Algona, IA

Bishop Garrigan High School

Run time: 57:12.5 + 2-minute kick

Back to the comfort of a school track. It was just across the road and through the cemetery from the hotel, so… hard to resist. A beautiful Iowa afternoon in a small town that I choose to pronounce “All-gone-a.”

There is a serene beauty to these prairie states, and you can see why indigenous tribes chose to live here until they were massacred by our forefathers. I have approximately 10% Native American blood, which means the other 90% came from European colonizers. I cling to that 10% as my true lineage. It is symbolic of the true lineage of this continent.

Some of the remains in the Algona cemetery might be those of Indian killers. Driving through these small towns in red states, one is tempted to feel soothed and comforted by the tranquil setting, but when you are merely passing through, you can avoid unveiling the political inclinations of the local inhabitants, which would likely turn tranquil to menacing. Because evil is menacing.

As I ran around the track, a mom with two small girls came out to walk some laps. She took a good long look at me, and I imagined she wondered if it was safe for her and her girls to be alone with me, and if it was safe for her to leave the smaller daughter alone at the turn of the track watching a show on her tablet. As I jogged and walked, I tried to stay in front of the mom so that she could keep an eye on me at all times, if she wanted to. It is the job of a parent to be over-cautious.

Earlier in the day, as I drove south outside of Armstrong, IA, I saw a young boy walking down the road with a fishing pole, a net, and a bucket, a sight that warmed my heart, but I could not help wondering where his guardian was, and how swift was the river he was walking to, and should he be on such an excursion alone.

I am no spiritualist. I am an agnostic, and I sincerely doubt that there is an afterlife. But if there is a spiritual realm, I hope it includes only the indigenous and their descendants. So maybe the boy was in good hands. Maybe the guardian was alongside him as he walked down the road, or maybe waiting at the river. Kind of an idealistic thought, I know.

The Cleveland Indians changed their name to the Guardians, you know. I made a remark to my wife recently that I would have chosen the Warriors over the Guardians. That might have been a rash decision, in retrospect. We could certainly use more Guardians, and fewer Warriors.