Northfield

Northfield isn’t my hometown, nor was it a place I was particularly excited about moving to. But it has become a place I’ve learned to love. Northfield is a small college town in Southern Minnesota. I came to Northfield from Minneapolis as a college student at St. Olaf. 

I didn’t start out in college as a runner on the women’s cross country team, but I was what some may call a “hobby jogger.” One day I saw the cross country teams venture beyond the northern gate of the natural lands and onto the side of the road. And so, being my nosy self, I followed them while keeping some distance. It was then I made my personal discovery of the Northwest (NW) roads.

The NW roads aren't particularly stunning — they are typical gravel farm roads. And yet, they are heaven. Learning to run in the city meant I had never run on gravel. There was expanse and open skies. The tallest building was a windmill 4 miles away. There were also a few houses about a ¼ mile and ½ mile apart from each other. 

While running on these roads, I am acutely aware of my place and location. North is Minneapolis, home. South is Dundas (where the movie theater and Target reside). West is the highway; East is the Cannon River. I know going a little farther either way after the T-intersection of Garrett and North Ave puts me at 2 miles from the college. Garrett and 320th puts me at 3 miles. 

To get to the real running routes is to run on North Ave, along the shoulder of the partial highway, against traffic. It is to feel the rip of wind after a car going 45 mph brushes by. It is sensing the thrill and danger of running next to a metal hunk going at such a non-human pace. But those two miles are worth it because then you arrive at the T, where the shoulder turns fully to gravel. Cornfields line your view right, left, front and behind. Green, humid leaves perspire under the summer sun. There is no shade. There are no wind barriers. The golden stalks of corn dry out in the fall and are mulched in the weeks before winter arrives. There is something artificially beautiful about this GMO corn. These husks and ears are grown year after year on tired, dusty soil. Because of this corn stretching for miles, there are few trees or native plants to anchor the soil, protect the water table below ground, or barricade a weary runner against the wind. Being relatively flat, wind blows relentlessly across these fields, picking up speed and force.

I once experienced a run where the snow was just dry enough, the wind at just the right angle (East), and the berm of the road at just the right height as to allow the wind to swirl snow up across the tops of my feet — like dry ice exposed to sun and warmth. It was surreal. 

Gravel farm roads aren't special to Northfield, and I think if I went to college in another small town the roads there would hold the same kind of significance. It's not just feeling the rolling hills and dips and beat of the ground, but the time I have invested in these roads. I have dragged my body through tough runs on these roads, and I have celebrated on them. They bring me joy and pain. I sustained a stress reaction running these roads, but I also experienced the joy in mileage increases.

Just a few months after making my personal discovery of the NW roads, I became a member of the women’s distance team at St. Olaf. I’m no longer running the NW roads as personal exploration, I’m running them as part of a collective. The roads no longer solely hold the experiences of inner monologues and personal meditations; they now hold the laughter and camaraderie of my teammates. They aren’t my personal proving ground anymore, they’re the sanctuary filled with my team’s sweat and tears. 

It's hard to separate my love for these roads from the fact I came to know them at a human pace. I don't claim to know them like I know the back of my hand, but a human pace has lent me the lens needed to pick up small details like the undulation of tractor tire marks, the restored prairie at the end of Garrett, and the mental map connecting the streets as I explore.

Roads like these are the kind that stick with you. When I leave Northfield for summer break, I am left missing the experience of NW roads. The summer is when I run solo. The pack is gone and the gravel under my feet changes to pavement. Alums come out to NW roads to run when they need a sense of grounding; because that’s what these roads do: they remind you that you run, or once you ran, as a St. Olaf cross country runner.