It's an interesting thing when people from other schools know your name. It validates what you're doing when you're getting into it. As a sophomore in high school, I ran a 4:38 first meet of the season and all of the sudden my name was on the district-wide performance list, and I was put into conversations with people whose names I knew.
I ended my sophomore year as a 4:28 miler, but as 'only' the 3rd fastest miler of my class in my district.
Throughout the rest of my high school experience, I was the Chris Brown, the Nate Brannen, the Kevin Sullivan, the Chris Lukezic of the 800/Mile.
In short - I was the guy who always made the final, but was never in the conversation to win.
Oh sure, I'd pick up an upset 3rd or even 2nd here and there, and I'd always be in the conversation as someone's Dark Horse or potential spoiler, but not as the popular pick to win.
I guess this has fueled me as much as anything. As I've worked harder, I've caught up to and surpassed some of these rivals of old, which turns around to make me push harder.
MY DIIIRunner's Experience is a personal story of a 5th ranked guy that shouldn't have gotten 3rd, the personal struggle of the almost-but-not-quite-talented-enough guy doing everything he can to reach that next level, to run those times he shouldn't have been able to run, and more than anything to beat those guys who simply just don't lose.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
400m Escapes
Before I ended my internship in DC and headed home for a month, I jogged to the track to break up the monotony of the miles. 12x400, without looking at the watch until the lap was done. I just wanted something resembling speed.
On semi-tired legs I head to the track at 10:30 at night. Why so late? It's 10:30, and it's 95 degrees outside. Each night I choose between sleep and an awkwardly comfortable run. I have yet to choose the former.
3 sets of 4, 2min between reps, lap jog between sets plus a minute stretching.
66 65 64 65
My legs seem to creak in protest. I haven't done reps these short in months. I jog around the inside of the track, wiping pounds of sweat away in the torrential humidity.
65 66 66 66
Hip flexors are feeling the repeats.
67
God dammit these are fucking 400s not 800s. Run them like you're not alone
63 64 62
That's better
On semi-tired legs I head to the track at 10:30 at night. Why so late? It's 10:30, and it's 95 degrees outside. Each night I choose between sleep and an awkwardly comfortable run. I have yet to choose the former.
3 sets of 4, 2min between reps, lap jog between sets plus a minute stretching.
66 65 64 65
My legs seem to creak in protest. I haven't done reps these short in months. I jog around the inside of the track, wiping pounds of sweat away in the torrential humidity.
65 66 66 66
Hip flexors are feeling the repeats.
67
God dammit these are fucking 400s not 800s. Run them like you're not alone
63 64 62
That's better
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
What am I doing, and Why am I not better at it?
I caught all the lights tonight. I stopped once, and that was voluntary to go to the bathroom for 30 seconds on a tree.
I ran late, starting my run at 9:15pm. DC is humid, and my runs have been getting later and later as the summer drags onward. Each mile peeled away like magnetic strips, revealing the run as a whole. Each mile was between 6:22 and 6:27, a 5 second gap for 7.75 miles.
My pace hardly faltered at any time. I glided, and got intentionally lost in my own head.
I didn't want to run today. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I had to work later than most people at my office. I was buzzing on coffee all day and when I got home and made and ate dinner, it was 8:30. I wanted to crash, to sleep, to pass out for 12 hours and wake up ready to go tomorrow.
And I almost did. I laid in my bed, and I knew I couldn't fall asleep unless I got my run in. It wasn't guilt, it wasn't anxiousness, it was the feeling of an uncompleted task that simply had to be taken care of before bed. Like washing dishes, or making lunch for the next day.
Or homework. It was homework. It simply had to be done.
If I had to describe to you why I've come to feel like that, I couldn't tell you. There's something I'm running for, running towards, and I think that deep down I know what it is, but it's too frightening to say out loud. Too surreal to think about in my current state of fitness.
I listen to soft music that acts as white noise, blocking out the inner city sounds. It doesn't pump me up & it doesn't calm me down, it simply changes what I am experiencing. Recently, it's been folk music. Before that, it was classic orchestral pieces. Before that, Indie rock. It changes as I change.
I think I do it to mute the sound of my own breathing.
I don't like to know how tired I am, and the sound of my labored breath bothers me in the fleeting moments between songs. I'm not supposed to be tired at a silly pace like this. I'm fine.
I keep my pace as I climb, climb, climb back home. As I slow to a stop at the end of my run, I check my heart rate. It's just north of 170 bpm.
I probably checked it wrong, I'm fitter than that. Ya. I'm fitter than that.
If I were to measure myself against what I want to do, what I know I'm running for, what makes running another task rather than a chore or a burden or even something I view as necessary exercise - would stop me. It's too intangible, too hard, too few success stories and millions of failures of people just like me.
I don't have a closing motivational thought. These thoughts just bounce around my head to the sound of White Blank Page as I skim through the humid night, physically knowing that I can when all evidence says I cannot.
I ran late, starting my run at 9:15pm. DC is humid, and my runs have been getting later and later as the summer drags onward. Each mile peeled away like magnetic strips, revealing the run as a whole. Each mile was between 6:22 and 6:27, a 5 second gap for 7.75 miles.
My pace hardly faltered at any time. I glided, and got intentionally lost in my own head.
I didn't want to run today. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I had to work later than most people at my office. I was buzzing on coffee all day and when I got home and made and ate dinner, it was 8:30. I wanted to crash, to sleep, to pass out for 12 hours and wake up ready to go tomorrow.
And I almost did. I laid in my bed, and I knew I couldn't fall asleep unless I got my run in. It wasn't guilt, it wasn't anxiousness, it was the feeling of an uncompleted task that simply had to be taken care of before bed. Like washing dishes, or making lunch for the next day.
Or homework. It was homework. It simply had to be done.
If I had to describe to you why I've come to feel like that, I couldn't tell you. There's something I'm running for, running towards, and I think that deep down I know what it is, but it's too frightening to say out loud. Too surreal to think about in my current state of fitness.
I listen to soft music that acts as white noise, blocking out the inner city sounds. It doesn't pump me up & it doesn't calm me down, it simply changes what I am experiencing. Recently, it's been folk music. Before that, it was classic orchestral pieces. Before that, Indie rock. It changes as I change.
I think I do it to mute the sound of my own breathing.
I don't like to know how tired I am, and the sound of my labored breath bothers me in the fleeting moments between songs. I'm not supposed to be tired at a silly pace like this. I'm fine.
I keep my pace as I climb, climb, climb back home. As I slow to a stop at the end of my run, I check my heart rate. It's just north of 170 bpm.
I probably checked it wrong, I'm fitter than that. Ya. I'm fitter than that.
If I were to measure myself against what I want to do, what I know I'm running for, what makes running another task rather than a chore or a burden or even something I view as necessary exercise - would stop me. It's too intangible, too hard, too few success stories and millions of failures of people just like me.
I don't have a closing motivational thought. These thoughts just bounce around my head to the sound of White Blank Page as I skim through the humid night, physically knowing that I can when all evidence says I cannot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)