I first met Ohio State Running Club not long after I moved away from my past individualistic control where I took running as my own, running two marathons, and running over the bridges of Cincinnati with strangers comprising of all the runners I knew. Running was an internal challenge. Self-Reflection. And then I met the cows from the farm with their big tongues that can't stop licking the fence. I met Walhalla, a most beautiful road. Greatest of all, I met a new pure form of running that lets a runner run, where the real meaning comes from all the people. People that will traverse this earth to pet the cows with you. I feel there is no other way to express my feeling about The Ohio State Running Club then an outpouring of story in which to hopefully provide just a glimpse into the meaning it gives through running but also without. To attempt to do this I desire to share my experience of traveling to Illinois, which hopefully can give a perspective and/or window into the adventures I have been part of with the club:
He had a mustang to my surprise because I never thought that I would ride in a mustang. Cramped in the back I decided that this journey was going to be accumulated into a mental task of acclimating my expectations. Boo was a chill guy and he held some opinions that were soft spoken, and so you just agree in the confusion. It was Trevor who articulated what I had subconsciously thought when he said "Boo doesn't drive a mustang like its a mustang." He would drive conservatively most of the time until suddenly, he would randomly speed up and pass cars, and once he picked it up to 110. The absurdity is that the whole time my legs were cramped with my coats on top of my legs, and I was sweating and sweating onto my jeans. My jeans already had a rip though, and for me, the durability of my jeans is how much grime, sweat, and holes I can get into them while living in the 21st century. I'm not doing half bad.
On the way down we listened to Billie Eilish and Ariana Grande. I had mentioned they were some of my favorite artists and so I thought the car was listening to me. Of course it was Boo that played my favorite music; he was that type of guy. Boo said that he had been to an Ariana Grande concert with his girlfriend once. "It was awesome wasn't it?" I said. He said something. I don't know what it was.
At the pasta party we all talked about how three other cars also listened to Billie Eilish. I love all the love that she gets. The next night at a running party I met a guy that said he wasn't the biggest fan of her music, but said he was a fan of who she is and how she represents herself. That struck a note with me, I have always been a big fan of the music but I think a big part of it is me just loving who she is.
Finally at the hotel upon arrival euchre was already being played, setting a chill tone. The night ended in a bunch of us playing Secret Hitler, which is a game that seemingly everybody knows about and has played. The Secret Hitler game I played was of course as ridiculous as the game always is. I was Hitler which was nice but then my own fascist shot and killed me. This freshman named Max looked devastated and held his hand on his head in disbelief for minutes. I felt a little sorry for the guy but I had played enough secret Hitler to not care so much. I had won enough. The next game we won in brilliant fashion. The liberals had a quick start and were going to win but then nominated Hitler chancellor. I was in my groove that game, making Wiggins laugh really hard when I picked up a liberal policy I passed and said, "ah, Wendy's is now open 24/7 according to law."
I went in my room and slept and slept because travel is exhausting, especially when stuck in the back of a mustang, sweating, with no food for most of the day.
Illinois University at Urbana Champaign was sitting on the flat Midwestern hemisphere stretched out like a big brown crusted pancake too big to find the edge of, and sweet enough that you never would care to find it. Certainly the students here don't study because nobody would notice if they didn't. The university is just too damn beautiful and built for the soft slow paced invitation of community that nobody could reject to be part of its idealistic notions. Their indoor track erected itself in the middle of campus as the destination of a large academic building where atomic bombs could be mass produced. The sunlight lit the inside as if we were performing the ritual of sanctifying human community to its purest, undistracted form. It is here, where we had a bunch of clubs with silly boys and girls race each other.
Since the breakfast at the hotel was comprised of cereal with no milk, coffee that makes you question that such a brand exists, and oatmeal packets constituting the only form of real substance but didn't give any form of solid density, Andrew and I decided to go to Subway first thing when arriving at the meet. Subway is the one corner of the earth where I feel everyone's pragmatic side lines up with their most real down to earth side of personality. The employee made three subs at once to maximize efficiency as I pointed to tomatoes, spinach, and the lettuce. I wait, and I always get all of it, even the pickles, but never the banana peppers, but green peppers yes. All of it on wheat is some sort of compromise to who knows what? I put sweet-onion sauce on this time to try something new and, upon my eyes accessing the long nutritional sub, I bite in, and it tasted delicious, like inhaling nothing but Italian salad dressing.
My 3k race that day was like when you grow up wanting to be an astronaut but then you actually do and crash your spaceship into the moon and die. It’s okay, it was alright because my brother came. I told him I was racing that day and he said he was able to come because he had headed up to Chicago the previous night. He literally just made it in time, right before the gun went off I looked back, and there he came into the stadium and I gave him two big thumps-up. He gave big two thumps-up back with a smile, I lined up, and the gun went off starting the race.
After the race my brother and I explored the University of Illinois, walking through the cool day that made my legs feel cold, and at my suggestion, we headed right to the library. I walked through the library with my short shorts and snot on my hands as we looked at the outstanding architecture of the high ceilings and historic looking stairs. The library held the feeling I often feel which is that life is endless and weird. We stopped by some literature books and I read some analysis on jazz and Kate Chopin and loved that there were people that cared about things like this at this so much to give their lives to it. I so badly wanted to take a picture of the books and the library but I didn't have my phone. I didn't want to forget, and sadly, one week later, it’s just about gone. I remember liking those glass windows but the image is gone. Not one book title remembered.
While walking back to his car my brother was telling me all about his trip to Chicago and how he got along really well with his future roommates. My brother is becoming a stand up comedian and it makes my heart melt because I am so damn fucking happy for him. I was so glad he loved his roommates and my brother told me that they loved to talk about pranks that they pulled off at their small private Christian college. He said that they were in full blown conversation before he even got a tour of the apartment. He's going to fit right in with them. He hasn't moved in yet but I can't wait to go visit him, and I can already picture it in my head - an amazing night of stand-up at some local bar - and then having the grittiest bougie night ever by having frozen pizza under candlelight in his small apartment talking about all the Chicago jokes the locals had to offer.
Back inside the Armory I ran into old time high-school friend Patrick Keck, a runner for Miami. Patrick ages like fine wine, only ever getting more interesting and having more to say about life. It didn't take much to set the spark, just a "how's life been", and boom, Patrick warped down the portal talking about running, old friends, journalism, ethics, law school, and not knowing where he's going to be next year and how that is exciting - all of it, and the man is absolutely hilarious at the same time. He must have asked me some question too because before I knew it I was talking about how life just feels so weird right now. I told Patrick "My life is a strange entanglement of old friends, new friends, school, personal interest, family, and my future...most nights I go to bed thinking what a crazy day, and no one day seems at all similar to the last." Patrick told me "it’s good that life is weird, we are in our 20s, that what it’s all about man, let's save normal for later." I loved that. I loved it so much. It made me feel better.
My mile race was like trying to urge a dying horse to run faster, it just doesn't work. It was okay though, because I had convinced Trevor to race the mile too. I told Trevor "I would rather have the worst race of my life than be bored." That was all it took, and moments later he was trying to find someone to take their mile place. What nobody knew was that Trevor would race his mile with a bucket hat. He has no idea how much joy he brought to Andrew and I's hearts as we watched Trevor race with a neutral face beyond comprehension. It is hard to say exactly what is was about Trevor racing in that bucket hat that brought so much joy, but all I know, is that it is has something undoubtedly to do with everything about Trevor. His legs carrying him seemingly effortlessly through the wave or runners on the red-orange track was with such authority it was as if he owned the whole place, this track his farmland, and all these other runners his kids coming to learn from father how to plant the seed of the field.
At this point I was getting a little restless as the meet drew on long, and I was getting tired of the relentless drifting in and out of people from place to place constantly. If you took the stadium at large, the track was the nucleus, giving the only sense of order to anything at all, but beyond that, everyone was flying around like electrons; so much so I couldn't talk to someone for more than a minute until our electrons collided, clashed, and flew out in opposite directions at thousand miles per hour. In search of anything resembling stability I tried to talk to Alex Berger, at which there was an immediate distraction as a bunch of boys suddenly yelled "4:20!" and started sprinting to the other side of the track. We started walking to the other side of the track for no reason at all, me walking backwards, trying to keep Alex's attention, saying loosely philosophical things, telling him I didn't want to drift in and out anymore. Then again, for absolutely no reason at all, we walked to the other side of track again, like two hobos without a destination, without a cause, only a call to walk to the ends of the outstretched earth ten times over. My philosophy was only slightly amusing Alex and so I finally said "I am standing right here like a statue and I'm not going to move!" And I did, I stood there for 15 minutes and the whole wide orange-track and its electrons shifted around me like a merry-go-round injected with steroids of insanity. Togas, crayola crayons, who the fuck knows what was happening man.
Before I knew what was happening I found myself at a restaurant named Portofino’s, which felt like entering a sci-fi universe, some alternate universe of my life where Pulp Fiction wasn't a movie but was my life. I had a moment of having no idea how I got there and so I got the big milkshake. Strawberry like I was in childhood. "Order 307, you are a winner!...Order 320, you are a hero!" The employees in the back seemed to be having a blast because there was no other choice being flooded the way they were. I felt like everyone in Illinois knew these chefs, like they served ravenous college students year in and out to the upward momentum that life was going somewhere, and that everyone would know everybody forever, but to me, they felt like they existed from the 1980s and were transported to 2020, and I was here to witness history.
I sat down with my big milkshake, big burger, and big fries next to Matt Polatas. I indulged like a hobo dining at a Waffle House for the first time in a year. The sweet strawberry shake took me back to my childhood when I would put strawberries, milk, and large spoonfuls of sugar in the blender at home. I had a good childhood, I thought to myself. The milkshake tasted so strawberry. I don't know what I was saying but I kept making Jessica laugh, somebody out of my social reach. Sometimes I find I have this effect, making the most unexpected people laugh, sometimes people I barely know. I don't know what this means, and I don't ever plan to find out.
It takes a very specific context to ask an absurd question and have it fit. "Matt, how many things are in this room that you haven't observed yet?" Somebody had plastered the entire wall all the way around with history, pictures, and art. Matt looked around, mentioned something, I looked up and saw a blue glowing rectangular round light. It was crazy, it wasn't until 10 minutes into eating that I noticed any of it. I felt warped into a single tracked mind that could only see the world a certain way anymore. When I was a child I felt like I saw everything; I would walk into a barber shop and be awestruck by the display of different haircuts on the wall, by every last item in the store to the different colors of suckers in the candy jar. Now, it’s like wherever I go buildings and art are just a facade of insulation to help hold all the people together. I simply accepted that the well crafted intentional environment had some sort of subconscious level of effect, that had to be enough, that is enough now.
Back in the hotel room my energy was getting a little lower and we were in this in-between moment and I was in the room with Stuart. I didn't really know Stuart, but after hearing him talk a little and observing his energy, my sense of him was that you could put this man anywhere and he could do anything. Like if you placed him in some random jungle, he would build an entire civilization that would last for centuries. He’s a sprinter and I'm pretty sure he ran faster than me in the mile that day.
And then again, before I knew it, I was stuffed into a single hotel room with the whole running club. We were stacked like an Oreo packet. In an attempt to say anything at all I just started sayin’ stuff. The DSM-5, the Self, who really knows? I remember saying at one point to Andrew Whiteman "have you ever considered that if you don't have children then you are the first person going back to the beginning of human history not to continue your bloodline." He gave a big smile and laughed and said "that isn't true." And then this guy laying on the bed that seemed a little drunk that I had never seen before started laughing, I looked over, he sat up, and said "but that is true!" Then I walked over to Kala who standing in the corner. I asked her some questions and I always love her responses because they are a little different from what I expect. She reaches a new level of chill that I madly respect. Like her chill scares off existentialism, something for the life of me, I'll never be able to shake.
And then back out into the night to the party! Rob drove us and dropped us off at the site and he truly did feel like my dad in that moment. I felt so grateful for him.
The party was like a swarm of bees in a beehive moving around to try and find the honey, but there was no honey, just more bees. I had passed by parties like this at Ohio State, seeing through the window flashing LED lights turning every color, the whole room filled with people, and now I was in one. Somehow I was immediately talking to a girl and things were going alright. There was a pause and I said one more thing but then she was gone. Trevor got a $5 unlimited cup for jungle juice and said he would share it with me. And so the drinking began!
I tried talking to another girl but before I knew it she was gone too and I thought the night was going in a downward spiral as I found it hard to find any place to belong. I chugged a whole cup of jungle juice. Then things suddenly turned around and I was talking to this girl Ali I met again, and she said "we’re besties" and shook her hand with her pinky and thumb sticking out. Ahh!, she was just playing with me but I immediately fell in love with Ali and the whole matter of everything was I would never be with her so she just slipped away, and for some reason I started proclaiming to people that "a girl who has a boyfriend and flirts with guys is an intellectual." I was having a great time, but gosh was I drunk.
And once again before I knew what was happening somebody made me sit down and I was next to Olivia. I was asking her if she was going to marry Alexandra and saying something like "you’re killin’, you’re killin’ it Olivia!" That's the way I get sometimes when I'm drunk, I even went up to Greg and for a whole minute ranted about how he was a true artist, a true photographer.
And for some reason nobody understood we were all yelling "Fuck Penn State!" I even asked a guy why and he said "because they’re defenseless." That's brutal but it was true and we all loved it. This same guy talked up Billie Eilish. He gave Jonah life advice. This random guy and I became best buds.
The porch was a blur, and they just kept giving me more and more water, and I kept drinking it over and over until I drank 3 cupfulls. I saw some girl that I thought was Ali walk away with some boy and remembered she said "I'll see you next year" and I laughed some sort of internal laugh. Somehow I ended up in an Uber.
The Uber became my sanctuary and Jerry was my prophet, he was leading me back to the promised land called the hotel. All I really remember is Jerry, and Kenny was some sort of peripheral blur. Jerry, the Uber driver, what a gentleman! I made sure to tell Jerry "they just kept giving me more and more water Jerry, so don't you worry, I'm not going to throw up in your car." Jerry told us that he was a chef and had a daughter in college, and so my heart fell, and I loved Jerry. "Thank you for saving my life Jerry" I said as I got out at the hotel. The others were all like "give him 5 stars! Give him 5 stars!"
Somebody gave me some bread. Somebody gave me a Poptart. I don't remember who it was but I ate the heavenly mana. Like someone gone hungry, all the focus was on the food, like hot soup when cold and hungry.
That night the wisdom of my life was carried out in a way that verified everything I've ever known to be the truth and simultaneously restructured the neurons in by brain to be deeply alive and reconnected in such a way that god given clarity gave peace to my soul. I had done and completed the full emotion of life and done all of it in a single day. I was a satisfied man. And so I slept and slept.
The next morning I had a hangover but it wasn't too bad. It was all that water they gave me! Somebody was taking care of me.
I ate breakfast with Madison and we talked and it was really nice. I felt good and at peace and ready to go home. I talked to Alex, always ready to be on the move, already ready to go. "You’re right" he said. "I am always wanting to be on to the next place." We hit peak philosophy. And that was that, goodbye Alex.
It was back to the mustang again for the way back. The country roads stretched endless, green, and Midwestern. Soon, we hit the warehouses, which are always large, efficient, and filled with all sorts of vehicles. Our blue mustang was flying down the gorgeous March awakening, cruising effortlessly, its white stripes (or were they black?) pushing us forward through the traffic. It was good to be back. I looked over at my jeans, soaked with alcohol, sweat, grit, a widening hole, and had a terrible stench. I had done it! I had, by even my own standards, made my jeans unwearable in the 21st century.
