Most Memorable Run

This is one of the latest Silent Sports Insider blog posts from the Door County Visitor Bureau.

After taking a left turn out of the classroom where I spend most of my days teaching at Gibraltar School, I almost immediately meet a hallway. Walking the brief distance down this hallway carries me to a set of doors that deliver me to a nondescript parking lot. On the other side of that lot, however, another world awaits on the labyrinth of trails in Peninsula State Park.

As I shed my teacher clothes for more comfortable wear, a metamorphosis of sorts occurs as I step upon those miles of trails to hike, run, bike, ski, and explore. Though I love my chosen profession, I must admit to looking forward to the open arms of the woods as they wrap me in a calm hug.

Though I have many favorite routes I alternate running as a method to shed the stress of the day, there is one particular loop that stands above the rest.

Heading straight out away from the ‘Chief K’ sign at the edge of the parking lot it’s about one mile to Middle Road. This trail starts off wide, as countless cross-country runners have honed their gait running loops upon this ground. There are a few turns worth exploring, but continuing on reveals a narrowing of the trail and the canopy of trees begins to thicken.

A few years back a student of mine (who we’ll call Tim) was performing well below expectations in my classroom. While his academic output was zero, his behavioral interruptions were many. However, Tim was always hanging around after school, as if he was looking for something.

After a particularly difficult day I noticed Tim just kind of milling in the hallways, not really up to much. Buried as I was in work, him coming into my classroom without saying anything proved to be a bit of an annoyance. As I finished my work he asked what I was going to do now.

“I’m going for a run. You can come if you want,” I responded.

As we walked out to the trail Tim informed me he wasn’t much of a runner, so my planned three-mile loop would easily be the longest run of his life. As we set forth we settled into a conversational pace and I soon realized my mistake at not taking the time to get to know Tim as a person before evaluating his performance as a student.

Somewhere around a mile into this run the trail crosses Middle Road. A quick right turn down Middle will bring you to a gated service road covered in all manner of leaves, moss, and debris. As the leaves fall back to earth in the autumn and cover this road in a patchwork blanket one would be hard-pressed to believe that somewhere underfoot they were actually running on pavement.

It’s not uncommon to see deer standing nearby on the trail, seemingly indifferent to your presence. You can only watch in silent awe as they disappear in a flash, bounding effortlessly over rugged terrain. The trail twists and rises and falls and concerns begin to float away into forgotten memories.

On this run, I began to think about our insistence of measuring students – reading levels, test scores, academic growth – and while I believe strongly in what I do as a job, the fact is I believe in people more. Tim wasn’t a data point to be charted on a graph, and he wasn’t a label to be filed into some manila envelope in the bottom of a desk drawer. He was human being with fears, dreams, and ideas. And the more he got treated like a human being, the more those concerns about his academics had a way of falling into place.

A right turn at the second available trail the service crosses marks the beginning of the slow turn back to the start. Once again the trial whittles its way down to a single-track path through pine forest. While it’s not the longest run, nor the most scenic of the vast trail network in Peninsula Park, it is my favorite and most memorable. And that’s because of Tim.

Tim graduated last year with ambitions to attend college. He left a handwritten note to his teachers thanking us for believing in him and stating that he aims to accomplish his dreams as a further way to express his gratitude for the work we did with him.

Clearly, it’s I who will never stop thanking Tim for all he taught to me.

And perhaps, he can teach us all something. Perhaps in a world fraught with unyielding noise and finger-pointing blame, we can remember two of our most treasured assets – our youth and our outdoors. And remember how truth can be found if we’re willing to listen to the voices of our children and to the silence of the natural world.

Andrew Holdmann has called Door County home since 2007. He teaches government, psychology and sociology at Gibraltar High School. In his spare time he and his wife Courtney introduce their toddler son to the wonders of Door County.