Dance on Through
My eyes slowly begin to close, easing the burn inflicted by the relentless Mojave Desert. Intense darkness engulfs every fiber of my being as I drift over the highway tarmac; still exuding the heat that had burrowed into its core. My body is numb, movement fills my soul. Sounds of the desert guide my stride, providing a rhythmic north star through the night. The beautifully dangerous percussion of a snake’s tail, the haunting cry of a distant coyote. The light thump of my feet, graciously carrying me from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. Overwhelming peace and gratitude blanket me, amplified by the arresting darkness of night. I am exactly where I am supposed to be at the moment. Surrounded by a newfound family, encouraged by love and grit, speed and intent.
It’s four the previous morning, and a small family of six runners dance inland from the Santa Monica pier. We stand present and unified with a specific goal - run as fast as possible to Las Vegas. A band of avant-garde misfits, intent on grooving to a different beat. Steeped in a culture that preaches pursuance of the comfortable, our sextet intentionally turned in the opposite direction. Pain is inevitable, and invited. Desert temperatures are projected to vault into the triple digits, the stark landscape offering no oasis from the elements. High mileage would inevitably take a toll, and forty hours without sleep would pay no homage to tempers and relationships. But to this crew, fruit comes from embracing the pain as it pours into our perfectly curated and pristine routines. Without friction we see no progress, so onward we moved into the fog blanketed morning, painted with cheshire grins.
Adrenaline pumps through my body as I slap the hand of Rio Lakeshore, my newfound brother in run, and launch into the night. The lights of Los Angeles guide my feet, the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard morph into spectators, invested in celebration. I buzz along, moving much too fast for the meat remaining on the bone. The city is a blur. The race overtakes my being, taking a commanding grasp of my soul. I focus on micro-terrain management, glancing at my watch, I notice the miles tick by. Streaking through the early morning traffic, I tag Leah, and watch as she breaks free into the chaos. We’re fucking on.
We dance through Los Angeles, breaking free into the Mojave Desert. Rio to Nash. Nash to Leah. Leah to Luke. Luke to Sam. Sam to BJ. Again. Again. Again. The heat of the day infuses itself into the faded tarmac. Waves float above the road, projecting an obvious warning to the team. Electrolytes, food, singing, running. A routine reveals itself, allowing the team to settle down and focus on what we do best - suffer.
The sun eventually relieves herself, ducking behind the distant snow capped peaks - allowing us a momentary reprieve from her intensity. We welcome the night. Luke fends off a stray dog, intent on taking out his ankles. BJ inhales a Jack in the Box taco and tightens his shoes. Those who can, rest their weary eyes for a few precious moments. We continue on, inching our way closer and closer to the sparkling Nevada desert mirage.
The night is quick to greet us with its own set of challenges as it reaches its long fingers around our vans, obscuring our vision. Creatures of the night emerge from the shadows as I click through downtown Barstow. My pace quickens as I begin to run from something, rather than towards. Heckles pitch out from alleyways and I tunnel my thoughts, focusing on getting out of town. Luke takes over and disappears into the desert; his headlamp quickly fades into the night. Rio gets lost. The stars guide him home. Miles continue to stack up and we dance onwards, ever present and increasingly delusional.
I travel intently, alone with my thoughts and a handheld through the desert. My quads are wood, and my head hasn’t stopped pounding since the beginning of time. I dive into the ground a few times on the uneven, scree-filled road, dragging me deeper into my own mind. Vegas doesn’t feel even remotely close, and I am uncertain. Uncertain of finishing. Uncertain of my own physical ability. The pace is fast as shit, and the miles are long. This valley of the mind feels unescapable, but I must continue on. As fast as she disappeared, the sun peaks her head up from her slumber. I am instantly filled with gratitude and tears stream down my face. An overwhelming pass of emotion kickstarts my soul and revives my stride, allowing me to continue on through the desert. What a wonderful, beautiful, crazy blessing running is. The ability to move on my own accord through barren landscapes, designed to keep man out. The relationships built and maintained through movement. I am filled with complete and utter peace. To run is to live. To run is to breathe. To run is to grow.
Movement gives us clarity and the light of a new day provides a rhythmic shot of dopamine. Death Valley beckons. Its barren landscape, straight roads, and inhospitable temps offers the perfect testing ground for our training of both the body and mind. Onward we travel. Keeping the pace and not missing beat. Rio to Nash. Nash to Leah. Leah to Luke. Luke to Sam. Sam to BJ. Again. Again. Again. The heat is overwhelming, and the hills are long. Our family is working now. Sweat drips into our eyes and our bodies vocally protest the continuous wear. Onward we travel, ever closer to our goal and the ice cold beers that act as a tangible finish line and end to the suffering. The road is long, yet our spirits soar.
Like a horse returning to stable, we collectively begin to taste our arrival in Vegas. We flip to the last page of our epic, still unwritten by our eclectic collective authorship. Free to compose the conclusion in any manner we deem fit, we choose speed. Dropping the pace consistently into the fives, and BJ into the fours (???). We dance through our second night as conquistadors of the paved. The glow of Vegas ever present in the distance, energy crescendos and passion for the race sparks. Faster and faster move as the tempo of our soundtrack rapidly increases. Time flies by, Milestones of the Blue night, Green in essence.
And just like that, one of the most emotional, awe-inspiring events of my life is over. I find myself standing in front of the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, drinking Modelo out of my dirty running shoe, and embracing my new family in run. I am overcome with unidentifiable emotion, unable to do anything other than smile and hug my friends. Our succinctly subversive mission was a success, and shuffled away, ready to celebrate and finally sleep.
Running is a gift. An allowance and avenue to express myself and dig deep inside. I move with the rhythm of the stride, and I feel. Clarity is inevitable, and I consistently walk away filled to the brim both spiritually and physically. The pain and success wraps me in a blanket, comforting me. Running is an undeniably personal experience, but we are all unified by a singular gift: Peace.
