I caught my first glimpse of him early on a Saturday morning as I drove into town for the start of the annual Zionsville Anti-Mini Marathon. He wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt, a black pair of shorts and a hydration pack slung across his back, and he slowly jogged along the side of the road, a solitary figure moving through the early-morning mist.I didn't think much of him until I saw him again at the starting line. It was there when his appearance struck me.
His reddish hair was long and unkempt, like it hadn't been washed in days nor cut in months. His beard, the same. His forehead was deeply lined and tan, and his eyebrows were streaked white by the sun. His eyes were distant. Honestly, he was kind of weird looking, a little "off," like a homeless guy in running clothes.
So of course I introduced myself.
"I'm Steve," he said, his voice low and resonant. He seemed shy, like long conversations weren't his strong suit.
"You do this race before?" I asked and nodded to the woods beyond, to the start line of the half-marathon course I'd run five times before.
"First time here," he said and looked at his shoes. "But I've been running a long time."
"Really?" I said. "How long?" I expected him to tell me about a lifetime spent running. His answer, therefore, surprised me.
"Well, I left my house at midnight from Greenwood and it was pretty windy all night. I'm a little worn out." Greenwood is south of Indianapolis, roughly 30 miles from where Steve and I stood.
"Seriously? Wow. You do a lot of ultras?"
Steve smiled at the question, a little sideways facial twitch underneath his beard. "Sure. I just finished a 100-miler in Calfornia. Hitched my way across the country to get there."
Turns out, Steve's run a bunch of ultramarathons. Been doing them since high school, he said, which, as it happens, wasn't that long ago. "I'm 20," he told me, "but I look a lot older." He said he's met all the big names in ultramarathon circles - Scott Jurek, Dean Karnazes and the like. "They're all pretty cool guys," he said and looked back at his shoes.
By then it was race time. I wished Steve luck and headed out. The Zionsville Anti-Mini is a 13.1-mile race that requires runners to complete four 3.something-mile laps. On Lap 3, I passed Steve. He was still plodding along.
"Way to go, Steve," I said as I passed him. "Keep it up." He smiled that sideways smile again.
For a few minutes, I actually felt pretty good about my accomplishment - I just passed a guy who runs ultramarathons, I thought. And then reality struck; at Mile 13, I was going to be done. I could walk back to my car in the parking lot and head home.
Not Steve. For him, Mile 13 only marked a point just beyond halfway. When he was "done," I realized, he still had another 30 miles to go to get back home to Greenwood.
Suddenly, my accomplishment didn't seem so great anymore.
I've been thinking a lot about Steve since that race. I wonder what motivates him? I wonder, is he running toward something? Away? And what does he hope to find when he gets there? What must the world seem like 20 or 30 miles into a run at 3 in the morning? What goes through a man's mind?
Whatever the motivation or the reason, I'm glad I met Steve. He is exactly my opposite. Where my life is structured and rigid - filled with school bells and soccer practices - Steve's seemed open and free. He reminded me of Forest Gump running across the United States. Or Christopher McCandless in "Into the Wild," just experiencing the world and his place in it. I'm not saying I'd want to be Steve, but he was fun to meet, and his free spirit was something to experience.
I hope I can capture some of that spirit in the future.
Keep running, Steve. I hope you find what you're looking for.
Note: The picture at the top of this blog was taken before the start of the Zionsville Anti-Mini Marathon. That's me on the left (I'm not sure why I'm standing like that) and Steve on the right.
