Running Through Time

I run.

I.

I like to run and I do it for a few reasons.

Running is something that I have been doing since I was very little, whether it was in soccer or just for fun. It is something that has been so ingrained within my being that it has become a part of who I am. People know me as a runner (or a soccer player or a cyclist) before they know much else about me.

Running is a comfort. Something that wherever I go or wherever I am, such as China, it always feels the same. My rhythm never changes and my extreme amounts of perspiration rarely fluctuates. I can feel the familiarity as soon as I start my watch or ipod and take those first few steps to wherever it is I am going.

I rarely know where I’m going either. Not sure where, but going somewhere.
When you are running you can cover a lot of ground, see a lot of things, and truly get to know your surroundings much better. When you’re in a taxi or a bus everything goes by so quickly that it is hard to understand or see the different things that the world has to offer. When you are walking, you can only cover so much ground, not really stretching your limits when you go out.

But running is just the right speed. Slow enough so that you can appreciate the little details and intricacies of the always-changing landscape, but quick enough to see a lot of different things.

So, this morning, I decided I would strap on my shoes and take a run in a direction I had never been. And in China, there are a lot of directions. I went out the South gate of the old campus’ grounds and ran past a small outdoor market selling “fresh” vegetables and fruits. Took a left down a dirt street and ran past some old train tracks and a hungry lumber-yard. Before long I found myself running through some old streets. There were women sitting on small stools ripping lettuce and they watched me carefully as I passed. Men on motorbikes and bicycles turned to stare as I went by. Another couple had cobs of corn piled high in front of them and were stripping each one meticulously, spreading the corn kernels out onto the ground as if they were laying a carpet. The road was half paved and half dirt and stone. I felt that I had run out of the big city that is Xuzhou and entered into a remote area of China where foreigners rarely go. And in a way, that was indeed the case. I’m sure that the residents of these homes and restaurants never see foreigners dressed in all black go running by during their morning routines.

As I ran I came to a lot of turns and dead ends. I tried to keep my run as simple as possible so I would be able to find my way home again. I used anything I could find as markers; the corn laid out on the dirty pavement, an old fence that kept nothing in and kept nothing out, a clothesline with a variety of what may have once been brightly colored towels, but were now dusty and worn, as everything eventually became in the smoggy atmosphere of a Chinese city.

I came to a river and I figured that it would be easy to follow along its side and return the same way. I came to a bridge and decided to cross and run along the opposite side and see if there was anything it had to offer. As I crossed I looked down and noticed that I was on some sort of small dam. Behind it weeds and plants sprouted up from the middle of the river and now impeded the progress of piles and piles of trash. Garbage was strewn over the banks and the trash in the river stretched back for dozens of yards. It was a sad sight, as piles of garbage in a beautiful, natural area like a river always is.

Across the bridge was a large fenced in area. From inside the fence I could hear some sort of shouting and chanting and as I made my way closer I looked over the small, concrete wall that the fence sat on. Inside was a large soccer field, surrounded by a track. Scattered across the entire grounds were many groups of young men and women in full camouflage standing at attention as a single leader stood in front of them, giving them orders and having them repeat. They were speaking in Chinese of course, so I was not able to understand what they were saying, but it was an eerie sight.

Every year, new freshman in the colleges have to undertake discipline and military training from the government before they join the rest of the school in their new classes. As a result, I only have four out of my eight classes right now, and will be teaching four freshman classes come October. Sometimes when I am sitting in my office with the windows open, I can hear their chants and patriotic songs waft over the campus and through my window.

But as I slowly jogged by this large track and field area, it felt even more official and controlling than it has before. The students stood in sharp, clean rows and with a loud command from the leader, they began to march in unison across the track. Straight legs jabbing forward. Straight arms swinging at their sides, as if they were unable to bend any of their joints. Chanting along the way. There must have been more than a dozen groups of fifty students all joining in the same routine. I watched from behind the small concrete wall and through the fence as hundreds and hundreds of students marched together, chanting, learning how to become good Chinese citizens and support the one Chinese party. I was impressed with the discipline, and seriously hoped that the students would be just as attentive and responsive once I got them in class. But I was also a little frightened, and hoped that the students were not nearly as attentive and responsive once I got them in class.

I decided that I should return home, and so I turned and ran back through time. Through the old, worn houses and the ladies ripping lettuce on small stools. I ran past the corn laid out on the ground, all the while making sure that I didn’t step on any and ruin the couples’ meal for the evening. I smiled as people stared at me intently, watching me as I ran by. And before I knew it, I was surrounded by cars, buses, and bustling crowds again. Not three minutes ago I was in another city and another time altogether. China is always changing like that. At one moment you are in a large store where they are selling expensive suits for businessmen, and then you are running by a college campus that has students marching and chanting as if they were building an army. Finally, you come to a small street where residents lay their corn out on the ground and the street is merely a street because there are houses that separate it. There are no markings, no pavement, just space. And within a few more minutes, you are running past a cell phone and ipod store. It’s a strange journey that never proves to be uninteresting.