The Next Kwik Trip Is Four Miles Away

Next “aid station” is just down the road

The door chimes behind me, and I’m back on the shoulder of a county road with a cold drink in one hand. I’m not sure exactly how far I’ve gone, and I don’t care. The next Kwik Trip is in the next town over. That’s the whole plan.

A lot of my runs go like this now.

We spend our days watching other people’s adventures

Think about how many adventures you watched this week. Someone hiking a ridgeline on your phone. A friend’s vacation photos. A marathon finish someone posted. A show about people surviving somewhere you’ll never go.

Screens are in our pockets, our beds and our cars. They’re very good at handing us other people’s stories while the hours slip by.

I’m not above it. At some point, though, I noticed I was watching a lot more than I was doing.

Kids already know how to do this.

When you’re ten, the creek at the end of the block is an expedition. The gas station a mile away is worth packing a snack for. Nobody hands you a course map. You decide where you’re going, and you go.

Most of us traded that for schedules, registration deadlines, and somebody else’s route. I believe in races. I direct a few, and I volunteer at others when I can. But a race is someone else’s plan, and these days I rarely pin on a bib.

Water, a credit card and a direction

My whole kit for one of these runs is some water and a credit card. I pick a direction, figure out where I can refuel, and head down the road. Usually the mileage isn’t the point.

This year it’s been Kwik Trips. They’re spaced just right: one in this town, one in the next, another a few miles past that. Each one is a checkpoint only I know about. I walk in sweaty, refill, and head back out. The miles stop being miles and become “the stretch to the next one.”

It’s strange to feel a sense of accomplishment walking into a gas station. I do, every time.

Sometimes the little adventure grows.

A couple of years ago the same idea grew legs, and I ran across Minnesota. Another time I ran to work, and then I ran home. That was a long day.

Neither run had a finish chute, a medal, or a results page. Those are still the runs I think about most. They weren’t my favorites because they were long. They were my favorites because I drew the line on the map myself.

This matters more than it seems.

A 2025 study in the Journal of Global Health followed nearly 80,000 adults aged 50 and older in 19 countries. People with a hobby had a 29 percent lower risk of dying during the study period. A hobby won’t fix everything, but it’s one of the few things that gives you hours back instead of taking them.

A study can’t measure the other part. The run you planned yourself is the one you’ll still be telling people about years from now.

So where are you going?

You don’t need to cross a state. You need a destination and a little nerve.

Run to the bakery two towns over and have someone pick you up. Plan a loop that crosses the St. Croix twice. Run to the house you grew up in. Run to a friend’s place and make them buy breakfast. Find the trailhead you’ve driven past a hundred times and see where it goes.

The rules are simple. Pick a place, know where you can refill, tell someone your route, and go.

The screens will still be there when you get back. They always are.

Then tell me where you went. I want to hear about it.