Once a week at this point in the season, I hop onto the track to do some hard speed, but nothing more than 6 reps and nothing over 300m. Working my way back into it. Usually distance runners do hills, but I've never been a fan.
Tonight, it was 2x(300,200,150), going 41-26-18/42-27-19
Speed yes, Speed endurance no.
I jog around in the dark catching my breath, catching my stride. This cool night tips 50 degrees at most. Perfect.
My mind starts to wander, to think about the repressed track glory held inside throughout cross country.
I think about what I can do in this workout in March.
I think about the possibility of winning the alumi 1000m loop potentially 4 times.
I think about running 3:54 and hitting the NCAA provisional standard.
I think about running 3:48 and breaking the school record.
I think about getting hurt and running 4:05.
I think about Icing after this workout.
I think about my form, and how it needs to be fixed.
I think about my plan for the winter, and how it needs to be fixed.
I remember winning.
I remember the feeling of passing people like they're standing still.
I remember getting passed like I was standing still.
But mostly, I remember racing. That feeling with 600m to go when you know you're in it, and you don't know who feels good, but you know you do.
I have a distinct memory of every race I've ever won. Coming off of the turn to see the line. pushing, pushing, pushing.
Not knowing whether or not you're going to get caught, if you can hold on, if you can win.
Not knowing what you are capable of.
I remember the workouts being hard, but I don't really remember them in detail.
I remember racing.
I remember staring at my Victories as they edge the line. My heart rate drops into my stomach. I'm nervous. I'm worried. I'm shaking. The gun goes. I'm running, and I always settle. Always.
I honestly believe that I will run anywhere from 3:50 to 3:54 this season, and I can't see a damn reason why not.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Phase 2: Strength
After XC I have a lot of base. A lot.
Now I need to shift into strength work, to get pure power up, and start turning over, which still retaining my mileage.
This is my fairly certain schedule, which I had to extend to 8 days, because the model of whom I was using is a 1:46 800m runner, and I can't recover as fast as he can, so I added Day 2 below whereas he doesn't have it.
I also tweaked my original model after I talked with coach, and now this is what my next 6-8 weeks will look like, starting tomorrow:
Day 1: AM Base
PM Short Speed (150m-300m), long recovery. Cut downs. Give the legs time.
Day 2: Base + Circuits (haven't written circuit schedule, will add when I finish)
Day 3: (AM optional shakeout)
Aerobic Threshold work, aka fartlek, mile repeats, etc.
Day 4: Base + Circuits
Day 5: AM Tempo. 4-5miles
PM Shake out
Day 6: Base + Weights. Focus on explosiveness.
Day 7: Long(er) Speed Ladder. Either up or down from 200-1600m.
Day 8: LSD.
As you can see, I have an extra day than there are days in a week. Don't worry, IT'S OKAY.
This training schedule is pretty brutal. But dammit, I wrote it, and spent a while debating over it.
I think I can handle it. Maybe not. We'll see.
Likely Combined Distance: 55-65 depending on if the week has the LSD or not.
Solid.
Now I need to shift into strength work, to get pure power up, and start turning over, which still retaining my mileage.
This is my fairly certain schedule, which I had to extend to 8 days, because the model of whom I was using is a 1:46 800m runner, and I can't recover as fast as he can, so I added Day 2 below whereas he doesn't have it.
I also tweaked my original model after I talked with coach, and now this is what my next 6-8 weeks will look like, starting tomorrow:
Day 1: AM Base
PM Short Speed (150m-300m), long recovery. Cut downs. Give the legs time.
Day 2: Base + Circuits (haven't written circuit schedule, will add when I finish)
Day 3: (AM optional shakeout)
Aerobic Threshold work, aka fartlek, mile repeats, etc.
Day 4: Base + Circuits
Day 5: AM Tempo. 4-5miles
PM Shake out
Day 6: Base + Weights. Focus on explosiveness.
Day 7: Long(er) Speed Ladder. Either up or down from 200-1600m.
Day 8: LSD.
As you can see, I have an extra day than there are days in a week. Don't worry, IT'S OKAY.
This training schedule is pretty brutal. But dammit, I wrote it, and spent a while debating over it.
I think I can handle it. Maybe not. We'll see.
Likely Combined Distance: 55-65 depending on if the week has the LSD or not.
Solid.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Nationals and the Midnight Mile
Even though I’m replaced, I’m still better in this current state than anyone but the newly crowned top7. So, coach keeps my ticket and I’m off to Waverly, Iowa for Nationals. If someone gets sick, breaks their leg, etc, I’m in.
My legs are an insurance policy for a disaster, so as far as I’m concerned I can just enjoy the ride and stay fresh in case of a random occurrence of failure.
The trip is fun. If there’s anyone who can enjoy a well-run and talent-filled meet, it’s me. I eat this shit up every day, so nothing is better than seeing it in person.
The guys run solid, but not spectacular. Bennett runs the best, hands down. Good choice on coach’s part. Despite that, he gets ~180th/290 runners. If I had a great day, I would’ve been right with him. It’s a humbling experience for sure.
19th as a team / 32. Top20 in the country sounds better.
The girls are the same, except our #1 girl Jenn who gets 7th. 7th! Can you believe that? Ridiculous. She has one more year too. We may be looking at a national champ. She’s tough as nails, if there’s anyone I would peg to do it in track or cross, it’s her. Maybe the 10k on the track would suit her better, I don’t know. We’ll see.
20th as a team / 32. Top 20 in the country definitely sounds better.
After the long, fun weekend we come back and that’s it. Cross Country is over for another year. As my teammates who didn’t run past the conference meet start running again, and the top guys take some well earned time off, they slowly start fixing their eyes on track.
I’m already there.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of racing cross country. But it doesn’t even come close to how I feel about racing track. It’s pure, it’s fast, and it’s just. plain. fucking. awesome. I could talk all day about it so I’ll leave it at that.
After the Nationals meet the conference gets together at Occidentals track to run a midnight mile. It’s just what it sounds like. An all-out, no holds barred, mile that starts at the stroke of midnight. I’m thinking anything under 4:25/6 would be a success.
I run 4:20 with erratic splits of 63-67-68-62, and almost win the damn thing.
I meet with coach the following day, and we talk about this upcoming track season. We argue about the which direction to go, he listens and modifies what I say. I do the same.
A tentative schedule is set. A little deviant from the norm, but hey, there is no one-size-fits-all in running. The only thing that we agree on fully is that proper mileage is very important, and that I can’t be 178 lbs again. Stick to the 160 I am now.
He also tells me that if I don’t run under 3:55 in the 1500m this spring that we’ve done something wrong.
And we lay out a long term plan to run well under 3:50. We conclude that my speed is almost right to do it, but my endurance is not.
“You have to be able to run all of these: 49 400m, 1:51 800m, and sub25 8k XC. When you do that, you can do it.”
I’ve developed a very solid base under me, and now its time to carry it for a few more months as I gradually shift to speed.
I’ll post my workout schedule when It’s ready.
Like and plan, it has to be carefully planned, edited, and sent to the higher-ups for proofreading.
But man, when I slipped those Nike Victories (my favorite track spikes) on for the first time since May, I couldn’t help but smile.
Here we go.
My legs are an insurance policy for a disaster, so as far as I’m concerned I can just enjoy the ride and stay fresh in case of a random occurrence of failure.
The trip is fun. If there’s anyone who can enjoy a well-run and talent-filled meet, it’s me. I eat this shit up every day, so nothing is better than seeing it in person.
The guys run solid, but not spectacular. Bennett runs the best, hands down. Good choice on coach’s part. Despite that, he gets ~180th/290 runners. If I had a great day, I would’ve been right with him. It’s a humbling experience for sure.
19th as a team / 32. Top20 in the country sounds better.
The girls are the same, except our #1 girl Jenn who gets 7th. 7th! Can you believe that? Ridiculous. She has one more year too. We may be looking at a national champ. She’s tough as nails, if there’s anyone I would peg to do it in track or cross, it’s her. Maybe the 10k on the track would suit her better, I don’t know. We’ll see.
20th as a team / 32. Top 20 in the country definitely sounds better.
After the long, fun weekend we come back and that’s it. Cross Country is over for another year. As my teammates who didn’t run past the conference meet start running again, and the top guys take some well earned time off, they slowly start fixing their eyes on track.
I’m already there.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of racing cross country. But it doesn’t even come close to how I feel about racing track. It’s pure, it’s fast, and it’s just. plain. fucking. awesome. I could talk all day about it so I’ll leave it at that.
After the Nationals meet the conference gets together at Occidentals track to run a midnight mile. It’s just what it sounds like. An all-out, no holds barred, mile that starts at the stroke of midnight. I’m thinking anything under 4:25/6 would be a success.
I run 4:20 with erratic splits of 63-67-68-62, and almost win the damn thing.
I meet with coach the following day, and we talk about this upcoming track season. We argue about the which direction to go, he listens and modifies what I say. I do the same.
A tentative schedule is set. A little deviant from the norm, but hey, there is no one-size-fits-all in running. The only thing that we agree on fully is that proper mileage is very important, and that I can’t be 178 lbs again. Stick to the 160 I am now.
He also tells me that if I don’t run under 3:55 in the 1500m this spring that we’ve done something wrong.
And we lay out a long term plan to run well under 3:50. We conclude that my speed is almost right to do it, but my endurance is not.
“You have to be able to run all of these: 49 400m, 1:51 800m, and sub25 8k XC. When you do that, you can do it.”
I’ve developed a very solid base under me, and now its time to carry it for a few more months as I gradually shift to speed.
I’ll post my workout schedule when It’s ready.
Like and plan, it has to be carefully planned, edited, and sent to the higher-ups for proofreading.
But man, when I slipped those Nike Victories (my favorite track spikes) on for the first time since May, I couldn’t help but smile.
Here we go.
Gambling with my Body
Workouts and runs the days following the Conference meet had been going poorly. I hit all the times I was supposed to, and run the times I was supposed to, but it was far harder than it should have been.
Only 3 weeks ago what was and felt like 5:30 pace on a grass-laden tempo run, today still is 5:30 pace but feels like 5:00 pace. Base runs at 6:20 pace that previously had my heart beating around 150-160 are now creeping into the 170-180 range.
Then the Regional happened.
The strength of CMS XC is in our depth.
Coach pulls me aside with our #8 runner, who has been running phenomenally.
I am in a dream. He puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me that I had a good run at it, but he can see I’m falling apart. I’m out. Bennett is in. Good season.
It makes sense, really. Bennett and I are fairly comparable runners over 8k XC. This year, I’ve beaten him four times, and he’s beaten me twice. Yet every race, we’re never more than 30 seconds apart, and usually we’re within 15.
I talked earlier about my summer, and how fully committing myself to running by adding another 200 miles to my summer paid off for me.
Well, this is the gamble that I made. A gamble with my body.
Interesting things happen when you run more miles. A lot more miles.
The body oscillates between extreme highs and extreme lows. It’s a phenomenon often called “breaking down.” The body gets torn apart, ripped to pieces, and does everything it can to tell you that what you’re doing to it is hurting it.
However, if you keep pushing the envelope, it shrugs, and begins to find new means of compensation. It makes more mitochondria. It uses lactic acid to close the micro-tears created by incessant pounding in the legs, and redoubles the strength. So that next time it wont hurt so bad.
And you get fast. Real fast.
But this is a gamble, because this extra pushing can cause injury, or burn out.
Or it can just have poor timing.
It’s a wheel of fatigue, half painted red and half painted green. The training spins the wheel, and when it’s on green all systems are firing. You drop your 8k from a 26:59 to a 25:54. You run a 4.35m time trial 80seconds faster than you ever have before. You run 12 x 1000m 6-7 seconds faster than you ever have before.
But the wheel keeps tuning as you keep pushing, never satisfied. Always wanting that much more. That faster time. That better place.
The less you increase your milage, the less discrepancy there is between red and green times, places, etc. Staying the same also means you’re stuck in mediocrity, and god dammit I run to be everything but mediocre.
Then the wheel turns red, and you start to falter. The season is long, and the workouts push the wheel faster and faster. You’re deep in the red now. That same 4.35m time trial is now oddly 40seconds slower. That 8k time starts to creep back up towards times you thought you’d never run again.
And you get 50th at Regionals.
It makes sense, really, what Coach is doing. I’m deep in the red, and Bennett is flying in the green.
What really bothers me, is that in 2-3 weeks, I’ll probably be in the green again.
But by then, Nationals will be over, and my chance will be, is now, and will burn into my memory as -
Gone.
Only 3 weeks ago what was and felt like 5:30 pace on a grass-laden tempo run, today still is 5:30 pace but feels like 5:00 pace. Base runs at 6:20 pace that previously had my heart beating around 150-160 are now creeping into the 170-180 range.
Then the Regional happened.
The strength of CMS XC is in our depth.
Coach pulls me aside with our #8 runner, who has been running phenomenally.
I am in a dream. He puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me that I had a good run at it, but he can see I’m falling apart. I’m out. Bennett is in. Good season.
It makes sense, really. Bennett and I are fairly comparable runners over 8k XC. This year, I’ve beaten him four times, and he’s beaten me twice. Yet every race, we’re never more than 30 seconds apart, and usually we’re within 15.
I talked earlier about my summer, and how fully committing myself to running by adding another 200 miles to my summer paid off for me.
Well, this is the gamble that I made. A gamble with my body.
Interesting things happen when you run more miles. A lot more miles.
The body oscillates between extreme highs and extreme lows. It’s a phenomenon often called “breaking down.” The body gets torn apart, ripped to pieces, and does everything it can to tell you that what you’re doing to it is hurting it.
However, if you keep pushing the envelope, it shrugs, and begins to find new means of compensation. It makes more mitochondria. It uses lactic acid to close the micro-tears created by incessant pounding in the legs, and redoubles the strength. So that next time it wont hurt so bad.
And you get fast. Real fast.
But this is a gamble, because this extra pushing can cause injury, or burn out.
Or it can just have poor timing.
It’s a wheel of fatigue, half painted red and half painted green. The training spins the wheel, and when it’s on green all systems are firing. You drop your 8k from a 26:59 to a 25:54. You run a 4.35m time trial 80seconds faster than you ever have before. You run 12 x 1000m 6-7 seconds faster than you ever have before.
But the wheel keeps tuning as you keep pushing, never satisfied. Always wanting that much more. That faster time. That better place.
The less you increase your milage, the less discrepancy there is between red and green times, places, etc. Staying the same also means you’re stuck in mediocrity, and god dammit I run to be everything but mediocre.
Then the wheel turns red, and you start to falter. The season is long, and the workouts push the wheel faster and faster. You’re deep in the red now. That same 4.35m time trial is now oddly 40seconds slower. That 8k time starts to creep back up towards times you thought you’d never run again.
And you get 50th at Regionals.
It makes sense, really, what Coach is doing. I’m deep in the red, and Bennett is flying in the green.
What really bothers me, is that in 2-3 weeks, I’ll probably be in the green again.
But by then, Nationals will be over, and my chance will be, is now, and will burn into my memory as -
Gone.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
West Regionals: Clock in, clock out.
Two weeks after conference we find ourselves in Salem, Oregon to run against the best teams in the West Region, all there for a single goal - to make Nationals. Top two teams are assured to go. The third place team is likely to go, and the fourth team may go if they are close to the 3rd place team. It all depends on the selection committee.
No one wants that kind of pressure. Top2 are, again, assured to go. So Top2 it is.
The soft rain wets the course in anticipation the night before. As the fog beings to lift in the early morning, the grass is glistening. Calling.
The course isn’t overly difficult. Four 2k loops, with a 50m hill about 150m past the start, meaning that we also cross it just past 2k, 4k, and 6k also.
Everyone’s mind is ready. The soft banter of the normal team is slightly tapered down, but it’s still there, just like normal. We pile out of the vans, and trot into the mist.
We are in the hotel room the night before the race. Coach is sitting casually, relaxed as the 14 of us guys and girls hang off of every free structure. “We’re here for one purpose, and that is to make nationals. As long as that happens, we’re successful. A job. This is your job.”
The trip is short. We left Claremont midday Friday, and we return Saturday afternoon. We already have workouts scheduled for next week. We’ve been talking about our prospects for a Nationals finish all year. To Coach, to us, to me, this is just another meet that we have to run to get there.
There are no questions. We have 10 guys that are faster than every other teams 7th guy. As long as everyone does their job, we will make Nationals. Another day at the office. That’s all this is.
Jesus Christ my nerves are going crazy. I have to settle down, or my stomach will kill me during the race.
The gun fires and I burst out. I don’t want to get stuck behind slower runners on the hill. I get up it fine, and settle into my pace.
My goal for the race is top35, as that is All-Region. As our 7th runner, if I get in the top35 and am our 7th runner, we will have easily made Nationals, so that is my goal.
I settle into ~45th place through 2k, and begin to work my way up. It’s the best way I run, and it hasn’t failed me yet.
Coming up on 3k, I’m feeling flat, but still holding pace. Not moving up as nicely as I would like, but still around 42nd, with a pack of guys ~30th-38th 100m ahead of me.
We take a sharp right hand turn at the 2nd mile mark. The guy I’m running on the outside of slips slightly, and his elbow crashes into my abdomen. Hard.
I throw up. Immediately.
My nerves from the previous day and the morning of have hurt me more than I would like, and my stomach is fragile. But this fragile? Fuck. FUCK.
Running under 5:20 pace while vomiting is not the easiest or most pleasant thing in the world. Still, it’s a god damn race and I’m not dropping out.
I fall back into 46th place, and regroup for 800m. Bring my breathing back to normal. Okay. We still have 2miles to go. Lets start to work.
Another 800m passes. A sharp pang. More throwup.
I pass 6k. Pang. Vomit. I’m falling further back.
Kick for home. Finish.
50th place.
The strength of CMS XC is in our depth. I ran poorly, and was still 10 places ahead of the next best 7th runner in the conference. But I still ran poorly.
But, my teammates were there to lift us up. Took 2nd (63-65 to Willamette. So close) in the region with phenomenal races throughout.
Time to regroup, because next week were going to the big dance.
No one wants that kind of pressure. Top2 are, again, assured to go. So Top2 it is.
The soft rain wets the course in anticipation the night before. As the fog beings to lift in the early morning, the grass is glistening. Calling.
The course isn’t overly difficult. Four 2k loops, with a 50m hill about 150m past the start, meaning that we also cross it just past 2k, 4k, and 6k also.
Everyone’s mind is ready. The soft banter of the normal team is slightly tapered down, but it’s still there, just like normal. We pile out of the vans, and trot into the mist.
We are in the hotel room the night before the race. Coach is sitting casually, relaxed as the 14 of us guys and girls hang off of every free structure. “We’re here for one purpose, and that is to make nationals. As long as that happens, we’re successful. A job. This is your job.”
The trip is short. We left Claremont midday Friday, and we return Saturday afternoon. We already have workouts scheduled for next week. We’ve been talking about our prospects for a Nationals finish all year. To Coach, to us, to me, this is just another meet that we have to run to get there.
There are no questions. We have 10 guys that are faster than every other teams 7th guy. As long as everyone does their job, we will make Nationals. Another day at the office. That’s all this is.
Jesus Christ my nerves are going crazy. I have to settle down, or my stomach will kill me during the race.
The gun fires and I burst out. I don’t want to get stuck behind slower runners on the hill. I get up it fine, and settle into my pace.
My goal for the race is top35, as that is All-Region. As our 7th runner, if I get in the top35 and am our 7th runner, we will have easily made Nationals, so that is my goal.
I settle into ~45th place through 2k, and begin to work my way up. It’s the best way I run, and it hasn’t failed me yet.
Coming up on 3k, I’m feeling flat, but still holding pace. Not moving up as nicely as I would like, but still around 42nd, with a pack of guys ~30th-38th 100m ahead of me.
We take a sharp right hand turn at the 2nd mile mark. The guy I’m running on the outside of slips slightly, and his elbow crashes into my abdomen. Hard.
I throw up. Immediately.
My nerves from the previous day and the morning of have hurt me more than I would like, and my stomach is fragile. But this fragile? Fuck. FUCK.
Running under 5:20 pace while vomiting is not the easiest or most pleasant thing in the world. Still, it’s a god damn race and I’m not dropping out.
I fall back into 46th place, and regroup for 800m. Bring my breathing back to normal. Okay. We still have 2miles to go. Lets start to work.
Another 800m passes. A sharp pang. More throwup.
I pass 6k. Pang. Vomit. I’m falling further back.
Kick for home. Finish.
50th place.
The strength of CMS XC is in our depth. I ran poorly, and was still 10 places ahead of the next best 7th runner in the conference. But I still ran poorly.
But, my teammates were there to lift us up. Took 2nd (63-65 to Willamette. So close) in the region with phenomenal races throughout.
Time to regroup, because next week were going to the big dance.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Leagues - Running v. Everything you believe in
Here I am, the night before we leave to go to the West Regional / NCAA Qualifier, a near 2 weeks after our league championship, writing about it.
The truth is I didn't know what to say. We won. There. The End. My personal life had taken a hit, and I just didn't care about running for a moment.
For a moment.
Turn back the clock to Thursday, October 28th, a few minutes before midnight. I'm walking my girlfriend of going on 2 1/2 years back to her apartment. On the way, we're having a conversation about our intrinsic values, and where they came from. We get to her apartment, and the conversation is becoming...odd. There's no yelling, no fighting. It is just odd. I can't place it. I don't know what's going on, I just know something is wrong.
2 hours later. 2 am. I'm on the long, lonely longboard ride back south to my lonely single, to spend a lonely night with her words reverberating in my ears. "It's not you, really. It has nothing to do with you. I just need to figure stuff out. Alone."
I'm shattered. Completely worn out. And lonely. Oh god lonely.
There's no chance of sleep. I fuck around on some political blogs, and before I know it it's 6am. I'm late for practice. I haven't slept in 36 hours.
I go through the 40min pre-meet run like a dream. A few teammates see the far off sadness, and try and help. They pass like mist.
It's Friday night. I've been up for almost 2 days. My biological systems simply shut down at 1am. They can't stay awake any longer.
5 hours later my alarm goes off. I have 3 hours to get my shit together before my race starts. The race that will determine my post season, my regionals bid. My nationals bid.
I look down to see if my toes are on the line. Fuck this I don't care. I could get last, I don't give two shits. I'm just going to cruise. I don't even LIKE cross country. This is fucking stupid.
I pass the mile in 5:25. I haven't gone out that slow since sophomore year in HS. I'm in 50th place. God knows what place I am on the team.
I pass 5k in 17:00. I haven't run that slow since junior year of HS. Whatever. I'm about 30th place. Still dunno team.
I get to 4miles, and people are dropping like flies. I just go around them. Not speeding up, not slowing down. Just floating. I pass 4.5. I finish. 15th place, 7th team, all conference.
I don't exactly know how it happened. I just want to sleep.
Dear god I just want to sleep.
I trained, I threw up. I came back. I killed my body. I failed a test.
5 Months.
Where did this body get me?
The ability to just cruise. To do what I needed to, to pick up the slack for a broken mind.
Some people say that it's mind over matter. That without a stronghold, barrier, or a mother fucking steel trap for a mind, that you wont be able to do anything.
I just ran 27:15 on a fairly difficult course without a mind.
Not a great time, but it could've been worse.
Tomorrow, I head to the West Regional. To Run. To be All West-Region.
And this time, when my body breaks, my mind will be there to carry it.
To Nationals.
The truth is I didn't know what to say. We won. There. The End. My personal life had taken a hit, and I just didn't care about running for a moment.
For a moment.
Turn back the clock to Thursday, October 28th, a few minutes before midnight. I'm walking my girlfriend of going on 2 1/2 years back to her apartment. On the way, we're having a conversation about our intrinsic values, and where they came from. We get to her apartment, and the conversation is becoming...odd. There's no yelling, no fighting. It is just odd. I can't place it. I don't know what's going on, I just know something is wrong.
2 hours later. 2 am. I'm on the long, lonely longboard ride back south to my lonely single, to spend a lonely night with her words reverberating in my ears. "It's not you, really. It has nothing to do with you. I just need to figure stuff out. Alone."
I'm shattered. Completely worn out. And lonely. Oh god lonely.
There's no chance of sleep. I fuck around on some political blogs, and before I know it it's 6am. I'm late for practice. I haven't slept in 36 hours.
I go through the 40min pre-meet run like a dream. A few teammates see the far off sadness, and try and help. They pass like mist.
It's Friday night. I've been up for almost 2 days. My biological systems simply shut down at 1am. They can't stay awake any longer.
5 hours later my alarm goes off. I have 3 hours to get my shit together before my race starts. The race that will determine my post season, my regionals bid. My nationals bid.
I look down to see if my toes are on the line. Fuck this I don't care. I could get last, I don't give two shits. I'm just going to cruise. I don't even LIKE cross country. This is fucking stupid.
I pass the mile in 5:25. I haven't gone out that slow since sophomore year in HS. I'm in 50th place. God knows what place I am on the team.
I pass 5k in 17:00. I haven't run that slow since junior year of HS. Whatever. I'm about 30th place. Still dunno team.
I get to 4miles, and people are dropping like flies. I just go around them. Not speeding up, not slowing down. Just floating. I pass 4.5. I finish. 15th place, 7th team, all conference.
I don't exactly know how it happened. I just want to sleep.
Dear god I just want to sleep.
I trained, I threw up. I came back. I killed my body. I failed a test.
5 Months.
Where did this body get me?
The ability to just cruise. To do what I needed to, to pick up the slack for a broken mind.
Some people say that it's mind over matter. That without a stronghold, barrier, or a mother fucking steel trap for a mind, that you wont be able to do anything.
I just ran 27:15 on a fairly difficult course without a mind.
Not a great time, but it could've been worse.
Tomorrow, I head to the West Regional. To Run. To be All West-Region.
And this time, when my body breaks, my mind will be there to carry it.
To Nationals.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Post Season.
It begins.
90% of the work is over, and we're basically only racing to prove to the other specimens of 3% body fat that we're better than they are. That we sacrificed more, that we WANT it more.
The C-M-S post season consists of 4 meets. Multi-Duals, Conference, West Regionals, and Nationals. Everyone runs the first 2 meets, but only the top 7 get to run Regionals, and only then if you do well there are you blessed to run at nationals.
Multi-Duals was last weekend. It's a unique sort of race. What happens is that everyone in the conference races each other, but it's scored out like a dual meet. It's a little difficult to explain, to I'll let the link do that for you.
For those who don't know, scoring works as such - each team scores their top5 runners. 6 & 7 can displace the runners from other schools, but they don't score themselves. So, 15-50 is a perfect score. It means you went 1-2-3-4-5-(6)-(7), and they had 8-9-10-11-12-(13)-(14). You could put a million people before the other teams 1st runner, and it would still only score out 15-50, because only 6 & 7 can displace.
Multi-Duals were held at La Mirada park, about an hour West of the Claremont Colleges.
The course is renowned for its difficulty. Enormous hills. 1 insanely steep fucker that is impossible to move up any faster than 7min pace, and another than is solidly steep but significantly longer.
Both of those. Twice. Plus the reverse of a long downhill to start the race. Just brutal, especially over the 8k distance.
But this is Multi-Duals. Time literally means nothing. It's place. Place means everything.
Today, I'm worried about 2 things. First, is placing in relation to other teams within my expectations. There are 110ish runner in the race, and anything worse than 15th would be considered a failure.
Second, my place on the team. As these two races (Multi's and Conference) are the essentially the deciding factors in the Regional and ultimately National squad, top7 is also a must.
Now, it may sound odd that I'm worried about being top7 on my team if 15th is the lowest I want to finish in the race. That means that our team's top7 are on par with the rest of the conference combined, right?
Right.
My task isn't an easy one it seems.
Runners have their strengths and their weaknesses just like (and likely moreso) than all other sports. My strengths are speed, speed endurance, and maintaining a rhythm on smooth courses. Hills aren't the problem, as long as they are gradual and the ground isn't too chopped up.
La Mirada......does not play to my strengths.
The hills are brutal. They sap the speed out of the legs. The ground is choppy, wet, slick, and muddy. It cuts the stride, throwing it off balance.
My task isn't an easy one at all it seems.
The wait is the worst I think to myself as I step off the bus. It's raining slightly. The dew is still on the grass as the teams set up their tents. It'll probably still be there when the race starts, when it ends. When we run.
I shuffle into my pre-race routine. That is - anything that wastes time. Just to calm me down slow my nerves. Yes, this course doesn't fit me. Yes, on paper I'm in a bad spot. But just because I'm not GREAT at something doesn't mean I'm not GOOD at it. Right? Right??.....
Convincing yourself on a foggy Saturday morning is a hard thing to do. La Mirada means "look" in Spanish. It's as if the course is taunting me. LOOK AT ME it says. LOOK what you have gotten yourself into. LOOK at the pain you are about to go through, just to fail. Just to disappoint yourself. LOOK. AT. ME.
No, no. Out. GET OUT.
I'm shaken by my own thoughts. No time, no time. I'm at the starting line. Not the right mental state to be in. Strides are done. We come in for final instructions. Finals words.
The thoughts of our team chanting together still ringing in my ears.
WE LIVE
AS ONE
WE RUN
AS ONE
EVERY DAY
AS ONE
EVERY MORNING
AS ONE
WE ARE
AS ONE
AS one
As one
as one....
I'm in the lead at the half mile. The leaders are timid to take it out. They watch each other as I float along. I don't like the huge packs of cross country. It's too dangerous. They can watch each other for as long as they want.
We're just passing the 1 1/2 point. There's no mark, but I know where it is. I'm sitting in 13th, right where I want to be. I'm relatively comfortable, sitting as our 6th/7th guy, just cruising with a teammate. Holding form as I try not to think about the pain that is to come. Focus on NOW.
We take a sharp right hand turn and I wipe my brow as I go by. I plant with my right foot as I turn...right. Mistake. It catches nothing. I'm in the air, horizontally. I hit the ground hard and roll, mud once spattered now caked along my right side. get up Get Up GET UP GET UP NOW
I'm trying to catch the pack but my legs are slow to respond. I count and I've (literally) fallen back into 17th within half a mile, as our 9th guy.
Not. Good.
I fight my way back. mile 3, 16th. Still 9th guy.
Mile 3.5, 15th, 8th guy.
Mile 4, 13th, 6th guy.
The last enormous hill is about 800m away from the finish. Literally the worst place to put a hill. We push up it. I move away from the Occidental runner that I'm with. A teammate passes me. I pass 2 teammates.
Turn right. Watch your feet. Finish. That's all I can muster to think.
It's over. I'm 12th. Our 5th guy. Our team didn't run the best race, but we won. 7-0.
One more like that, and it's on to Regionals.
Then Nationals. The thought gets me excited.
You're not there yet......
Go away. I'll be there.
If you fail next week.....
I won't.
90% of the work is over, and we're basically only racing to prove to the other specimens of 3% body fat that we're better than they are. That we sacrificed more, that we WANT it more.
The C-M-S post season consists of 4 meets. Multi-Duals, Conference, West Regionals, and Nationals. Everyone runs the first 2 meets, but only the top 7 get to run Regionals, and only then if you do well there are you blessed to run at nationals.
Multi-Duals was last weekend. It's a unique sort of race. What happens is that everyone in the conference races each other, but it's scored out like a dual meet. It's a little difficult to explain, to I'll let the link do that for you.
For those who don't know, scoring works as such - each team scores their top5 runners. 6 & 7 can displace the runners from other schools, but they don't score themselves. So, 15-50 is a perfect score. It means you went 1-2-3-4-5-(6)-(7), and they had 8-9-10-11-12-(13)-(14). You could put a million people before the other teams 1st runner, and it would still only score out 15-50, because only 6 & 7 can displace.
Multi-Duals were held at La Mirada park, about an hour West of the Claremont Colleges.
The course is renowned for its difficulty. Enormous hills. 1 insanely steep fucker that is impossible to move up any faster than 7min pace, and another than is solidly steep but significantly longer.
Both of those. Twice. Plus the reverse of a long downhill to start the race. Just brutal, especially over the 8k distance.
But this is Multi-Duals. Time literally means nothing. It's place. Place means everything.
Today, I'm worried about 2 things. First, is placing in relation to other teams within my expectations. There are 110ish runner in the race, and anything worse than 15th would be considered a failure.
Second, my place on the team. As these two races (Multi's and Conference) are the essentially the deciding factors in the Regional and ultimately National squad, top7 is also a must.
Now, it may sound odd that I'm worried about being top7 on my team if 15th is the lowest I want to finish in the race. That means that our team's top7 are on par with the rest of the conference combined, right?
Right.
My task isn't an easy one it seems.
Runners have their strengths and their weaknesses just like (and likely moreso) than all other sports. My strengths are speed, speed endurance, and maintaining a rhythm on smooth courses. Hills aren't the problem, as long as they are gradual and the ground isn't too chopped up.
La Mirada......does not play to my strengths.
The hills are brutal. They sap the speed out of the legs. The ground is choppy, wet, slick, and muddy. It cuts the stride, throwing it off balance.
My task isn't an easy one at all it seems.
The wait is the worst I think to myself as I step off the bus. It's raining slightly. The dew is still on the grass as the teams set up their tents. It'll probably still be there when the race starts, when it ends. When we run.
I shuffle into my pre-race routine. That is - anything that wastes time. Just to calm me down slow my nerves. Yes, this course doesn't fit me. Yes, on paper I'm in a bad spot. But just because I'm not GREAT at something doesn't mean I'm not GOOD at it. Right? Right??.....
Convincing yourself on a foggy Saturday morning is a hard thing to do. La Mirada means "look" in Spanish. It's as if the course is taunting me. LOOK AT ME it says. LOOK what you have gotten yourself into. LOOK at the pain you are about to go through, just to fail. Just to disappoint yourself. LOOK. AT. ME.
No, no. Out. GET OUT.
I'm shaken by my own thoughts. No time, no time. I'm at the starting line. Not the right mental state to be in. Strides are done. We come in for final instructions. Finals words.
The thoughts of our team chanting together still ringing in my ears.
WE LIVE
AS ONE
WE RUN
AS ONE
EVERY DAY
AS ONE
EVERY MORNING
AS ONE
WE ARE
AS ONE
AS one
As one
as one....
I'm in the lead at the half mile. The leaders are timid to take it out. They watch each other as I float along. I don't like the huge packs of cross country. It's too dangerous. They can watch each other for as long as they want.
We're just passing the 1 1/2 point. There's no mark, but I know where it is. I'm sitting in 13th, right where I want to be. I'm relatively comfortable, sitting as our 6th/7th guy, just cruising with a teammate. Holding form as I try not to think about the pain that is to come. Focus on NOW.
We take a sharp right hand turn and I wipe my brow as I go by. I plant with my right foot as I turn...right. Mistake. It catches nothing. I'm in the air, horizontally. I hit the ground hard and roll, mud once spattered now caked along my right side. get up Get Up GET UP GET UP NOW
I'm trying to catch the pack but my legs are slow to respond. I count and I've (literally) fallen back into 17th within half a mile, as our 9th guy.
Not. Good.
I fight my way back. mile 3, 16th. Still 9th guy.
Mile 3.5, 15th, 8th guy.
Mile 4, 13th, 6th guy.
The last enormous hill is about 800m away from the finish. Literally the worst place to put a hill. We push up it. I move away from the Occidental runner that I'm with. A teammate passes me. I pass 2 teammates.
Turn right. Watch your feet. Finish. That's all I can muster to think.
It's over. I'm 12th. Our 5th guy. Our team didn't run the best race, but we won. 7-0.
One more like that, and it's on to Regionals.
Then Nationals. The thought gets me excited.
You're not there yet......
Go away. I'll be there.
If you fail next week.....
I won't.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Cross Country STRENGTH
My biggest weakness as a runner is undoubtedly my lack of strength over long distances. Guys who I would mop up on the track shitcan me on the daily over anything longer than 2k. So, my plan this summer was simple.
Run long distance, early and often. Up the mileage.
Now, there's a fine balance during summer training between the amount of miles one runs and the quality of said miles. If you do too much long miles, you may not get the speed you desire by the end of the season. If you do too much interval & tempo work, you may not get the endurance you want by the end of the season.
Well, I threw out a gamble this summer. I banked on my natural speed and just did as much volume as I could possibly handle. 75 mile weeks were my cap it seemed, as I could barely manage that. From a normal persons perspective, that's a lot. From a collegiate athletes perspective, that's a normal workload. Hence why I've been a bit behind these previous 4-5 years.
When I came into the season, I was totally devoid of any strength. The top guys were running 1k intervals in 2:46-7, and I was running them in 3:03-4, back at about 16th. They were doing tempo runs after long hard days in 23-4 minutes when I was doing them in 25-26. I was tired, beat, and my early grades suffered a bit.
But I had faith. My legs were 'empty' in terms of hard work, and I trusted that the rigorous program set out by Coach Goldhammer would get me there in time.
As we went through the season, I was running pretty well for my own right. I set bests here and there, I even ran 25:54 which is a huge personal best for me. Around the middle of the season, I was running those same 1k loops in 2:54-5, hanging around 10th-11th on the team. I was doing those long, 10mile hard runs at around the same placement as well.
And the work kept coming. Push today, catch my stride, workWorkWORK. Throw up maybe. Ice daily maybe. Stay injury free. It'll come. It'll come.
Please come in time.
And about a week ago, something clicked. Those 1k loops were now 2:45-47. I was up with the top few. I even LED a couple reps. Staying close on tempo runs, running 23:54 for my tempo, which I ran in 25:14 earlier.
Drifting along the grass at 5:35 pace, feeling like a dream. Smooth. SO smooth. It's coming together nicely.
And hey, this Cross Country shit doesn't feel too bad after all.
Run long distance, early and often. Up the mileage.
Now, there's a fine balance during summer training between the amount of miles one runs and the quality of said miles. If you do too much long miles, you may not get the speed you desire by the end of the season. If you do too much interval & tempo work, you may not get the endurance you want by the end of the season.
Well, I threw out a gamble this summer. I banked on my natural speed and just did as much volume as I could possibly handle. 75 mile weeks were my cap it seemed, as I could barely manage that. From a normal persons perspective, that's a lot. From a collegiate athletes perspective, that's a normal workload. Hence why I've been a bit behind these previous 4-5 years.
When I came into the season, I was totally devoid of any strength. The top guys were running 1k intervals in 2:46-7, and I was running them in 3:03-4, back at about 16th. They were doing tempo runs after long hard days in 23-4 minutes when I was doing them in 25-26. I was tired, beat, and my early grades suffered a bit.
But I had faith. My legs were 'empty' in terms of hard work, and I trusted that the rigorous program set out by Coach Goldhammer would get me there in time.
As we went through the season, I was running pretty well for my own right. I set bests here and there, I even ran 25:54 which is a huge personal best for me. Around the middle of the season, I was running those same 1k loops in 2:54-5, hanging around 10th-11th on the team. I was doing those long, 10mile hard runs at around the same placement as well.
And the work kept coming. Push today, catch my stride, workWorkWORK. Throw up maybe. Ice daily maybe. Stay injury free. It'll come. It'll come.
Please come in time.
And about a week ago, something clicked. Those 1k loops were now 2:45-47. I was up with the top few. I even LED a couple reps. Staying close on tempo runs, running 23:54 for my tempo, which I ran in 25:14 earlier.
Drifting along the grass at 5:35 pace, feeling like a dream. Smooth. SO smooth. It's coming together nicely.
And hey, this Cross Country shit doesn't feel too bad after all.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Head Case.
Is the sophomore slump real? Or just in the heads of those who believe in it? Chris Derrick seemed to do well for himself last year.
I feel okay. I'm a little flat, but that was the goal of my summer training. Flat in September, sharp in November. I have a habit of not getting much faster during the course of each XC season, and I want to change that.
Something IS odd with me though. The last 3 times my heart rate went north of 180, I threw up. Once on a hard 10-miler, once on a 4.5m tempo workout, and once on 1000m repeats on grass.
Naturally, I was a bit worried when I toed the line for our 4mile dual against Westmont college, along the boardwalk of Santa Barbara's beach. It's 8am, and my warm-up was shrouded in mist as I skimmed along the sandy pavement with the ocean breeze softly brushing the fog away. Slowly.
This race is the definition of the word casual. No one has uniforms yet, the impromptu throwing together of a rag-tag group of 100men and women with 3% body fat pushed inbetween trees by an old friendship among coaches. This is a test for both of us.
Our team is looking great this year, and I'm finding myself falling behind in workouts, even with times faster than I ran last year, faster than they ran last year. I'm nervous, but mostly with anticipation.
My hand rubs my stomach unconsciously. I hope I make it through this one. I shake my head.
Brush it off. Go through the motions of your warmup. 2 hops. That's right. Shed your warmups. Stride out. 2 more hops. Man, these Hyperspeed flats got their name for a reason.
The gun is a wizened coach, counting from 3 and yelling GO.
I dash out, slower than the other kids. It's a half mile around the tether ball courts, through the playground and around the portables. Of course, at the time all I know is that it takes a few minutes. The other boys are so far ahead, I can't sprint that fast. But they come back. They always come back. We pass the tether ball and I'm already past half of them. Why don't they see how dumb they look when I pass them? Always excited, just to get run down by the thinnest kid. I like this game.
I'm out comfortably. I sit behind another sophomore who has been running well. Mile 1 - 5:05. That was pretty smooth. Another 600m and I'm at the hill. A steady incline for just under a kilometer, then flat shot 100m to the 2mile turn around.
As the hill comes I just keep my momentum going, passing two of my teammates and one Westmont kid. I'm not making a move, I'm just not slowing down my cadence. Just keep trucking.
10:23. This still feels alright. I turn, and take the down hill with a lean. Slowly I'm gaining on more people. If I can just hang on to these guys infront of me, I know I have better speed than they do. I always have better speed than they do.
I run behind 2 opposing teammates, working together. But they start slowing down. Why are they slowing down.
I can't stay here. They're fading and if I stay here I'll get caught by the group behind me. Just keep your tempo up. Keep rolling. Just keep rolling.
I approach the 3mile, alone in what an injured teammate who's watching tells me in 14th place. 14th? That's gotta be wrong. I'm not that fast at this sorta stuff.
I slowly gain on another group of 4. I catch them right after the 3mile, vaguely hearing 15:34.
All of the sudden the pain is there. Deep, deep burning pain and I'm going to throw up. When I throw up my body convulses as if I'm being shot in the chest, and I seize up and have to stop. I can't throw up, I can't throw up. Not now. I'm running well. I'm comfortable at this pace.
I slow for a good 400m, hoping a bit to quell the vomit that is to come. I hang behind 2 of the guys that got dropped from the others. After 400m, we see the 800m-to-go marking.
I move. Hard. My upper body form is shit. It's falling apart. By my cadence is pure, light, and fast. That's all that matters. Focus on that.
A green singlet is coming back to me, and pretty quickly too. 400m to go. We get off the boardwalk and onto choppy grass. I breeze past him. I don't care who he is, he's done.
There's no one infront of me. Where am I? Where's the finish? I'm running through the trees and I can hear voices and see shadows in the fog. Why am I not done? Where is the e-THERE. GO. GO.
Only final 100m push, and I'm done. 20:46. 11th place.
I'm told I was our 7th guy. 7th guy? But....7 guys go to nationals.
Wait, I have to potential to go to Nationals?
But I thought I wasn't good at cross country. What happened to the sophomore slump?
I feel okay. I'm a little flat, but that was the goal of my summer training. Flat in September, sharp in November. I have a habit of not getting much faster during the course of each XC season, and I want to change that.
Something IS odd with me though. The last 3 times my heart rate went north of 180, I threw up. Once on a hard 10-miler, once on a 4.5m tempo workout, and once on 1000m repeats on grass.
Naturally, I was a bit worried when I toed the line for our 4mile dual against Westmont college, along the boardwalk of Santa Barbara's beach. It's 8am, and my warm-up was shrouded in mist as I skimmed along the sandy pavement with the ocean breeze softly brushing the fog away. Slowly.
This race is the definition of the word casual. No one has uniforms yet, the impromptu throwing together of a rag-tag group of 100men and women with 3% body fat pushed inbetween trees by an old friendship among coaches. This is a test for both of us.
Our team is looking great this year, and I'm finding myself falling behind in workouts, even with times faster than I ran last year, faster than they ran last year. I'm nervous, but mostly with anticipation.
My hand rubs my stomach unconsciously. I hope I make it through this one. I shake my head.
Brush it off. Go through the motions of your warmup. 2 hops. That's right. Shed your warmups. Stride out. 2 more hops. Man, these Hyperspeed flats got their name for a reason.
The gun is a wizened coach, counting from 3 and yelling GO.
I dash out, slower than the other kids. It's a half mile around the tether ball courts, through the playground and around the portables. Of course, at the time all I know is that it takes a few minutes. The other boys are so far ahead, I can't sprint that fast. But they come back. They always come back. We pass the tether ball and I'm already past half of them. Why don't they see how dumb they look when I pass them? Always excited, just to get run down by the thinnest kid. I like this game.
I'm out comfortably. I sit behind another sophomore who has been running well. Mile 1 - 5:05. That was pretty smooth. Another 600m and I'm at the hill. A steady incline for just under a kilometer, then flat shot 100m to the 2mile turn around.
As the hill comes I just keep my momentum going, passing two of my teammates and one Westmont kid. I'm not making a move, I'm just not slowing down my cadence. Just keep trucking.
10:23. This still feels alright. I turn, and take the down hill with a lean. Slowly I'm gaining on more people. If I can just hang on to these guys infront of me, I know I have better speed than they do. I always have better speed than they do.
I run behind 2 opposing teammates, working together. But they start slowing down. Why are they slowing down.
I can't stay here. They're fading and if I stay here I'll get caught by the group behind me. Just keep your tempo up. Keep rolling. Just keep rolling.
I approach the 3mile, alone in what an injured teammate who's watching tells me in 14th place. 14th? That's gotta be wrong. I'm not that fast at this sorta stuff.
I slowly gain on another group of 4. I catch them right after the 3mile, vaguely hearing 15:34.
All of the sudden the pain is there. Deep, deep burning pain and I'm going to throw up. When I throw up my body convulses as if I'm being shot in the chest, and I seize up and have to stop. I can't throw up, I can't throw up. Not now. I'm running well. I'm comfortable at this pace.
I slow for a good 400m, hoping a bit to quell the vomit that is to come. I hang behind 2 of the guys that got dropped from the others. After 400m, we see the 800m-to-go marking.
I move. Hard. My upper body form is shit. It's falling apart. By my cadence is pure, light, and fast. That's all that matters. Focus on that.
A green singlet is coming back to me, and pretty quickly too. 400m to go. We get off the boardwalk and onto choppy grass. I breeze past him. I don't care who he is, he's done.
There's no one infront of me. Where am I? Where's the finish? I'm running through the trees and I can hear voices and see shadows in the fog. Why am I not done? Where is the e-THERE. GO. GO.
Only final 100m push, and I'm done. 20:46. 11th place.
I'm told I was our 7th guy. 7th guy? But....7 guys go to nationals.
Wait, I have to potential to go to Nationals?
But I thought I wasn't good at cross country. What happened to the sophomore slump?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Lesson 5: Nothing.
I'm broken.
I'm not breaking down, I'm not tired, I'm not sore, I'm broken.
I sleep 15 hours a day. Every piece of furniture I sit on I seem to melt into. My muscles don't seem like muscles. They are bits of marshmallow fluff, disintegrating as they are ignored by the chewed up conversation.
I crave things. Pickles, cheese, spaghetti, eggplant, cinnamon sticks; nothing that has ever passed my lips is enough to fulfill me. I'm full - I crave hunger. I eat nothing for almost a day. The next day I eat 12,000 calories. It doesn't make sense.
I'm broken.
I am clutching my knees, looking at my final split for mile 8. 5:27 flashes at me like a blaring sunlit alarm clock. Taunting me. I spit, stand upright, and immediately have to pee. I jog slowly over to a bush, realize I may not make it, and run faster. I barely get it out in time, and lean back in a dizzy stupor. Finishing, I look down, only to see a mixed pool of blood and urine, unsure of which has more.
I drop things. Spill everywhere. My hands aren't my own. These clumsy mittens shake after holding a dinner knife for more than 20 seconds. Who gave these to me? They're not mine.
I laugh off my embarrassment. "I'm just tired" I lie. I'm not tired. I'm broken.
It is said that training is like a vortex. A series of concentric circles, connected by my sheer will. The harder you push, the deeper the circles are pulled, pulled, pulled.......
And then released.
The anti-gravity mechanics work magic that is not supposed to happen. The further you fall, the higher you top out. The more force you're shot upwards with until you can do things physically that not even other athletes can fathom. The concentric circles work like a giant metal-rubber band and hurl you into the only place that you can accept success; in your highest dreams of achievement.
I park my car outside my house. I lean to tie my shoe as put on the emergency brake. My head leans against the steering wheel. I wake up to a beep of the horn as I slip down. I look around. It's dark. Far too dark. How long was I out for? My joints creek and moan, telling me that it was at least 4 hours. I get out of the car, walking to the house, regretting those 4 hours I wouldn't get back. I hope I enjoyed them.
The concentric circle philosophy has been time-tested. Fullproof. Limitless.
That is, if you survive.
Not very many people survive being broken.
I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I am on the verge of tears, I don't want to keep going. I don't want to keep going. I don't want to keep going. I don't want to keep going.
Not very many people survive being broken.
I'm not breaking down, I'm not tired, I'm not sore, I'm broken.
I sleep 15 hours a day. Every piece of furniture I sit on I seem to melt into. My muscles don't seem like muscles. They are bits of marshmallow fluff, disintegrating as they are ignored by the chewed up conversation.
I crave things. Pickles, cheese, spaghetti, eggplant, cinnamon sticks; nothing that has ever passed my lips is enough to fulfill me. I'm full - I crave hunger. I eat nothing for almost a day. The next day I eat 12,000 calories. It doesn't make sense.
I'm broken.
I am clutching my knees, looking at my final split for mile 8. 5:27 flashes at me like a blaring sunlit alarm clock. Taunting me. I spit, stand upright, and immediately have to pee. I jog slowly over to a bush, realize I may not make it, and run faster. I barely get it out in time, and lean back in a dizzy stupor. Finishing, I look down, only to see a mixed pool of blood and urine, unsure of which has more.
I drop things. Spill everywhere. My hands aren't my own. These clumsy mittens shake after holding a dinner knife for more than 20 seconds. Who gave these to me? They're not mine.
I laugh off my embarrassment. "I'm just tired" I lie. I'm not tired. I'm broken.
It is said that training is like a vortex. A series of concentric circles, connected by my sheer will. The harder you push, the deeper the circles are pulled, pulled, pulled.......
And then released.
The anti-gravity mechanics work magic that is not supposed to happen. The further you fall, the higher you top out. The more force you're shot upwards with until you can do things physically that not even other athletes can fathom. The concentric circles work like a giant metal-rubber band and hurl you into the only place that you can accept success; in your highest dreams of achievement.
I park my car outside my house. I lean to tie my shoe as put on the emergency brake. My head leans against the steering wheel. I wake up to a beep of the horn as I slip down. I look around. It's dark. Far too dark. How long was I out for? My joints creek and moan, telling me that it was at least 4 hours. I get out of the car, walking to the house, regretting those 4 hours I wouldn't get back. I hope I enjoyed them.
The concentric circle philosophy has been time-tested. Fullproof. Limitless.
That is, if you survive.
Not very many people survive being broken.
I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I am on the verge of tears, I don't want to keep going. I don't want to keep going. I don't want to keep going. I don't want to keep going.
Not very many people survive being broken.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Weight...less?
It has been two months since I started base season, and I've been averaging around 50mpw, due to some outlier weeks from being tweaked. I'll be up around high 70's/80 miles this week, and will continue to push the envelope for my last month home.
On May 17th, I was 6' 1", 175lbs.
Today, On July 21st, I am still 6' 1", but I am 154lbs.
The change in me has been astronomical. At 175lbs, I was able to break open a race with a huge change of pace. At 154lbs, I float across 11+ miles a day like I'm walking on air.
It's May 28th, I'm 174lbs and on my first LSD of summer training. Jesus my hamstrings are on fire. I'm a sprinter not a distance runner, how long is 1500m anyway? This is supposed to be an LSD and my heart rate is well north of 170, and I'm barely moving oh god why does summer base exist
It didn't take me long to lose weight. A LOT of weight. Any remnants of upper body strength left me within a week. After two, all excess power muscle was gone, I was 160lbs, and slowly getting used to the begrudging mileage.
All of the sudden it's mid June - my first week over 65. My body has completely changed. I work during the day, and see only a select few friends at night for lack of time. It's not that I don't want to hang out with all my friends, it's that I don't want to move, so whomevers closest and doing the least amount of movement is my best friend for the evening.
The friends I DO see comment on how I look like I lost weight often. I don't blame their quizzical stares, I barely recognize myself. The body that I spent all Spring shaping has been cast aside in a matter of weeks, and all I occupy is this new shell. Runners, the mammal hermit crab. Longer, leaner, sleeker. People ask me if I've grown. If I got a new haircut, new pants, new shades. They cant seem to place the source of my transformation.
But I know.
I have one mile to go, as I check my watch mile 8 flashes on the screen - 6:23. Too slow for a hard base run. I ratchet up the pace home, the slight downhill sending shock waves 4x my body weight through every muscle I have left on this frame. Each limb screams for me to stop. There is a knot in my shoulder begging me to stop pumping my arms. My legs have been yelling for at least 2 miles. Each individual abdomen muscle is quickly unionizing against my mind. stop Stop STOP.
All that comes into my head is a long forgotten quote from a long forgotten book
The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience.
It works. PUSH.
The runs are easier now. After 2 weeks at a new distance, my body always realizes that, again, it's not going to win this fight, so the easiest thing to do would be to give in, and maybe it'll feel easier. Lose the unnecessary baggage, and make the work more efficient.
For that, I am grateful. Because while floating along through miles 11, 12, and 13 every sunday is uncomfortable enough, chugging along at 175lbs is downright unpleasant.
I cringe, holding back the urge to vomit as the thought pops into my head - "understatement of the century."
On May 17th, I was 6' 1", 175lbs.
Today, On July 21st, I am still 6' 1", but I am 154lbs.
The change in me has been astronomical. At 175lbs, I was able to break open a race with a huge change of pace. At 154lbs, I float across 11+ miles a day like I'm walking on air.
It's May 28th, I'm 174lbs and on my first LSD of summer training. Jesus my hamstrings are on fire. I'm a sprinter not a distance runner, how long is 1500m anyway? This is supposed to be an LSD and my heart rate is well north of 170, and I'm barely moving oh god why does summer base exist
It didn't take me long to lose weight. A LOT of weight. Any remnants of upper body strength left me within a week. After two, all excess power muscle was gone, I was 160lbs, and slowly getting used to the begrudging mileage.
All of the sudden it's mid June - my first week over 65. My body has completely changed. I work during the day, and see only a select few friends at night for lack of time. It's not that I don't want to hang out with all my friends, it's that I don't want to move, so whomevers closest and doing the least amount of movement is my best friend for the evening.
The friends I DO see comment on how I look like I lost weight often. I don't blame their quizzical stares, I barely recognize myself. The body that I spent all Spring shaping has been cast aside in a matter of weeks, and all I occupy is this new shell. Runners, the mammal hermit crab. Longer, leaner, sleeker. People ask me if I've grown. If I got a new haircut, new pants, new shades. They cant seem to place the source of my transformation.
But I know.
I have one mile to go, as I check my watch mile 8 flashes on the screen - 6:23. Too slow for a hard base run. I ratchet up the pace home, the slight downhill sending shock waves 4x my body weight through every muscle I have left on this frame. Each limb screams for me to stop. There is a knot in my shoulder begging me to stop pumping my arms. My legs have been yelling for at least 2 miles. Each individual abdomen muscle is quickly unionizing against my mind. stop Stop STOP.
All that comes into my head is a long forgotten quote from a long forgotten book
The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience.
It works. PUSH.
The runs are easier now. After 2 weeks at a new distance, my body always realizes that, again, it's not going to win this fight, so the easiest thing to do would be to give in, and maybe it'll feel easier. Lose the unnecessary baggage, and make the work more efficient.
For that, I am grateful. Because while floating along through miles 11, 12, and 13 every sunday is uncomfortable enough, chugging along at 175lbs is downright unpleasant.
I cringe, holding back the urge to vomit as the thought pops into my head - "understatement of the century."
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Turning Weaknesses
Every runner (and person) has their set of weaknesses. The thing about personality weaknesses, however, is that they're very difficult to change.
Running weaknesses are ALSO very difficult to change, but because they are physical, appear more easily dealt with. All you have to do to change yourself is take a mental note not to do / to do X thing. You can even write it down if you don't trust yourself. It's just a matter of habituation.
Running is similar, plus a boatload of pain. That kinda sucks. Kinda.
I used to be HORRIBLE at LSD's. By that, I mean I would have a huge struggle running anything over an hour. Now, it's a breeze. And it only took a full year! Yay....
My next step is Tempo runs. For some reason, I just have a very hard time dealing with these. The bad thing is that to get good at Tempo runs I have to.....well, DO them. A lot. And I severely dislike them. Nothing too appealing to me about trying to hammer 20-30min @ well sub 5:30 pace by myself on hilly roads.
Last week I tried and got to 15min before I vomited everywhere, and then I STILL had another 4miles to go before I was done, which I jogged @ 7ish min pace, feeling sorry for myself. Sounds great, right?
The GOOD thing about Tempo runs is that they are arguably the MOST useful tool in making someone faster, aside from simply a high mileage base. Getting good at Tempo runs essentially means you have gotten good at making the uncomfortable comfortable. It pushes the upper limit of how long you can hold a sub-maximal pace.
I can run ~4:20 mile. How long can I hold 4:30 pace? 5:00 pace? 5:30? Even though those 3 only vary by 30sec/mile, the answers are probably somewhere around 2000m (1.25miles), 4000m (2.5miles), and 9000m (5.6ishmiles).
What tempo runs do is SEVERELY affect those distances. A month or two of Tempo runs may add 1000m to that middle number, which any runner will tell you is a HUGE deal. Turning weaknesses.
I've written about fixing weaknesses before, and this is mine. Blessing in that fixing it will make me a WHOLE lot faster, curse in that there's only one, pain-filled way to go about solving it.
I'll try to remember the blessing side of it as I head out the door in 20min to try my luck again.
Oh, and I will know there is a God when it stops raining.
Running weaknesses are ALSO very difficult to change, but because they are physical, appear more easily dealt with. All you have to do to change yourself is take a mental note not to do / to do X thing. You can even write it down if you don't trust yourself. It's just a matter of habituation.
Running is similar, plus a boatload of pain. That kinda sucks. Kinda.
I used to be HORRIBLE at LSD's. By that, I mean I would have a huge struggle running anything over an hour. Now, it's a breeze. And it only took a full year! Yay....
My next step is Tempo runs. For some reason, I just have a very hard time dealing with these. The bad thing is that to get good at Tempo runs I have to.....well, DO them. A lot. And I severely dislike them. Nothing too appealing to me about trying to hammer 20-30min @ well sub 5:30 pace by myself on hilly roads.
Last week I tried and got to 15min before I vomited everywhere, and then I STILL had another 4miles to go before I was done, which I jogged @ 7ish min pace, feeling sorry for myself. Sounds great, right?
The GOOD thing about Tempo runs is that they are arguably the MOST useful tool in making someone faster, aside from simply a high mileage base. Getting good at Tempo runs essentially means you have gotten good at making the uncomfortable comfortable. It pushes the upper limit of how long you can hold a sub-maximal pace.
I can run ~4:20 mile. How long can I hold 4:30 pace? 5:00 pace? 5:30? Even though those 3 only vary by 30sec/mile, the answers are probably somewhere around 2000m (1.25miles), 4000m (2.5miles), and 9000m (5.6ishmiles).
What tempo runs do is SEVERELY affect those distances. A month or two of Tempo runs may add 1000m to that middle number, which any runner will tell you is a HUGE deal. Turning weaknesses.
I've written about fixing weaknesses before, and this is mine. Blessing in that fixing it will make me a WHOLE lot faster, curse in that there's only one, pain-filled way to go about solving it.
I'll try to remember the blessing side of it as I head out the door in 20min to try my luck again.
Oh, and I will know there is a God when it stops raining.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Summer Grind
A couple reasons I haven't updates this blog - 1) I forgot my password, and 2) I wasn't really sure where I was going to go with it once track season ended.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy cross country. But I LOVE track. There are so many variables in cross country. Track is pure. There are no variables. Anything you do or do not do is the fault and success of you and you alone.
Obviously, again, it's similar in cross country. But is it really your fault if you have a bad race because you get slammed into a pole, or a branch takes your legs out, or the mud takes your shoes away?
I'm not sure, but I don't like any of those things.
But it doesn't matter! Because this is summer. At being both a collegiate....person and runner in summer means a few things. A) Run. A lot. B) Get a job. C) Have fun in nice weather.
Now, this make seem familiar to school, with the altering of B slightly, but I assure you it is no-....
Okay, it is.
The difference in summer training is both good and bad. It takes less time to do, as you just go out and run from home most every day, but it also is a lot more volume, which is NOT easier to do.
This is going to be my breakdown of workouts at the peak of summer mileage wise:
Monday: Run to work - 9miles
After work: To field or track for speed work. 4-5 miles
Tuesday: Run to work - Tempo in middle (about 25min of 5:30-40 pace). Strength when I get there.
Wednesday: Run to work, but longer way - 11 miles. Strides when I get there, +1 mile
Thursday: Run to work, HARD. ~6min pace.
Friday: Run to work. After work, do a hill workout on my street. ~4miles.
Saturday: Easy 15miles.
Sunday: Easy 6-8
That's about 80 mpw. And that's at the conservative end of the spectrum. I may double difference days.
To the average runner, this seems reasonable. To the average person, they are saying prayers and clutching jesus-beads. Or whatever they're called.
The summer grind is no joke, it is how you develop the secret of your success during the season.
And as we all know, the secret is..
..that there is no secret.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy cross country. But I LOVE track. There are so many variables in cross country. Track is pure. There are no variables. Anything you do or do not do is the fault and success of you and you alone.
Obviously, again, it's similar in cross country. But is it really your fault if you have a bad race because you get slammed into a pole, or a branch takes your legs out, or the mud takes your shoes away?
I'm not sure, but I don't like any of those things.
But it doesn't matter! Because this is summer. At being both a collegiate....person and runner in summer means a few things. A) Run. A lot. B) Get a job. C) Have fun in nice weather.
Now, this make seem familiar to school, with the altering of B slightly, but I assure you it is no-....
Okay, it is.
The difference in summer training is both good and bad. It takes less time to do, as you just go out and run from home most every day, but it also is a lot more volume, which is NOT easier to do.
This is going to be my breakdown of workouts at the peak of summer mileage wise:
Monday: Run to work - 9miles
After work: To field or track for speed work. 4-5 miles
Tuesday: Run to work - Tempo in middle (about 25min of 5:30-40 pace). Strength when I get there.
Wednesday: Run to work, but longer way - 11 miles. Strides when I get there, +1 mile
Thursday: Run to work, HARD. ~6min pace.
Friday: Run to work. After work, do a hill workout on my street. ~4miles.
Saturday: Easy 15miles.
Sunday: Easy 6-8
That's about 80 mpw. And that's at the conservative end of the spectrum. I may double difference days.
To the average runner, this seems reasonable. To the average person, they are saying prayers and clutching jesus-beads. Or whatever they're called.
The summer grind is no joke, it is how you develop the secret of your success during the season.
And as we all know, the secret is..
..that there is no secret.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Finals.
I am on my warmup with my other 3 teammates from CMS who made the final. We pass by other 1500m runners, some with teammates, most without. There are 12 of us. Just 12. Over 100 people have run in the 1500m, and the talent pool has been whittled down to 12.
I'm on the line, again. I feel a lot more free today, I'm ranked 7th PR-wise. Top6 get All-Conference awards, and Top6 also score for their team. I have to do something special to score, I have to run very well.
I have to go out a-
My thoughts are interrupted as we are called to the line. The gun goes and we all dash out. The first 150m are quick as we stumble into our positions. I sit in 4th, but the whole pack is together.
We're out hard, but we slow after 200m or so. 65/66 through the first lap. Honest but nothing special. That's mostly because of the first 200m. We stay together through the next lap, and the pace sssssllllllooooowwwwsssssssssss
2:13/14 through the 800m mark. 67/68 or maybe even 69 for that lap. I felt like I was at a quick walks pace.
The pushing starts.
The fighters know the move is going to come, but from where? The hunters rev their minds as they gather for their attack. Who has the best speed? This is a kickers race, and those who live by the sword die by it as well. Eyes are cast all over, as the move IS coming. BUT FROM WHERE
They jockey and move for position, as I content myself with sitting in 8th. We run the next 150m at the same tempo pace, then it happens.
All the sudden someone shoots to the outside and hammers the pace, and all hell breaks loose. Everyone starts sprinting. Before I know it, I am running 62s quarter pace w/ 500m to go and I'm 2 seconds behind with a lap to go. The top4 are long gone, and are getting further away every second.
I hit the bell lap 2 seconds behind 5th place, and about a second and a half back of 6th place. After me, the rest of the field is left fumbling. I am guaranteed top7. I am guaranteed to finish in the place I am supposed to. But that is not why I came. Races are not run on paper.
With 400m to go I start to pump harder and harder. Around the bend I see the head of the guy in 6th start to move side to side. He moved too hard to early, and I get very excited. With 300m to go I legitimately barely have any gears left.
6th place comes back to me with 200m to go and he tries to hang on as I pass him. He realizes it's not going to work and that he can't stay with me and tries to run me outside in desperation.
FUCK THAT not today. This is a kickers race and you stepped into the wrong playing field
I push him off my arm and with 150m to go I just start sprinting. I glance up and I know I can catch my teammate who is dying in the last 100m.
I am 1 second behind w/ 100m to go and making up ground every step. I move out into lane 2 and furiously kick and kick and kick again. I pass him like he's standing still, and cross the line, utterly spent.
In 5th. 4:02, with the last lap of 60/61 seconds. My final 5 meters hurts so bad, but lord it is so worth it.
CMS put 4 in the top 6, aka 4 All-Conference, and 4 scoring runners.
I PR'd with a 60ish last lap, and I got Top5.
I remember writing 'Top5 in Conference' on long term goals. I was told 5 runners who would beat me in the conference.
I beat two of them.
No one knows what you are capable of but yourself.
I'm running my last meet next week, trying to break 4min in the 1500m.
My last 800m was a 2:05, and the race only really started with 550m to go. Last 600m on the order of 1:32/3.
Time to end on a good note, and take some well deserved rest.
I'm on the line, again. I feel a lot more free today, I'm ranked 7th PR-wise. Top6 get All-Conference awards, and Top6 also score for their team. I have to do something special to score, I have to run very well.
I have to go out a-
My thoughts are interrupted as we are called to the line. The gun goes and we all dash out. The first 150m are quick as we stumble into our positions. I sit in 4th, but the whole pack is together.
We're out hard, but we slow after 200m or so. 65/66 through the first lap. Honest but nothing special. That's mostly because of the first 200m. We stay together through the next lap, and the pace sssssllllllooooowwwwsssssssssss
2:13/14 through the 800m mark. 67/68 or maybe even 69 for that lap. I felt like I was at a quick walks pace.
The pushing starts.
The fighters know the move is going to come, but from where? The hunters rev their minds as they gather for their attack. Who has the best speed? This is a kickers race, and those who live by the sword die by it as well. Eyes are cast all over, as the move IS coming. BUT FROM WHERE
They jockey and move for position, as I content myself with sitting in 8th. We run the next 150m at the same tempo pace, then it happens.
All the sudden someone shoots to the outside and hammers the pace, and all hell breaks loose. Everyone starts sprinting. Before I know it, I am running 62s quarter pace w/ 500m to go and I'm 2 seconds behind with a lap to go. The top4 are long gone, and are getting further away every second.
I hit the bell lap 2 seconds behind 5th place, and about a second and a half back of 6th place. After me, the rest of the field is left fumbling. I am guaranteed top7. I am guaranteed to finish in the place I am supposed to. But that is not why I came. Races are not run on paper.
With 400m to go I start to pump harder and harder. Around the bend I see the head of the guy in 6th start to move side to side. He moved too hard to early, and I get very excited. With 300m to go I legitimately barely have any gears left.
6th place comes back to me with 200m to go and he tries to hang on as I pass him. He realizes it's not going to work and that he can't stay with me and tries to run me outside in desperation.
FUCK THAT not today. This is a kickers race and you stepped into the wrong playing field
I push him off my arm and with 150m to go I just start sprinting. I glance up and I know I can catch my teammate who is dying in the last 100m.
I am 1 second behind w/ 100m to go and making up ground every step. I move out into lane 2 and furiously kick and kick and kick again. I pass him like he's standing still, and cross the line, utterly spent.
In 5th. 4:02, with the last lap of 60/61 seconds. My final 5 meters hurts so bad, but lord it is so worth it.
CMS put 4 in the top 6, aka 4 All-Conference, and 4 scoring runners.
I PR'd with a 60ish last lap, and I got Top5.
I remember writing 'Top5 in Conference' on long term goals. I was told 5 runners who would beat me in the conference.
I beat two of them.
No one knows what you are capable of but yourself.
I'm running my last meet next week, trying to break 4min in the 1500m.
My last 800m was a 2:05, and the race only really started with 550m to go. Last 600m on the order of 1:32/3.
Time to end on a good note, and take some well deserved rest.
Conference Prelims: Have you done it right?
Runners end their season at different point, but most end their season at the conference meet.
For me, this means SCIACs. Or in non-acronym form, Southern-California-Intercollegiate-Athletic-Conference(s).
We're paired with the Northwest Athletic Conference (much less cool name) to make up the Western Region in DIII. Basically, we're the Pac-10 / Mountain West of DIII (in regional status only).
My conference meet is nice, and they let everyone run, there are no standards. Unfortunately for me, this means ~35-40 people in the 1500m. Aka heats.
I've never run 1500m or 1600m or Mile heats before, but I've watched and read more than enough to know what the dealio is. 2 heats, 18/19 in each. Top4 from both heats + the next 4 fastest times qualify. The field is cut down by 2/3s.
I've had an alright season so far, and been steadily dropping a tick or two in the 1500m (the 800m is a different story, oof). I'm seeded 4th in my heat, but I'm in the first heat.
Dear god I was nervous. Knowing that you have to do something stupid NOT to qualify is far more nerve-racking than knowing you have to do something great TO qualify.
I'm calming myself down all week, but finally the race is here. I know who to look for by name, by hip number, by height, everything. And they know who I am. I know the potential spoilers, the heroes, the ones who crumble under pressure.
And they also know me. No one knows the tactics. Everyone knows the goal. To. Qualify.
Before I know it I am at the starting line.
Did I warm up enough? I dunno, im a little cold. No you're not! You're fine. The strides were quick and light. But what if I get boxed? I don't have the kick. Yes you do! You have one of the fastest 400m times in the field. What if it's fast? Then GO.
The gun goes off. I get out quick, and settle into second place behind the overall time-leader in our heat.
Mistake. The field goes around us on the turn, and I'm immediately boxed. I'm in 8th at the moment, and there's no way out. The pace is moderately slow, and a 4:35 miler tours us through the first lap in 68. HE wants to PR, and we're content to let him go. For now.
Another, slightly fater guy (4:10 1500m PR) takes the lead at the 500m mark and the pace ratchets up a little bit. All 8 of us quickly cover the move. 800m crossed in 2:14. 66 2nd lap. We go around the bend again and head down the homestraight for the penultimate time.
There's too many people here, it's not supposed to be like this. Two guys have caught up now there's 10 guys in a pack with a lap to go! Nonono what if they have a kick? I don't want to get caught by some hero in the last 200m and not qualify....damndamn I'm stuck...wait a gap! A GAP!!! Take it take it take it
The runner to my right is struggling to hold with the pace. He starts to falter and I snatch the opportunity and break free of the group. I am out into lane 2 and I move.
Hard.
I have 5 meters on the field with a lap to go, no one has covered my move. The move was decisive, and I pass through 1200m. 3:18. 64s last lap, probably 33/31.
I am running scared.I push hard but at the same time hold back, I dont want to expend unnecessary energy.
With 150m to go a Junior from La Verne with a far faster PR than I comes up on my shoulder. We're into the homestraight now, and he starts to move again.
I look back and the pack is still 10m back. Go for it man, you take it I just want to qualify you can have the prelim glory. I should slow down, but I can't have the pack of now 5 guys come back on me in the last 10m. Time it...time it....time it....
I cross the line in 2nd, 1/2 a second ahead of the pack. 4:06.
It didn't feel too bad.
Finals are the next day. I have exactly 24 hours after warmdown ended.
Time to go ice, stretch, and dear god sleep.
For me, this means SCIACs. Or in non-acronym form, Southern-California-Intercollegiate-Athletic-Conference(s).
We're paired with the Northwest Athletic Conference (much less cool name) to make up the Western Region in DIII. Basically, we're the Pac-10 / Mountain West of DIII (in regional status only).
My conference meet is nice, and they let everyone run, there are no standards. Unfortunately for me, this means ~35-40 people in the 1500m. Aka heats.
I've never run 1500m or 1600m or Mile heats before, but I've watched and read more than enough to know what the dealio is. 2 heats, 18/19 in each. Top4 from both heats + the next 4 fastest times qualify. The field is cut down by 2/3s.
I've had an alright season so far, and been steadily dropping a tick or two in the 1500m (the 800m is a different story, oof). I'm seeded 4th in my heat, but I'm in the first heat.
Dear god I was nervous. Knowing that you have to do something stupid NOT to qualify is far more nerve-racking than knowing you have to do something great TO qualify.
I'm calming myself down all week, but finally the race is here. I know who to look for by name, by hip number, by height, everything. And they know who I am. I know the potential spoilers, the heroes, the ones who crumble under pressure.
And they also know me. No one knows the tactics. Everyone knows the goal. To. Qualify.
Before I know it I am at the starting line.
Did I warm up enough? I dunno, im a little cold. No you're not! You're fine. The strides were quick and light. But what if I get boxed? I don't have the kick. Yes you do! You have one of the fastest 400m times in the field. What if it's fast? Then GO.
The gun goes off. I get out quick, and settle into second place behind the overall time-leader in our heat.
Mistake. The field goes around us on the turn, and I'm immediately boxed. I'm in 8th at the moment, and there's no way out. The pace is moderately slow, and a 4:35 miler tours us through the first lap in 68. HE wants to PR, and we're content to let him go. For now.
Another, slightly fater guy (4:10 1500m PR) takes the lead at the 500m mark and the pace ratchets up a little bit. All 8 of us quickly cover the move. 800m crossed in 2:14. 66 2nd lap. We go around the bend again and head down the homestraight for the penultimate time.
There's too many people here, it's not supposed to be like this. Two guys have caught up now there's 10 guys in a pack with a lap to go! Nonono what if they have a kick? I don't want to get caught by some hero in the last 200m and not qualify....damndamn I'm stuck...wait a gap! A GAP!!! Take it take it take it
The runner to my right is struggling to hold with the pace. He starts to falter and I snatch the opportunity and break free of the group. I am out into lane 2 and I move.
Hard.
I have 5 meters on the field with a lap to go, no one has covered my move. The move was decisive, and I pass through 1200m. 3:18. 64s last lap, probably 33/31.
I am running scared.I push hard but at the same time hold back, I dont want to expend unnecessary energy.
With 150m to go a Junior from La Verne with a far faster PR than I comes up on my shoulder. We're into the homestraight now, and he starts to move again.
I look back and the pack is still 10m back. Go for it man, you take it I just want to qualify you can have the prelim glory. I should slow down, but I can't have the pack of now 5 guys come back on me in the last 10m. Time it...time it....time it....
I cross the line in 2nd, 1/2 a second ahead of the pack. 4:06.
It didn't feel too bad.
Finals are the next day. I have exactly 24 hours after warmdown ended.
Time to go ice, stretch, and dear god sleep.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Lesson 4: The Energy
Every runner knows the Work. The Pain. The Laziness. But every runner also knows the Energy.
Long, warm summers are the antithesis of the Energy. Dark, cold winters of painfully cold mileage are the antithesis of the Energy. I would tell you what the Energy is, yet at the same time, one cannot understand what the Energy is without understanding what it is NOT. The Energy, by nature, is defined more by what it is NOT than what it is.
It is the runner's contradiction.
The deep, debilitating tired state of the runner is at its peak during base season. You have to be very tired, all the time. If you're not, you're not doing enough work. You break down, and oddly enough it is expected. You become slugging, irritable, and sleepy. Above all else, sleepy. All your body wants to do is rest and stop this madness.
Once summer is over, you get into workouts. Fartleks, tempos, intervals, hard 10mile runs, etc. The tiredness is not as deep, but it hurts more on the surface than summer did.
Once fall and workouts are over, you get into winter base for track. You go back to the debilitating, break-you-down status. Except this time - there is no solitude of sunlight. The dismal darkness is your only friend. I hope you like skiing.
Then Track and spring comes. The tired pain is gone, and replaced with the fresh pain of speed. Speed kills, and lord knows that metaphor works both ways. The track is hot, and your legs churn well over 15mph.
And FINALLY we come to it....the Energy.
You see, all of the work you've put in over the previous year, all the hard miles the deep grind, the sharpening, all this leads to a machine. Your body is a machine. It can change gears faster than the worlds best Indy racer, it can put in a surge that would leave any other mortal vomiting and clutching their sides - before you actually make it.
YOU. are ready.
The finally touch, the Coup de Grâce so to speak, is the tapering phase. You are 1-3 weeks away from conference, nationals, worlds, the Games or whatever meet you choose.
The work.....starts....decreasing? The intervals, though fast, are so easy....What...what is this feeling....
A couple reps here, a recovery run there.
I am awake at night, unable to sleep. It's 3 AM, and my energy levels are off the fucking roof. The normal debilitating work that throws me into a deep, dreamless sleep has been cast off like an unwanted blanket. My heart jumps, what is going on?
All you want to do is get out there and go. Just destroy everything that comes between you and the finish line.
THIS is a new you. The normal leg bounce you have in class is getting out of god damn control. It's like you're trying to fuck your desk your legs are bouncing and twitching so much. They talk to you. They want you to set them free.
You want to kill the workouts to get back to that feeling, but wise coaches demand you hang back, not let loose. Your legs are most important when the time comes. This dinky interval - this means nothing.
The RACE matters.
You will harness all of that Energy, all of those extra cells not used, every breath not breathed, every heartbeat not taken.
And NOTHING will get in your way.
But.
Nothing.
Long, warm summers are the antithesis of the Energy. Dark, cold winters of painfully cold mileage are the antithesis of the Energy. I would tell you what the Energy is, yet at the same time, one cannot understand what the Energy is without understanding what it is NOT. The Energy, by nature, is defined more by what it is NOT than what it is.
It is the runner's contradiction.
The deep, debilitating tired state of the runner is at its peak during base season. You have to be very tired, all the time. If you're not, you're not doing enough work. You break down, and oddly enough it is expected. You become slugging, irritable, and sleepy. Above all else, sleepy. All your body wants to do is rest and stop this madness.
Once summer is over, you get into workouts. Fartleks, tempos, intervals, hard 10mile runs, etc. The tiredness is not as deep, but it hurts more on the surface than summer did.
Once fall and workouts are over, you get into winter base for track. You go back to the debilitating, break-you-down status. Except this time - there is no solitude of sunlight. The dismal darkness is your only friend. I hope you like skiing.
Then Track and spring comes. The tired pain is gone, and replaced with the fresh pain of speed. Speed kills, and lord knows that metaphor works both ways. The track is hot, and your legs churn well over 15mph.
And FINALLY we come to it....the Energy.
You see, all of the work you've put in over the previous year, all the hard miles the deep grind, the sharpening, all this leads to a machine. Your body is a machine. It can change gears faster than the worlds best Indy racer, it can put in a surge that would leave any other mortal vomiting and clutching their sides - before you actually make it.
YOU. are ready.
The finally touch, the Coup de Grâce so to speak, is the tapering phase. You are 1-3 weeks away from conference, nationals, worlds, the Games or whatever meet you choose.
The work.....starts....decreasing? The intervals, though fast, are so easy....What...what is this feeling....
A couple reps here, a recovery run there.
I am awake at night, unable to sleep. It's 3 AM, and my energy levels are off the fucking roof. The normal debilitating work that throws me into a deep, dreamless sleep has been cast off like an unwanted blanket. My heart jumps, what is going on?
All you want to do is get out there and go. Just destroy everything that comes between you and the finish line.
THIS is a new you. The normal leg bounce you have in class is getting out of god damn control. It's like you're trying to fuck your desk your legs are bouncing and twitching so much. They talk to you. They want you to set them free.
You want to kill the workouts to get back to that feeling, but wise coaches demand you hang back, not let loose. Your legs are most important when the time comes. This dinky interval - this means nothing.
The RACE matters.
You will harness all of that Energy, all of those extra cells not used, every breath not breathed, every heartbeat not taken.
And NOTHING will get in your way.
But.
Nothing.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Dreams and Drive
We trained through last week, which was annoying because my legs were toast for my race on Saturday. Didn't really matter, but it's never fun to run slow.
When you're in a distance race, and you feel good and ready to go, you wait. When you're ready to move again, you wait. And when you finally are ready to go - you wait 200m more. Then you fucking GO.
We've trained through every meet this year. I'm not really used to the "run fast twice" mentality just yet, but I'm sure I'll get there. Conference is coming up, and the workouts are getting faster, but easier. I'm going to try to go sub4 in the 1500m final (assuming i make it, of course), but place is more important than time, so I'll run as brilliant of a tactical race as I can. Lord knows I've seen every tactic known to man, and tried most of them out, and I know my own strategy, and when to go.
I'm not someone who drops and insane amount of time throughout the season. I go out there, I run hard, and do workouts, and shave off a few tenths here, a second there. My summer (and to a lesser extent, winter) determines how fast I become.
I know I have limits, I just say fuck you and punch them in the face.
"Quinn Chasan from CMS in the lead through 1200meters...."
I've run too hard, and I know it. My legs are screaming and I can barely stay up. There's 300m to go and I can't pick my legs up. I went too hard too early and I'm paying for it. ShitShitShitShitShit. People drift by me as if I'm in a dream, a painful dream. Why'd I run a 29sec 200 in the middle of my 1500?!?! Stupid.....
That was weeks ago, and I ran 4:04. I know I can run sub4. If I do, I will be 109.344 meters away from running a sub4 mile. Every year I will cut that distance down. If you asked anyone on my team if I will run a sub4 mile in my career, they would say no. But I know what I must do. I am arguably one of the most die-hard fans on the planet, and lord knows I know my own body.
Right now, I am about 130m away from a sub4 mile.
Wittle it down, wittle it down, wittle it down.
"With 200m to go Quinn Chasan is at 3:29, he only needs a 30sec last 200m....."
And I'll think back to when I was a 4:21 miler, who could drop a 29sec 200 in the middle of his race to break free.
"And with a finishing time of 3minutes, fi-..."
and the rest is drowned out in the crowd
When you're in a distance race, and you feel good and ready to go, you wait. When you're ready to move again, you wait. And when you finally are ready to go - you wait 200m more. Then you fucking GO.
We've trained through every meet this year. I'm not really used to the "run fast twice" mentality just yet, but I'm sure I'll get there. Conference is coming up, and the workouts are getting faster, but easier. I'm going to try to go sub4 in the 1500m final (assuming i make it, of course), but place is more important than time, so I'll run as brilliant of a tactical race as I can. Lord knows I've seen every tactic known to man, and tried most of them out, and I know my own strategy, and when to go.
I'm not someone who drops and insane amount of time throughout the season. I go out there, I run hard, and do workouts, and shave off a few tenths here, a second there. My summer (and to a lesser extent, winter) determines how fast I become.
I know I have limits, I just say fuck you and punch them in the face.
"Quinn Chasan from CMS in the lead through 1200meters...."
I've run too hard, and I know it. My legs are screaming and I can barely stay up. There's 300m to go and I can't pick my legs up. I went too hard too early and I'm paying for it. ShitShitShitShitShit. People drift by me as if I'm in a dream, a painful dream. Why'd I run a 29sec 200 in the middle of my 1500?!?! Stupid.....
That was weeks ago, and I ran 4:04. I know I can run sub4. If I do, I will be 109.344 meters away from running a sub4 mile. Every year I will cut that distance down. If you asked anyone on my team if I will run a sub4 mile in my career, they would say no. But I know what I must do. I am arguably one of the most die-hard fans on the planet, and lord knows I know my own body.
Right now, I am about 130m away from a sub4 mile.
Wittle it down, wittle it down, wittle it down.
"With 200m to go Quinn Chasan is at 3:29, he only needs a 30sec last 200m....."
And I'll think back to when I was a 4:21 miler, who could drop a 29sec 200 in the middle of his race to break free.
"And with a finishing time of 3minutes, fi-..."
and the rest is drowned out in the crowd
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Running Free
Today was an easy base run, only 40min. We went out to a big public park around a lake, and did an out & back @ ~7min pace. We were just cruising, making jokes, laughing, getting pumped for the post season, summer base, and next XC season. Runners are always looking one step ahead.
This is what it's all about.
The spring sun bared down on me, the heat negated by a cool breeze coming off the water as we ran along side of it. Just me and a couple other teammates, all of us having run under 4:24 in the mile, enjoying the easiness and lightness of this run.
If a runners high existed for the non-jogging elite, we harnessed it.
To us, this is easier than walking, at a pace that would startle pedestrians. Normal people don't know what it feels like to be in this kind of shape, and usually it's not the best feeling. Constantly tired, sore, tight, and stiff.
But not these days. These are the days where we can just let cruise without getting tired, where we feel like we could run forever. These are the tapering days, that special two-three week period that comes twice year before the conference meet where the work gets very hard, but short, and the legs begin to recover quickly.
These are the peaking days.
These are the days where we can just go out and Run.
Free.
This is what it's all about.
The spring sun bared down on me, the heat negated by a cool breeze coming off the water as we ran along side of it. Just me and a couple other teammates, all of us having run under 4:24 in the mile, enjoying the easiness and lightness of this run.
If a runners high existed for the non-jogging elite, we harnessed it.
To us, this is easier than walking, at a pace that would startle pedestrians. Normal people don't know what it feels like to be in this kind of shape, and usually it's not the best feeling. Constantly tired, sore, tight, and stiff.
But not these days. These are the days where we can just let cruise without getting tired, where we feel like we could run forever. These are the tapering days, that special two-three week period that comes twice year before the conference meet where the work gets very hard, but short, and the legs begin to recover quickly.
These are the peaking days.
These are the days where we can just go out and Run.
Free.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Life DOES Revolve around.......
Yesterday, we had a pretty big invite @ Pomona. There were ~1500 entrants, aka 11 heats of the 100m, 4 heats of the 5k, etc. Everyone was in a heat where the competition was good and fierce, but not too slow and not too overwhelming. A good, solid meet.
I ran the 1500m, and with the 16th best seed time of 4:05, my goal was to run aggressively in 2nd/3rd the whole way, and kick if I could. The #1 seed time was only 4:00, so the pack would be very tight.
As the race went out, I sat in 2nd for the first lap, which we came through in at 65.high. Upset, I took the lead but made TOO strong a move, running the second lap in ~62.0, and leading the penultimate lap in 65 as well. I was dieing HARD with 400m to go, and I held on for 5th with a 4:04. That second lap just killed me, and I feel that I can run 4:00 in an even paced race. Very painful way to run.
Throughout the team, events were taking their mental toll. Some were elated with their marks, some were okay (that's me) with their marks, some were upset, and some dropped out of their events, defeated before it even finished.
We got Sunday off, so a lot of us Track types were partying together behind a dorm Saturday night. It was the usual party scene except for one distinct feature - Everyone who had run well was having a BLAST, and those who hadn't were downright depressed.
The mind of an athlete is a fragile thing, and it was interesting to see a usual charismatic 200m runner visibly morose after running 0.6 slower than his best mark. Try clapping the difference of 0.6 seconds. It's not that much time. At all. But in the world of Sprinters, 0.6 seconds is a lifetime. As far as those who live and die by the explosive power of muscles are concerned, if you're going to run 0.6 seconds slower than your previous best mark, just don't run. It's pointless.
On the flip side, a tiny Pole Vaulter who is often quiet was the bounciest and happiest I've ever seen her, and it took me several tries to understand that she had cleared a height 3 or 4 inches higher than her previous best. When you're being literally LAUNCHED into the air, well over 10' up, you would thing that the 2% difference wouldn't matter much, but to them, its a world of difference.
A 4:30 miler respects a 4:20 miler far more than a 5:00 miler does. The same goes for a 4:10 miler respecting a 4:00 miler in comparison to the same 4:20 miler. 404 ~ 4:21, so as a 4:20(ish) miler myself, I can tell you that I have tremendous respect for 4:00 milers, but in all honesty I have no idea what running at that speed feels like.
I image it hurts.
Our sport of Track & Field is tumultuous, at best. The highs and lows of really ANY athletes career is reflected back on their life in either a positive or negative light. But when the sport is purely individual, it reflects that much more on the individual. There are no teammates to fall back on, no excuse that your "touch" was off. YOU were the one who screwed up. YOU were the reason you failed. YOU were the only one controlling the event or race that you fell apart in.
Or, YOU are the person who just ran an absolutely ridiculous time.
And it feels gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood
I ran the 1500m, and with the 16th best seed time of 4:05, my goal was to run aggressively in 2nd/3rd the whole way, and kick if I could. The #1 seed time was only 4:00, so the pack would be very tight.
As the race went out, I sat in 2nd for the first lap, which we came through in at 65.high. Upset, I took the lead but made TOO strong a move, running the second lap in ~62.0, and leading the penultimate lap in 65 as well. I was dieing HARD with 400m to go, and I held on for 5th with a 4:04. That second lap just killed me, and I feel that I can run 4:00 in an even paced race. Very painful way to run.
Throughout the team, events were taking their mental toll. Some were elated with their marks, some were okay (that's me) with their marks, some were upset, and some dropped out of their events, defeated before it even finished.
We got Sunday off, so a lot of us Track types were partying together behind a dorm Saturday night. It was the usual party scene except for one distinct feature - Everyone who had run well was having a BLAST, and those who hadn't were downright depressed.
The mind of an athlete is a fragile thing, and it was interesting to see a usual charismatic 200m runner visibly morose after running 0.6 slower than his best mark. Try clapping the difference of 0.6 seconds. It's not that much time. At all. But in the world of Sprinters, 0.6 seconds is a lifetime. As far as those who live and die by the explosive power of muscles are concerned, if you're going to run 0.6 seconds slower than your previous best mark, just don't run. It's pointless.
On the flip side, a tiny Pole Vaulter who is often quiet was the bounciest and happiest I've ever seen her, and it took me several tries to understand that she had cleared a height 3 or 4 inches higher than her previous best. When you're being literally LAUNCHED into the air, well over 10' up, you would thing that the 2% difference wouldn't matter much, but to them, its a world of difference.
A 4:30 miler respects a 4:20 miler far more than a 5:00 miler does. The same goes for a 4:10 miler respecting a 4:00 miler in comparison to the same 4:20 miler. 404 ~ 4:21, so as a 4:20(ish) miler myself, I can tell you that I have tremendous respect for 4:00 milers, but in all honesty I have no idea what running at that speed feels like.
I image it hurts.
Our sport of Track & Field is tumultuous, at best. The highs and lows of really ANY athletes career is reflected back on their life in either a positive or negative light. But when the sport is purely individual, it reflects that much more on the individual. There are no teammates to fall back on, no excuse that your "touch" was off. YOU were the one who screwed up. YOU were the reason you failed. YOU were the only one controlling the event or race that you fell apart in.
Or, YOU are the person who just ran an absolutely ridiculous time.
And it feels gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Typical Day: Run, Puke, Rally
It was hot today. Too hot. Upper 80's at least. The workout was hard, 6x400 @ 60s, followed by 2 sets of 4x200 untimed but quick. The goal for the 200's was to run "comfortably fast."
We got a lot of rest on the 400's, about 3min, but each one was exponentially harder than the one before it due to how quick they were.
It was hot today. Too hot. After 4 my head was swooning, and I could feel my feet blistering as I pumped hard to get around the turns. I would try to go through the 200 in 29.mid so that I had some buffer for the second 200. On the 5th one, I went through right at 31.0, and my heart sank. No one likes to try and negative split workouts. I hit it though. I always hit it.
Coaches are cruel, they give you splits based off of years of experience, splits they know you can hit, but ones that you have to bust your balls to hit. They are meticulous. Cruel and meticulous (These thoughts always go through my head around the 300m mark, oddly complaining about coaches who are TOO good, know the body TOO well, and know what I am capable of probably better than I do).
It was hot today. Too hot. After the 6th rep of 400, I stumbled forward, trying to catch myself so that I wouldn't crumple. I spent a little too long with my hands on my knees, and I knew immediately as I stood up that I was going to vomit. Soon. Very soon. Very ve-.....too late. I barely made it to the bushes before I turned the lush green the color of my lunch. It's really a shame, I liked my lunch today. At least I missed my Lunas.
I shuffled around for 5min, the amount of rest we get between intervals, wishing I could run 4flat for the mile, so this shit would be easier. I wonder if it is, or if it gets harder as you get better? I guess there's only one way to find out.
It was hot today. Too hot. The combination of the heat and my unfortunate yakking made me very dehydrated, and being an idiot I drank a shitload of water on my rest between the 400's and the 200's. Even though the 200's couldn't have been much faster than the 400's pace was, dear god it hurt. I finished the 200's feeling like a drunk person driving faster than they should, and I definitely clipped the bar on the inside of the track more than once.
After that, and weights, I took an ice bath, stretched, and headed off to dinner with the team. After dinner we went our separate ways to our dorm, and I realized that we have the same routine every workout day, and that as hard as today was, it was just another normal day.
Run, puke, and rally. The name of the game is Pain, and the call and response between body and time leaves the runner cut out of fucking STONE.
It was hot today. Too hot.
We got a lot of rest on the 400's, about 3min, but each one was exponentially harder than the one before it due to how quick they were.
It was hot today. Too hot. After 4 my head was swooning, and I could feel my feet blistering as I pumped hard to get around the turns. I would try to go through the 200 in 29.mid so that I had some buffer for the second 200. On the 5th one, I went through right at 31.0, and my heart sank. No one likes to try and negative split workouts. I hit it though. I always hit it.
Coaches are cruel, they give you splits based off of years of experience, splits they know you can hit, but ones that you have to bust your balls to hit. They are meticulous. Cruel and meticulous (These thoughts always go through my head around the 300m mark, oddly complaining about coaches who are TOO good, know the body TOO well, and know what I am capable of probably better than I do).
It was hot today. Too hot. After the 6th rep of 400, I stumbled forward, trying to catch myself so that I wouldn't crumple. I spent a little too long with my hands on my knees, and I knew immediately as I stood up that I was going to vomit. Soon. Very soon. Very ve-.....too late. I barely made it to the bushes before I turned the lush green the color of my lunch. It's really a shame, I liked my lunch today. At least I missed my Lunas.
I shuffled around for 5min, the amount of rest we get between intervals, wishing I could run 4flat for the mile, so this shit would be easier. I wonder if it is, or if it gets harder as you get better? I guess there's only one way to find out.
It was hot today. Too hot. The combination of the heat and my unfortunate yakking made me very dehydrated, and being an idiot I drank a shitload of water on my rest between the 400's and the 200's. Even though the 200's couldn't have been much faster than the 400's pace was, dear god it hurt. I finished the 200's feeling like a drunk person driving faster than they should, and I definitely clipped the bar on the inside of the track more than once.
After that, and weights, I took an ice bath, stretched, and headed off to dinner with the team. After dinner we went our separate ways to our dorm, and I realized that we have the same routine every workout day, and that as hard as today was, it was just another normal day.
Run, puke, and rally. The name of the game is Pain, and the call and response between body and time leaves the runner cut out of fucking STONE.
It was hot today. Too hot.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Big Fish, Small Pond
So, I'll start out by saying that my race this weekend was shit, but we had 3 workout days (mon-wed-thurs), a long base run (tues), and a 20min base run + core-weights (friday), and my legs were just donezo. I realized I have to be pretty fresh to run a good solid 800, and that I can crash and burn EASILY if I'm not hot. We'll see how my next (and likely last) 800 goes. Oh well.
Anyway, other guys ran exceptionally well at the meet against Redlands (side note - we won by one point. ONE. We haven't lost a dual meet in ~18 years, and we won by 1. Jesus.), and C-M-S now has the:
Fastest Frosh over 1500m (3:57) in the country, the 2nd fastest Frosh in the 3k Steeple (9:42?)in the country, and the 3rd fastest Frosh in the 5k in the country (15:05).
What's cool about this to me, is that none of these guys are the best at their respective events on the team. While all are very good marks, they aren't the best, or even close to it.
Personally, I have the 4th fastest 1500m time on the team in 4:05 which I ran about 8 weeks ago.
Everyone on my team was the best at their High School in their respective event. Not "almost the best" or "mostly the best"....THE best. The 3:57 frosh was actually a State Champion in New Mexico.
Because of this, there was a lot of racing and overtraining in workouts early on in the season. No one likes to get rolled, especially when you've been accustomed to being the one "doing to rolling" so to speak. I call this the "Top Dog" syndrome. Too much time at the top only makes the fall harder. And boy, a number of us fall HARD when we overtrain. Myself included.
It took some time to get used to, but we all realized that it's actually okay to run a 61 second quarter mile repeat.....and come in 8th on the team.
We've learned our strengths, and different people lead different workouts. We're coming together as runners, and one by one we're dropping great times.
Being a Big Fish in a Small Pond in HS is all well and good, but at some point outkicking guys who are 10seconds slower than you loses its pazzaz, and you need to Billy-Mills it over some other Fish.
Eating bigger Fish will make YOU bigger.
I'm racing the 1500m this weekend at Pomona's relatively large invite.
And lord knows I can't let those other Fish win, even if their on my own team. I'm looking for sub4:02, which would put me easily on the top10 Frosh in the country over 1500m, and also give me a converted sub420 1600.
Time to eat some bigger Fish.
Anyway, other guys ran exceptionally well at the meet against Redlands (side note - we won by one point. ONE. We haven't lost a dual meet in ~18 years, and we won by 1. Jesus.), and C-M-S now has the:
Fastest Frosh over 1500m (3:57) in the country, the 2nd fastest Frosh in the 3k Steeple (9:42?)in the country, and the 3rd fastest Frosh in the 5k in the country (15:05).
What's cool about this to me, is that none of these guys are the best at their respective events on the team. While all are very good marks, they aren't the best, or even close to it.
Personally, I have the 4th fastest 1500m time on the team in 4:05 which I ran about 8 weeks ago.
Everyone on my team was the best at their High School in their respective event. Not "almost the best" or "mostly the best"....THE best. The 3:57 frosh was actually a State Champion in New Mexico.
Because of this, there was a lot of racing and overtraining in workouts early on in the season. No one likes to get rolled, especially when you've been accustomed to being the one "doing to rolling" so to speak. I call this the "Top Dog" syndrome. Too much time at the top only makes the fall harder. And boy, a number of us fall HARD when we overtrain. Myself included.
It took some time to get used to, but we all realized that it's actually okay to run a 61 second quarter mile repeat.....and come in 8th on the team.
We've learned our strengths, and different people lead different workouts. We're coming together as runners, and one by one we're dropping great times.
Being a Big Fish in a Small Pond in HS is all well and good, but at some point outkicking guys who are 10seconds slower than you loses its pazzaz, and you need to Billy-Mills it over some other Fish.
Eating bigger Fish will make YOU bigger.
I'm racing the 1500m this weekend at Pomona's relatively large invite.
And lord knows I can't let those other Fish win, even if their on my own team. I'm looking for sub4:02, which would put me easily on the top10 Frosh in the country over 1500m, and also give me a converted sub420 1600.
Time to eat some bigger Fish.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Lesson 3: Confidence
Workouts are a funny thing. You can do the same one a thousand times with completely different results each time, or hit the same times and feel completely different.
A few weeks ago, we ran 8x200 w/ 60s recovery ON THE DOT @ 800m goal pace. I threw on my Victories - the fastest spike in the business. It was a beautiful day. 70 degrees, 0 wind. Sunshine. Just a great day to run.
I took the first one hard. It felt horrible, and I ran the rest of the workout head spinning, barely managing 30's for all of them, completely out of breath. I threw up and collapsed over the bushes on the outskirts of the track. This was a Monday. I was sore and tired for 3 days after that.
About 6 days later I ran 1:57.9 going 59.1-58.8 well off the back of a pack I should easily be able to keep with (PR of 1:56). My legs felt cold, I wasn't confident in my speed, and I went out way too slow. Seriously I don't think I've been through the first quarter that slow since Sophomore year of HS.
But I digress. Today, we did 10x200 w/ 60s rest ON THE DOT @ 800m goal pace. It was 50 degrees, overcast, with a VERY demonic headwind on the backstretch that just followed you around the turn, clinging to your body like a screaming adolescent. We had a morning run that I took too quickly, and my legs were.....not tired, but I could definitely feel the ~5miles @ just over 6min pace I had run about 5 hours earlier. This is a Wednesday.
I threw on my Lunas (lightweight flats), and drafted the first one. Too slow by about half a second. Damn. On each consecutive rep, I was supposed to be hitting 29.0. I Starting at 29.4, and every rep got faster and faster. As I got more and more tired due to the quick turnover and lack of rest, I simply leaned forward, took it out, and pumped my arms. After the 9th one BARELY over 28, the wind gusted hard and my teammates groaned. This was going to be a doozy of a last rep.
This is where I made a decision to just pour whatever I had left into this rep. I put my head down and sprinted off the line as the last rep got going, and ran JUST over 27 flat. We did wind sprints and weight afterwards, and cooled down twice, after running and after weights.
My legs feel great.
I have a race on Saturday.
I have a plan.
I have confidence in my speed.
I'll let you know how it goes.
A few weeks ago, we ran 8x200 w/ 60s recovery ON THE DOT @ 800m goal pace. I threw on my Victories - the fastest spike in the business. It was a beautiful day. 70 degrees, 0 wind. Sunshine. Just a great day to run.
I took the first one hard. It felt horrible, and I ran the rest of the workout head spinning, barely managing 30's for all of them, completely out of breath. I threw up and collapsed over the bushes on the outskirts of the track. This was a Monday. I was sore and tired for 3 days after that.
About 6 days later I ran 1:57.9 going 59.1-58.8 well off the back of a pack I should easily be able to keep with (PR of 1:56). My legs felt cold, I wasn't confident in my speed, and I went out way too slow. Seriously I don't think I've been through the first quarter that slow since Sophomore year of HS.
But I digress. Today, we did 10x200 w/ 60s rest ON THE DOT @ 800m goal pace. It was 50 degrees, overcast, with a VERY demonic headwind on the backstretch that just followed you around the turn, clinging to your body like a screaming adolescent. We had a morning run that I took too quickly, and my legs were.....not tired, but I could definitely feel the ~5miles @ just over 6min pace I had run about 5 hours earlier. This is a Wednesday.
I threw on my Lunas (lightweight flats), and drafted the first one. Too slow by about half a second. Damn. On each consecutive rep, I was supposed to be hitting 29.0. I Starting at 29.4, and every rep got faster and faster. As I got more and more tired due to the quick turnover and lack of rest, I simply leaned forward, took it out, and pumped my arms. After the 9th one BARELY over 28, the wind gusted hard and my teammates groaned. This was going to be a doozy of a last rep.
This is where I made a decision to just pour whatever I had left into this rep. I put my head down and sprinted off the line as the last rep got going, and ran JUST over 27 flat. We did wind sprints and weight afterwards, and cooled down twice, after running and after weights.
My legs feel great.
I have a race on Saturday.
I have a plan.
I have confidence in my speed.
I'll let you know how it goes.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Deep, Deep Burn
I, am a middle distance runner.
I thrive on 300's, 400's, even 600's if the day is right.
But when coach tells us to take an easy day friday, that always means one thing on Saturday. The Time Trial.
Every month or two, we do a 4 1/2 mile Time Trial around the campuses. The course isn't really difficult at all, but it gets to you. There's a long, sloping uphill, then long downhill, the up a little, the long down, the long up, then finish on the track.
I hate these runs with a passion.
For a middle distance runner, these LONG tempos are incredibly hard. God they are long.
You reach the two mile mark just before you turn to run down the longest straight, and all I can think is "oh god oh god comon keep pushing you're halfway there. only halfway? yes only halfway but you have 12 more minutes you fucker you give me 12 more minutes. But that's over 2 miles! I dont care don't think about it like that it's just 12 minutes. now go. GO. GO.
The intense fire makes sense to me as I tear the track to pieces, kicking off the bend.
But this Fire....the deep, deep burdening pain, just destroys you. It get's a tiny bit worse every 10 seconds or so, but basically it's just dealing with a slowly twisting knife, implanted into my gut.
Colors become more defined as I get delusional, confusing me. But no time for that, I have to focus on this pain and how to MAKE IT GO AWAY.
All of the sudden I'm on the track and this is home, oh god I can count the meter I have left just lift your legs and push one last time, catch one more person jesus it hurts, just for 45 more seconds. Okay 44 more seconds. 43...42....41...
As soon as you cross the line you're done and pushing mode is off immediately. I sit down on the bench and curse the California heat, even though it's 8 am and its really not that hot, I just want someone to blame for my pain.
Because as soon as I stand up, my body lets me know what I did to it. That deep, deep burn doesn't simply "go away." It stays there, and I don't want to eat but I know I have to, all I want to do is drown in a pool of Gatorade and sleep, sleep, sleep.
Every time I do this workout, there is a goal time for me to hit. And I always just hit it.
Does it bother me that destroying every part of my body I hold dear is....expected? That they KNOW I will kill myself, and they plan accordingly?
You bet your ass it does.
But I do it anyway.
Because it has to get done.
I thrive on 300's, 400's, even 600's if the day is right.
But when coach tells us to take an easy day friday, that always means one thing on Saturday. The Time Trial.
Every month or two, we do a 4 1/2 mile Time Trial around the campuses. The course isn't really difficult at all, but it gets to you. There's a long, sloping uphill, then long downhill, the up a little, the long down, the long up, then finish on the track.
I hate these runs with a passion.
For a middle distance runner, these LONG tempos are incredibly hard. God they are long.
You reach the two mile mark just before you turn to run down the longest straight, and all I can think is "oh god oh god comon keep pushing you're halfway there. only halfway? yes only halfway but you have 12 more minutes you fucker you give me 12 more minutes. But that's over 2 miles! I dont care don't think about it like that it's just 12 minutes. now go. GO. GO.
The intense fire makes sense to me as I tear the track to pieces, kicking off the bend.
But this Fire....the deep, deep burdening pain, just destroys you. It get's a tiny bit worse every 10 seconds or so, but basically it's just dealing with a slowly twisting knife, implanted into my gut.
Colors become more defined as I get delusional, confusing me. But no time for that, I have to focus on this pain and how to MAKE IT GO AWAY.
All of the sudden I'm on the track and this is home, oh god I can count the meter I have left just lift your legs and push one last time, catch one more person jesus it hurts, just for 45 more seconds. Okay 44 more seconds. 43...42....41...
As soon as you cross the line you're done and pushing mode is off immediately. I sit down on the bench and curse the California heat, even though it's 8 am and its really not that hot, I just want someone to blame for my pain.
Because as soon as I stand up, my body lets me know what I did to it. That deep, deep burn doesn't simply "go away." It stays there, and I don't want to eat but I know I have to, all I want to do is drown in a pool of Gatorade and sleep, sleep, sleep.
Every time I do this workout, there is a goal time for me to hit. And I always just hit it.
Does it bother me that destroying every part of my body I hold dear is....expected? That they KNOW I will kill myself, and they plan accordingly?
You bet your ass it does.
But I do it anyway.
Because it has to get done.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Laziness....
I'm still fighting a sickness, and today we did a very tough track workout with little recovery, and it was astronomically hard. Didn't run as well as I would like, and cooled down, did plyos and headed straight back to my dorm.
Now, I live on the 3rd floor of my Dorm. There are 8 floors in total, and there's approximately 25 stairs that separate me from my floor, and about 9 more steps that separate the stairwell from my specific room.
That being said, I can't remember the last time I took the stairs. I think I was late for class. And I think I immediately regretted it.
"Quinn don't you, like, run track? harhar"
^most frequently spoken words whenever I'm in the elevator. Joking aside, this happens about 1.7 times a day. Yes that is an estimate. Spare me.
If you were to follow around or attach something to two people and measure their physical activity in a day, lets say to A) a runner and B) an uppidy teenage girl, you would find interesting results.
On second thought, don't do that study. I'll tell you what would happen:
A) The runner's average walking speed would be 2-4mph slower than the uppidy teenager.
B) In a single week, the uppidy teenager would ascend about 16x more stairs than the runner.
C) The amount of time spent sitting would be 2-3x greater in a runner than in the uppidy girl.
D) As the uppidy teen approaches stairs, she will lean forward and BOUND HER WAY UP OH JOY ITS AN EXHILARATION! The runner would sigh, look for another way to get around the stairs, and mumble profanities as he/she took the stairs one turtley-step at a time, maybe even sideways to preserve the quad or calf muscle.
Also, runners would stretch. EVERYWHERE. In class, on stairs, while walking, while eating, while playing pool, while IN a pool, while doing homework, while typing a blog, EVERYWHERE.
We run, we're tired. Why would I climb a single stair when I know I have either done or will do a hard 10-miler that day? Why would I spend an iota more energy than I have to? I'm tired. Stop asking me questions. I feel like a crochety old man, and mrs. congeniality doesn't help my morose mood after I run like crap.
I may be a little harsh here, but those thoughts go through all runners heads when being made fun of for "laziness." Can I help it if my first thought is "BITCH GET ON MY LEVEL" ?
But no, I'll smile and chuckle (mostly because you're hot), and slump down in my chair or bed and nap.
My first class every day is about 500m away.
And it takes me 10min to walk there.
I'm just enjoying the view, I swear.
Now, I live on the 3rd floor of my Dorm. There are 8 floors in total, and there's approximately 25 stairs that separate me from my floor, and about 9 more steps that separate the stairwell from my specific room.
That being said, I can't remember the last time I took the stairs. I think I was late for class. And I think I immediately regretted it.
"Quinn don't you, like, run track? harhar"
^most frequently spoken words whenever I'm in the elevator. Joking aside, this happens about 1.7 times a day. Yes that is an estimate. Spare me.
If you were to follow around or attach something to two people and measure their physical activity in a day, lets say to A) a runner and B) an uppidy teenage girl, you would find interesting results.
On second thought, don't do that study. I'll tell you what would happen:
A) The runner's average walking speed would be 2-4mph slower than the uppidy teenager.
B) In a single week, the uppidy teenager would ascend about 16x more stairs than the runner.
C) The amount of time spent sitting would be 2-3x greater in a runner than in the uppidy girl.
D) As the uppidy teen approaches stairs, she will lean forward and BOUND HER WAY UP OH JOY ITS AN EXHILARATION! The runner would sigh, look for another way to get around the stairs, and mumble profanities as he/she took the stairs one turtley-step at a time, maybe even sideways to preserve the quad or calf muscle.
Also, runners would stretch. EVERYWHERE. In class, on stairs, while walking, while eating, while playing pool, while IN a pool, while doing homework, while typing a blog, EVERYWHERE.
We run, we're tired. Why would I climb a single stair when I know I have either done or will do a hard 10-miler that day? Why would I spend an iota more energy than I have to? I'm tired. Stop asking me questions. I feel like a crochety old man, and mrs. congeniality doesn't help my morose mood after I run like crap.
I may be a little harsh here, but those thoughts go through all runners heads when being made fun of for "laziness." Can I help it if my first thought is "BITCH GET ON MY LEVEL" ?
But no, I'll smile and chuckle (mostly because you're hot), and slump down in my chair or bed and nap.
My first class every day is about 500m away.
And it takes me 10min to walk there.
I'm just enjoying the view, I swear.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Lesson 2: Training
Yesterday was a very hard day on the track. Today was a base run on the short side (non-runners, base basically means just a normal run), but we took it quick (6.5 miles @ 6:10ish pace in the SoCal heat). Tomorrow will be another hard-ish day on the track, with a morning run.
In highschool, this three-day stretch would be astronomically difficult. Now, all I can think is "I should be doing more." Kenyans train 3 times a day, or so I've heard. If I were to do that now, I would run myself into the ground, get hurt, and my season would be over.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the fundamental angst associated with running. I can build up to running, HARD, three times a day. But to get to that point will take SOOOOO LOOOOOOOONG. I'm talking 3-5 more years AT THE VERY LEAST.
The Pain is not just something to push over, its a quelling force. It's your body telling you to stop what you're doing, before you say fuck it and kick off the bend.
Training helps diminish the Pain. But the Pain is a sneaky little bastard, it knows the next place to go, the next weakness you have to exploit.
Good at short intervals? The Pain moves to LSD's (long slow distance runs). Train Train Train Train Train. Good at LSD's now? The Pain moves to Tempo runs. Train Train Train Train Train Train Train. Good at Tempo runs now? The Pain moves to long intervals on grass. Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train. Good at long intervals? The Pain moves to Fartlek workouts. Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train. Careful now......are you still good at short intervals? Were you ever good at short intervals? Do you EVEN REMEMBER?
Train.
Running is a mix of all of these. The Training is the mallet in the hand of the whack-a-mole player, but if you're not quick enough, the same damn mole pops its head up before you can whack it back down. Sometimes, you let the closest mole pop its head while your hitting the ones that are harder to reach (aka base training), because you know that you can easily return to smash that little fucker when the time is right.
Or can you?
Better sharpen your mallet skills.
In highschool, this three-day stretch would be astronomically difficult. Now, all I can think is "I should be doing more." Kenyans train 3 times a day, or so I've heard. If I were to do that now, I would run myself into the ground, get hurt, and my season would be over.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the fundamental angst associated with running. I can build up to running, HARD, three times a day. But to get to that point will take SOOOOO LOOOOOOOONG. I'm talking 3-5 more years AT THE VERY LEAST.
The Pain is not just something to push over, its a quelling force. It's your body telling you to stop what you're doing, before you say fuck it and kick off the bend.
Training helps diminish the Pain. But the Pain is a sneaky little bastard, it knows the next place to go, the next weakness you have to exploit.
Good at short intervals? The Pain moves to LSD's (long slow distance runs). Train Train Train Train Train. Good at LSD's now? The Pain moves to Tempo runs. Train Train Train Train Train Train Train. Good at Tempo runs now? The Pain moves to long intervals on grass. Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train. Good at long intervals? The Pain moves to Fartlek workouts. Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train Train. Careful now......are you still good at short intervals? Were you ever good at short intervals? Do you EVEN REMEMBER?
Train.
Running is a mix of all of these. The Training is the mallet in the hand of the whack-a-mole player, but if you're not quick enough, the same damn mole pops its head up before you can whack it back down. Sometimes, you let the closest mole pop its head while your hitting the ones that are harder to reach (aka base training), because you know that you can easily return to smash that little fucker when the time is right.
Or can you?
Better sharpen your mallet skills.
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Sickness
Runners are fragile creatures. Unlike football or soccer or basketball (etc) players who can just drill into the bone to fix injuries, or apply their body weight in tape, every kink in a runner could throw him or her off the deep end. I know a guy who ran 4:10 in the mile last year, and after struggling with a knee injury ran 4:55 a few weeks ago. If you're not a runner, that's at least 4 worlds of difference. A 4:10 miler would never even consider a 4:55 miler in the same zip code as them on the track, and it just shows how careful we as runners must be.
I'm writing this because my 'kink' of late is sickness. I have the worst kind cold - one that fills the lungs with mucus and leaves the body tired and sore. As if I don't do that enough already.
To make matters worse, for the mid-distance crew Mondays come with debilitating workouts. I won't go into exactly what I did because I know I'll ramble, but suffice it to say that the reps were 250m-500m and all-out, with long recovery. Now, after the second or third interval, one is usually clutching the knees, sucking wind like it's their job.
And the sickness? It does wonders for this breaking feeling. Exacerbates it ten-fold.
It blows my mind how something so small like the common cold can slow my workout by several seconds a rep, angering both my coaches and myself.
We're so fragile. How did I get this illness? Well, I take a steady regimen of vitamins to prevent illness, and a few days ago I forgot to take them. 1 day. That's all it took.
If you ever want reminder to take your vitamins, run an interval workout when sick. The pounding of your head like a grandfather clock as you clutch your knees will stay jammed into your frontal lobe longer than you would like to remember, or try to forget.
As athletes, we put ourselves through immense pain to be THE best. THE one. THE winner. And if I can do anything in my power to lessen that Pain and make the sailing smoother, the good lord knows I will do it.
The Sickness debilitates, and the Track spikes are an unforgiving friend.
Take your vitamins. Kill the kinks.
I'm writing this because my 'kink' of late is sickness. I have the worst kind cold - one that fills the lungs with mucus and leaves the body tired and sore. As if I don't do that enough already.
To make matters worse, for the mid-distance crew Mondays come with debilitating workouts. I won't go into exactly what I did because I know I'll ramble, but suffice it to say that the reps were 250m-500m and all-out, with long recovery. Now, after the second or third interval, one is usually clutching the knees, sucking wind like it's their job.
And the sickness? It does wonders for this breaking feeling. Exacerbates it ten-fold.
It blows my mind how something so small like the common cold can slow my workout by several seconds a rep, angering both my coaches and myself.
We're so fragile. How did I get this illness? Well, I take a steady regimen of vitamins to prevent illness, and a few days ago I forgot to take them. 1 day. That's all it took.
If you ever want reminder to take your vitamins, run an interval workout when sick. The pounding of your head like a grandfather clock as you clutch your knees will stay jammed into your frontal lobe longer than you would like to remember, or try to forget.
As athletes, we put ourselves through immense pain to be THE best. THE one. THE winner. And if I can do anything in my power to lessen that Pain and make the sailing smoother, the good lord knows I will do it.
The Sickness debilitates, and the Track spikes are an unforgiving friend.
Take your vitamins. Kill the kinks.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The SoCal Night
At the meet at UC Irvine today, the 800/1500 runners weren't supposed to run, because last week was the Occidental Distance Carnival (aka only distance), and this week everyone else ran and the over-distance guys ran their off-events on the shorter side. But, because most of the 8 guys couldn't scratch a fast enough 400 to get into the meet outright, we were relegated to watching it.
It was a fun meet, with some nation-leading marks in DI, including a 1:48.mid 800 by a Lopez Lomong Look-A-Like and an 8:49 steeple (with several more great marks in that event) by some BYU studs.
Our B-relay 4x400m fell through so instead of scrapping it, I offered to run it. Split a 52.9/53.0 (depending on who you ask), which I'm not upset about, considering I was eating shit-all and not moving through out the meet.
But I digress - the main point for this post is about what happened after the meet. See, the 800/1500 guys who weren't running were supposed to do a workout of 6x400, which I couldn't get in until we got back, at around 8pm. By this time, it was pretty dark out, and I had no way to access the Trackside lights.
No worries, it's Southern California! It's still North of 65 degrees outside. I laced up my Nike Luna's and started jogging around.
There's something every distance runner loves about running at night. You just....feel FASTER. As the crickets chirped I danced around the track, light and soft, at 62 second pace per lap. I was planning on doing 60's, but that 4x4 leg took more out of me than I would like to admit.
The one light on the track resonated from above the bathroom, and cast an eerie shadow along the 350m mark on the back bend. As I passed this light every time I would check my shadow, build up, and hammer off of the final turn. Every step bringing me deep, deep into the dark.
As I finished the final rep, I went to take my flats off and sat down on the infield, listening. The silence of the warm night was cut only by my thoughts of how great a place SoCal is to train in the winter/spring...my thoughts wandering to workouts of old in the Seattle, trying to hammer out intervals in the hail or sleet day in and day out.
As I sat, my eyes wandered around and I caught a glimpse of a Firefly. Just once, real quick, but it was definitely there. The first Firefly of spring, dancing along the breeze on this warm, SoCal night. Just me and him, exploring it.
It was a fun meet, with some nation-leading marks in DI, including a 1:48.mid 800 by a Lopez Lomong Look-A-Like and an 8:49 steeple (with several more great marks in that event) by some BYU studs.
Our B-relay 4x400m fell through so instead of scrapping it, I offered to run it. Split a 52.9/53.0 (depending on who you ask), which I'm not upset about, considering I was eating shit-all and not moving through out the meet.
But I digress - the main point for this post is about what happened after the meet. See, the 800/1500 guys who weren't running were supposed to do a workout of 6x400, which I couldn't get in until we got back, at around 8pm. By this time, it was pretty dark out, and I had no way to access the Trackside lights.
No worries, it's Southern California! It's still North of 65 degrees outside. I laced up my Nike Luna's and started jogging around.
There's something every distance runner loves about running at night. You just....feel FASTER. As the crickets chirped I danced around the track, light and soft, at 62 second pace per lap. I was planning on doing 60's, but that 4x4 leg took more out of me than I would like to admit.
The one light on the track resonated from above the bathroom, and cast an eerie shadow along the 350m mark on the back bend. As I passed this light every time I would check my shadow, build up, and hammer off of the final turn. Every step bringing me deep, deep into the dark.
As I finished the final rep, I went to take my flats off and sat down on the infield, listening. The silence of the warm night was cut only by my thoughts of how great a place SoCal is to train in the winter/spring...my thoughts wandering to workouts of old in the Seattle, trying to hammer out intervals in the hail or sleet day in and day out.
As I sat, my eyes wandered around and I caught a glimpse of a Firefly. Just once, real quick, but it was definitely there. The first Firefly of spring, dancing along the breeze on this warm, SoCal night. Just me and him, exploring it.
Lesson 1: The Pain
In class the other day, someone asked me how many hours a day I workout for the Track Team. I thought about it for a second, then said 1. 1 hour. The pondering soul nodded, turned their head, and resumed what they were doing.
Of course this is a lie. It's way over 1 hour a day. But it's easier to answer this way. It avoids the inevitable tilt of the head as the non-runner tries to understand what I had just said, realizing that they don't quite comprehend it, which subsequently leads (97.6% of the time) to them feeling the urge to follow up Question 1 with any number of inane other Questions or cheesy humor lines:
"THAT much?! But...you're so skinny! You would die!..har har"
"Your mile time is WHAT?! I don't think I could bike that fast!..harhar"
"Did you do it because you couldn't do a REAL sport??...harhar"
To the 4.3 people on the internet who stumble across this Blog who DON'T run, let me try to explain:
If I could, I would have you sit in a chair in your room, in the most comfortable position possible. Lay down even. I would attach some contraption to you that would let you feel what I feel. To experience what I experience in every way. My thoughts, my smells, my taste, my emotions, and most importantly what I feel.
I would then go out and run a blistering speed workout.
If you, just one time, could feel that Pain. That Pain that brings you to your knees, that wrenches at every ounce of your sanity, that pushes you to the brink of your own limitations and back again, that Pain that makes every thousandth of a second feel like a Turtles slogging step...you would only catch a glimpse of my life. My life as a Runner.
At the end of the day, running for therapeutic purposes is all well and good, but this running and my running are not the same. This microcosm of the sport is but 1/1millionth of what we do.
The Pain. The unbearable pain. There is no secret to getting fast. The secret is defeating the Pain. And you cannot defeat the Pain.
Of course this is a lie. It's way over 1 hour a day. But it's easier to answer this way. It avoids the inevitable tilt of the head as the non-runner tries to understand what I had just said, realizing that they don't quite comprehend it, which subsequently leads (97.6% of the time) to them feeling the urge to follow up Question 1 with any number of inane other Questions or cheesy humor lines:
"THAT much?! But...you're so skinny! You would die!..har har"
"Your mile time is WHAT?! I don't think I could bike that fast!..harhar"
"Did you do it because you couldn't do a REAL sport??...harhar"
To the 4.3 people on the internet who stumble across this Blog who DON'T run, let me try to explain:
If I could, I would have you sit in a chair in your room, in the most comfortable position possible. Lay down even. I would attach some contraption to you that would let you feel what I feel. To experience what I experience in every way. My thoughts, my smells, my taste, my emotions, and most importantly what I feel.
I would then go out and run a blistering speed workout.
If you, just one time, could feel that Pain. That Pain that brings you to your knees, that wrenches at every ounce of your sanity, that pushes you to the brink of your own limitations and back again, that Pain that makes every thousandth of a second feel like a Turtles slogging step...you would only catch a glimpse of my life. My life as a Runner.
At the end of the day, running for therapeutic purposes is all well and good, but this running and my running are not the same. This microcosm of the sport is but 1/1millionth of what we do.
The Pain. The unbearable pain. There is no secret to getting fast. The secret is defeating the Pain. And you cannot defeat the Pain.
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