On the hunt

This week, we embarked on yet another journey, primarily because of my erratic decisions. Over the past couple of weeks, I've started running again after a nearly six-month injury that left me completely incapable of running. Don't feel sorry for me, because it was entirely my fault. I felt the injury coming on in August of last year, and instead of resting, I pushed through the pain. Unfortunately, it progressed instead of subsiding, and I found myself with what I believe was a stress fracture, or possibly tendinitis, in my ankle. As a former athlete, I still have some holdover of what could only be described as machismo, or simply put, a consistent need to prove myself to no one other than me. Some would call it a disability, and by some, I mean Emily. As I pressed on, the injury made worse through my persistence caused a deeper frustration about my aging body. Once able to run countless miles, for hours on end at speeds that would have allowed me to compete among the best, I was now relegated to the reality that my body only had one gear, instead of ten. The "wheels were coming off," and I needed to take some time away from running. To say this led me down an existential path may seem a bit hyperbolic; however, running has always played a stabilizing role in my life. Long before I raced through woods, fields, and tracks, I found that running filled my soul with a sense of calm. It was my beacon of solace in an often-chaotic mind. When I was stressed, I would run. When I was sad, I would run. When I was angry, I would run.

Stopping for what seemed like an indefinite amount of time felt like I was once again saying goodbye to a much-needed friend. But I had no choice; I needed to find another outlet. I retreated to the basement where we had our water rower stored away, a COVID purchase, that provided us some optional cross-training while the gyms were closed during the pandemic. We had nearly sold the rower months ago; however, like with all things, we kept it in case it could serve a purpose later on. The day had come, and I would be a rower again. I spent the next six months in our basement, rowing away, longing for the day that I could once again run. As fall turned to winter and winter to spring, I became comfortable in my routine and eventually accepted my fate; rowing would be my reprieve. I sold my training watch because I no longer needed to track my miles, and in an effort to purge technology from my life, I transitioned to a more analogue approach in all things, from journals to timekeeping. I reverted backward in an effort to become more intentional with my time. Letting go of my smart watch was a fairly significant switch for me, but I had become frustrated with always being attached to my devices, leading me to purge and reevaluate what things were necessities

Eventually, the day came, and I laced up my running shoes once again. Spring was here, and it felt like there had been enough time spent within the confines of our garage. Those first few runs back were difficult for me. The pain lingered, and my cardio had suffered. What was once an easy pace now felt laborious. But I continued to run a few times a week, no watch, no set distance, no headphones, just me and the trail, the way it used to be when I was a kid. As time passed, I concluded that a timing device would help, and while it didn't need to be a smart watch, something simple would allow me to, at the very least, track my duration. I scoured Amazon and watched countless videos on watches that were not too smart but still had a digital component. Something smart yet dumb, allowing me to appease this need within to simplify my life. I settled on an old friend, the Timex Iron Man, a watch I had spent years running with throughout middle school, high school, and college. To my surprise, it was the same watch I had moved on from years ago, in all of its wondrous indiglo and multifunctional lap tracking. This was the watch for me, the one that would return my running to a simpler time and allow me to enjoy this rebuilding phase after my lengthy injury. I excitedly made the purchase, anxiously awaiting its arrival, reliving memories of runs throughout my youth, a trusted companion long forgotten.

Later that evening, the Timex arrived. I rushed to open the package, excited for my run the following day. As I opened it up, removing the watch from its packaging and placing it upon my wrist, my heart sank as I realized just how cheap and crappy the watch was. Was this the watch of my youth? I don't recall it feeling this way years ago. The rubber felt like plastic as it clung to my wrist, a cheaper version of something I once loved. It may have always been this way, had I let my youthful memories cloud my judgment? Or maybe technology passed this archaic watch by. I removed it from my wrist, placing it back in the box, realizing I was at an impasse. Now, I was convinced I needed a watch, but utterly disappointed at the options in front of me. Should I retreat back to the world of Garmin? Or should I come back to the world of Apple? I spent the next day consuming as much information about the available devices and their options, growing from a simple digital watch to a fully specked-out smart watch. This was inevitable, I thought to myself as I deep-dived into everything from topo map options to stamina and recovery projections, and of course, it now had to have a-fib detection, or maybe an O2 sensor, and a way to communicate, listen to podcasts or music on my runs. Things were escalating quickly.

I was at an impasse, eventually realizing that it was time to come back to the world of smart watches. Perhaps I had sold mine in haste and because of this, made the wrong decision. My compromise is that I would prefer to purchase something used so that I wouldn't incur the often momentous price tag of some of these devices. I spent the next day messaging countless folks on Facebook Marketplace, sending offers, some significantly lower than what they were asking, in the hopes that I could find the deal I was looking for. This likely frustrated many and led to little or no responses. Some of these people were local, some were not. As I progressed into this world of madness, I could feel myself becoming more desperate with every message, frustrated at those who didn't instantly respond, and realizing that I was no longer looking at things objectively. I was now chasing something more than a watch. I wanted the satisfaction of fixing my mistake, and that feeling of running down the trail, tracking my miles, and listening to my podcasts. Each interaction pushed that goal further from me, my body recoiling at the fact that I was making a significant purchase in a short time span in order to appease some deeper need, which had now become a form of instant gratification. This led me to realize that I would need to drive to get what I wanted at the price that I needed it to be. So I started looking at full-priced watches on Amazon and comparing them to what I was able to find on the Market. The time had come to put an end to this before I made a stupid mistake fueled by that irrational part of our brains that wants everything instantaneously.

After interacting with a gentleman in Olathe, Kansas, who had a watch I was looking for at a phenomenal price, but who refused to ship the device, preferring to meet in person, I realized I needed to stop. I was trying way too hard to find the thing I was looking for. If there has ever been a lesson in my life, it's that if you have to force something, you need to walk away. Eventually, the thing you're looking for will present itself. I took a step back, resigning to the fact that this search may take longer than I'd like, and that's okay. We spent the rest of the day working on chores around the house, and I would occasionally refresh Facebook market, thinking that maybe it wasn't too soon for something to "present itself." The hours ticked on, and the sun hung low in the sky, and after one last refresh, a new listing appeared. There it was, the watch I had been looking for, listed only 10 minutes ago and located in Clear Lake. Much better than Olathe, and certainly not a drive to Okoboji for a washer and dryer, I thought to myself, justifying the distance. I messaged them, and the response was swift and likely a little apprehensive as I was coming from Des Moines. But I assured them that it wasn't much of a drive, having done this route countless times when I attended NIACC in Mason City. They agreed to hold the device until the next day if I would pay in advance, which I gladly accepted, not thinking much of it at the time.

The next day, likely the previous Monday, was once again filled with preparations for the journey in store for us. While a little less exciting because this purchase was entirely selfish on my part, Emily agreed to join me on this trip. We set off, expecting to arrive around 1 PM. As we got closer to Clear Lake, I called the number provided to me the evening before, and instead of the woman I had been talking to via Messenger and eventually through text, a gentleman picked up. His voice was excited, greeting me like an old friend, and explaining that he and his wife have been busy preparing for their daughter's birthday, May 5th (Cinco De Mayo). She was occupied, so he grabbed her phone. He offered to meet us somewhere around Clear Lake, "wherever was convenient," for us. However, we didn't want him to come to us, especially if they spent the day preparing for their daughter's birthday. We were already on the road, what's another 5 minutes? We agreed to meet them at their place. The drive into Clear Lake brought memories back of my time in Mason City, occasionally traveling there to spend time with friends while in college. As we traversed the quiet streets, passing the surf ballroom and down Main Street, we eventually approached our destination.

Oddly nervous, never truly loving these little awkward meetings that Facebook can sometimes provide you with, I made my way across their drive and under the covered patio. To my surprise, the gentleman was waiting for me; they were both outside, separately attacking a queen bee that was making its home, surely trying to build a kingdom of its own. Even though they were in the process of what appeared to be a fight of the ages, they made time to shake my hand, thanking me for coming all this way. As the wife and eldest daughter made their way around the back of the home and out of sight, the gentleman presented me with the Apple Watch, still in its original packaging, as he took a moment to show me that everything was in its place and untouched. He then explained the story behind the watch.

He had purchased this for his eldest daughter, alongside an iPhone. It was to be a gift for her birthday, which took place a few months back. The family had fallen on hard times, and the cleaning business they both ran suffered from a lack of work. They were already tight, and this unexpected slump was making things incredibly difficult for them. The eldest daughter asked how she could help and offered him the unused watch to sell. Clearly, this was a moving experience for him and his wife, who had been together for 20 years at this point. They listed the watch at a steep discount in the hope that it would sell quickly and provide them with some much-needed funds. As we talked about life, family, and the importance of their faith, I realized that everything that had transpired before this had led us to this very moment. Our paths likely never would have crossed; however, through a need, we had both found each other, something greater guiding us to this point in time. Selling this watch would give them a much-needed boost, and he thanked me for that. Admittedly, I was conflicted; of course, they were able to get the funds they needed, and I was happy to be that person. However, to be honest, my purchase was, in a way, selfish. I was looking for the best deal, and that just so happened to be them. As we parted ways, I got back in my truck, explaining the story behind the watch and its significance in their life to Emily. While driving to the trailhead for Athena's walk, I felt this feeling deep within me, turning to her, and declaring, "We should send them some more money."

Over the past few years, I've felt this feeling wash over me more than once. Call it faith, kindness, or a sense of responsibility, but when it happens, I don't question it; I just do what the feeling tells me to do. She, without missing a beat, agreed. We needed to give more to these folks. So that's what we did, and their response filled us with joy:

"God is amazing thank you so much God be the glory thank you to you and your wife you guys are amazing and blessed people."

As we walked on the trail through Clear Lake, we talked about life and how it has a funny way of bringing people together. We found each other that day. But I don't tell this story because of the gift, I tell it because we all have that feeling deep within us to give, in any form it may be, large or small, there is that voice within us that provides the path forward. I tell this story to express the need to listen to this voice when we hear it. I believe that we were brought together that day because of a feeling, a need, and a responsibility. Emily and I both heard that voice, that calling, and we acted on it. Call it faith, call it the universe, or call it connection, but when you hear it, act on it. The world needs a little more love, a little more giving, and a little more understanding.