through those last 8 or so miles. I was wondering why haven't seen one other black people in that space. People came around the entire world, and I had yet to see anybody not of mayo complexion. Everybody knows black people typically don't show up in Alaska, much less run along the Middle Fork Koyukuk River that tried to make me the last black man to ever visit Coldfoot, Alaska.
But my desire to be in the wild and run around like I was going to my own Mordor with some hobbits drew me closer and closer.
So I kept running,
Between the inhales through the nose and the exhales through the mouth, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other strides, and the two granola bars in my coat pockets, there were thoughts of my mom literally having no idea about where I am. There were thoughts of me having no idea where I was. I definitely knew that there were 20 more mileposts along the Dalton Highway that needed to be passed to complete my spontaneous yet necessary challenge. There was only one main road. Just run south. If a bear popped up, the other interns knew where to find me
At the age of 21 (still technically 20 at the time of the run) I had found solitude yet comfort in people not knowing where was located. There were a few animals fully aware of a nappy-headed black man in some Nike Shox sashaying along the interior of Alaska. The silence was so loud I could hear it through the verses of "Hey Ya'" by Outkast. Around the 13th mark, I had taken a light break to show down on some $1 cereal bars and re-hydrate.
My left hip had begun to tighten, and this would start the trend of a tight yet super flexible part of my body after I had fallen on it a week prior. Emile Hirsch's characters in Prince Avalanche and Into The Wild echoed throughout and around my cranium as I ceased my stretching. Alexander Supertramp's site was over 15 hours south of me.
It became daunting to carry myself through those last 8 or so miles. I was wondering why haven't seen one other black people in that space. People came around the entire world, and I had yet to see anybody not of mayo complexion. Everybody knows black people typically don't show up in Alaska, much less run along the Middle Fork Koyukuk River that tried to make me the last black man to ever visit Coldfoot, Alaska.
But my desire to be in the wild and run around like I was going to my own Mordor with some hobbits drew me closer and closer.
So I kept running,
 |
| The soundtrack of Prince Avalanche by Explosions in The Sky looped in my head. |
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