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.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
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."
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