Once upon a midnight run,
a story began to unfold.
I saw a leprechaun waddling
by with a pot of gold.
He ran with gusto as a herd
of deer leaped after him.
And The White Gazelle
oddly leaped after them...
Just beyond the bridge rested
Kylar the Terror.
She watched the strange scene
while her cupbearer
sneaked swigs of her drink.
His name was Rai, and he was tall.
But when Kylar the Terror
struck him with her staff,
he was suddenly small.
Magic in the hands of a Terror
is an error.
As I continued my run in the dark,
I heard a long, low howl.
And I knew my beloved Kat would
soon start to growl.
She crouched atop my shoulder
ever since she called Kylar "older."
But she whispers advice
from time to time,
and never lets me sleep.
So I run at night now instead
of counting sheep.
Upon my 21st mile, Shayna appeared
in the sky.
She's not a bird, but a constellation
of stars, FYI.
She waved to me as I waved to her,
and the sun began to rise.
That's when I awake with a start,
staring into a pair of eyes.
Delilah is hungry, and so am I.
We head to the kitchen to share
a pot pie.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
Ingredients of life
One bottle of water. A small jug of chocolate milk. A bowl of Oatmeal. One Smirnoff. The only thing missing was a peanut butter and banana sandwich as I recovered from my long run this morning (and a midterm review).
After ten miles in near-freezing temperatures, my body couldn't decide what it needed-water for hydration, chocolate milk for nutrients, Gatorade for electrolytes, peanut butter for protein, alcohol for...rest? So I picked a few, hoping to cover as many bases as I could with only two hands.
If I had to choose just one, I would choose... Smirnoff. Just kidding. Water, seriously. It's a basic necessity of life, pure and delicious, refreshing and cooling. There is nothing more relieving than a bottle of ice cold water after a tedious run in the sun with sweat dripping from your earlobes, running down your arms and legs, making everything sticky and salty. That wasn't the case this morning.
This morning was cold and dark. Yesterday I failed to hydrate properly. Thus, I'm not sure if I even broke a sweat the entire run. Not smart. But all is well, as far as I can tell.
The other choices are there for extra fuel, to help you along the way. Chocolate milk, for instance, so I've heard, provides just as many nutrients to the body as a protein shake. And it's incredibly refreshing after a hard workout on hills, in the gym, or cross-training. Gatorade replaces the electrolytes you spent on the road (don't ask me to explain further). Peanut butter is an excellent source of protein and energy, and it's filling. Not to be forgotten are the carbs that come with the bread of your sandwich, which are extremely important to long-distance runners who burn hundreds to thousands of calories in a run.
I'm sure that if my diet were properly balanced, I would not crave these "extras." I could easily rely solely on H2O and sweat my heart out during every run. But as it is, I'm not perfect, and I enjoy eating whatever I want whenever I want it, as long as someone else pays for it...(I kid.)
Training Update
We are progressing in mileage and keeping tabs on potential injuries. Next week we will taper, meaning to decrease mileage in order to recover from the past two weeks and rest up for the next two (12 and 13 miles).
I am taking it easy the rest of this week, leaning more on cross-training, while I await a compression sleeve to hopefully help relieve some pain in my shin.
I'm still not getting as many comments as I would like (zero, to be specific). So, the next five people who leave comments on my blog, any post you choose, will be part of a fictional story that I will write and publish in my next post (if you wish to have your name mentioned.) This means you must leave your name. Comments on Facebook do not count. Please refrain from only typing your name and a quick "hey" or "good job" or "you can do it!" While I appreciate greetings and encouragement, I love to also receive questions and insight, topics, and meaningful commentary.
I hope this works and that you are encouraged to comment in the future.
After ten miles in near-freezing temperatures, my body couldn't decide what it needed-water for hydration, chocolate milk for nutrients, Gatorade for electrolytes, peanut butter for protein, alcohol for...rest? So I picked a few, hoping to cover as many bases as I could with only two hands.
If I had to choose just one, I would choose... Smirnoff. Just kidding. Water, seriously. It's a basic necessity of life, pure and delicious, refreshing and cooling. There is nothing more relieving than a bottle of ice cold water after a tedious run in the sun with sweat dripping from your earlobes, running down your arms and legs, making everything sticky and salty. That wasn't the case this morning.
This morning was cold and dark. Yesterday I failed to hydrate properly. Thus, I'm not sure if I even broke a sweat the entire run. Not smart. But all is well, as far as I can tell.
The other choices are there for extra fuel, to help you along the way. Chocolate milk, for instance, so I've heard, provides just as many nutrients to the body as a protein shake. And it's incredibly refreshing after a hard workout on hills, in the gym, or cross-training. Gatorade replaces the electrolytes you spent on the road (don't ask me to explain further). Peanut butter is an excellent source of protein and energy, and it's filling. Not to be forgotten are the carbs that come with the bread of your sandwich, which are extremely important to long-distance runners who burn hundreds to thousands of calories in a run.
I'm sure that if my diet were properly balanced, I would not crave these "extras." I could easily rely solely on H2O and sweat my heart out during every run. But as it is, I'm not perfect, and I enjoy eating whatever I want whenever I want it, as long as someone else pays for it...(I kid.)
Training Update
We are progressing in mileage and keeping tabs on potential injuries. Next week we will taper, meaning to decrease mileage in order to recover from the past two weeks and rest up for the next two (12 and 13 miles).
I am taking it easy the rest of this week, leaning more on cross-training, while I await a compression sleeve to hopefully help relieve some pain in my shin.
I'm still not getting as many comments as I would like (zero, to be specific). So, the next five people who leave comments on my blog, any post you choose, will be part of a fictional story that I will write and publish in my next post (if you wish to have your name mentioned.) This means you must leave your name. Comments on Facebook do not count. Please refrain from only typing your name and a quick "hey" or "good job" or "you can do it!" While I appreciate greetings and encouragement, I love to also receive questions and insight, topics, and meaningful commentary.
I hope this works and that you are encouraged to comment in the future.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
A Runner's Story #5: Long-distance sprinter?
I think there's a sidewalk in Mesquite with an old friend's blood stained right in the middle.
Q was a junior in high school; I was a sophomore; The White Gazelle a freshman. It was a beautiful sunny day, and all we had was an easy run, mostly to keep us out of our coach's hair while he trained the sprinters. We made it about a mile from the school, and Q suddenly stumbled to the ground. She couldn't walk, had rolled her ankle (and scraped her knee), and was in tremendous pain.
Our first thought was to carry her back, but being cross country runners, neither of us was strong enough to make it a whole mile. So The White Gazelle, being the definition of awesomeness, and a sucker, sprinted back to the school to tell our coach (also her dad) that our friend and teammate was injured and needed a ride.
She sprinted a mile.
What I will always remember laughing about the most is the picture of my dear friend, The White Gazelle, attempting to tell her father about the situation immediately after sprinting a mile. Imagine being so completely out of breath, but also so concerned about your friend, and spitting out pieces of words as spurts of oxygen pump into your lungs, trying to make up for your last mile-long-sprint. Can I emphasize enough that she sprinted a whole mile?
Now imagine a good-humored father looking down at your daughter who is clearly frantic about something, wondering what in the hell she is trying to say between breaths. I believe he compared her to Lassie as he retold the story later that day.
Here's a tip for all athletes: always consider shock when you or a teammate rolls an ankle. Probably 90% of the time an ankle is rolled (or twisted), the initial shock will have you thinking you need surgery, a boot, and some incredible pain killers.
Shortly after our freshman friend took off in search of our coach and a trainer, Q realized she could, indeed, walk after all. So we started back to the school, slowly. About 100 yards from the training room, our trainer and The White Gazelle approached us in a van, ready to save the day, surprised to see us walking and talking as if nothing had happened. Not a mistake to be made twice...
Side note: Kat and I are a week and a half into our marathon training. We are following the guidelines of Hal Higdon's Novice 1 and 2 training programs. This means a beginner's mileage, while throwing in some pace work and eventually some hills. Here's a typical week's routine:
Monday: Long run (we had to move it to the beginning of the week instead of the end because of my work schedule.)
Tuesday: Rest
Wednesday: Easy/short
Thursday: Kinda Long
Friday: Easy/short
Saturday: Rest
Sunday: Cross train
It's too early to notice any/much improvement yet, but I will keep you posted.
Again, feel free to leave comments and questions. You could spark a new post.
Q was a junior in high school; I was a sophomore; The White Gazelle a freshman. It was a beautiful sunny day, and all we had was an easy run, mostly to keep us out of our coach's hair while he trained the sprinters. We made it about a mile from the school, and Q suddenly stumbled to the ground. She couldn't walk, had rolled her ankle (and scraped her knee), and was in tremendous pain.
Our first thought was to carry her back, but being cross country runners, neither of us was strong enough to make it a whole mile. So The White Gazelle, being the definition of awesomeness, and a sucker, sprinted back to the school to tell our coach (also her dad) that our friend and teammate was injured and needed a ride.
She sprinted a mile.
What I will always remember laughing about the most is the picture of my dear friend, The White Gazelle, attempting to tell her father about the situation immediately after sprinting a mile. Imagine being so completely out of breath, but also so concerned about your friend, and spitting out pieces of words as spurts of oxygen pump into your lungs, trying to make up for your last mile-long-sprint. Can I emphasize enough that she sprinted a whole mile?
Now imagine a good-humored father looking down at your daughter who is clearly frantic about something, wondering what in the hell she is trying to say between breaths. I believe he compared her to Lassie as he retold the story later that day.
Here's a tip for all athletes: always consider shock when you or a teammate rolls an ankle. Probably 90% of the time an ankle is rolled (or twisted), the initial shock will have you thinking you need surgery, a boot, and some incredible pain killers.
Shortly after our freshman friend took off in search of our coach and a trainer, Q realized she could, indeed, walk after all. So we started back to the school, slowly. About 100 yards from the training room, our trainer and The White Gazelle approached us in a van, ready to save the day, surprised to see us walking and talking as if nothing had happened. Not a mistake to be made twice...
Side note: Kat and I are a week and a half into our marathon training. We are following the guidelines of Hal Higdon's Novice 1 and 2 training programs. This means a beginner's mileage, while throwing in some pace work and eventually some hills. Here's a typical week's routine:
Monday: Long run (we had to move it to the beginning of the week instead of the end because of my work schedule.)
Tuesday: Rest
Wednesday: Easy/short
Thursday: Kinda Long
Friday: Easy/short
Saturday: Rest
Sunday: Cross train
It's too early to notice any/much improvement yet, but I will keep you posted.
Again, feel free to leave comments and questions. You could spark a new post.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Years later, I'm looking up again.
"For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted." --Luke 14:11
It's happened again. One step back, and hoping for a strong step forward. I've mentioned having to "go back to the basics," and how it was inevitable that my running would suffer after withdrawing from the cross country team. But only recently have I begun to lose the sense of pride I used to hold.
It's to know surprise that I find myself weaker than I was two years ago. Lazier. Slower. But I've always told myself that I could jump right back into running six days a week, two-a-days, eight-plus miles easily. Now I know that I can't 'walk the walk.' Not only do I have to go back to the basics, but I've had to completely strip myself of all my pride and take the beginner's approach to running.
Two days ago I ran for a few minutes, only to stop and catch my breath. Then I ran a few more minutes. Repeat several times. I was ashamed. I could come up with excuse after excuse, but the truth is simple: I'm not the runner I used to be. I finally had to accept the fact that I'm not as hot as my former teammates (I'm not talking about appearances here). It wasn't easy, and I still don't want to let go of ALL that pride, no matter how little some might say I have rights to.
The important thing to realize is that pride is baggage. I've let it hold me back instead of pushing me forward, for every step back that I've taken has weighed down my spirit, slowing progress by spending time feeling sorry for myself or that I've let someone down. Hopefully now I will simply run, only focusing on what's ahead and applying what I've learned.
Official RunDisney Marathon training begins September 9. My beloved Kat is back, and I've even picked up a new running buddy on occasion. A schedule is coming soon. Encouragement is always appreciated.
It's happened again. One step back, and hoping for a strong step forward. I've mentioned having to "go back to the basics," and how it was inevitable that my running would suffer after withdrawing from the cross country team. But only recently have I begun to lose the sense of pride I used to hold.
It's to know surprise that I find myself weaker than I was two years ago. Lazier. Slower. But I've always told myself that I could jump right back into running six days a week, two-a-days, eight-plus miles easily. Now I know that I can't 'walk the walk.' Not only do I have to go back to the basics, but I've had to completely strip myself of all my pride and take the beginner's approach to running.
Two days ago I ran for a few minutes, only to stop and catch my breath. Then I ran a few more minutes. Repeat several times. I was ashamed. I could come up with excuse after excuse, but the truth is simple: I'm not the runner I used to be. I finally had to accept the fact that I'm not as hot as my former teammates (I'm not talking about appearances here). It wasn't easy, and I still don't want to let go of ALL that pride, no matter how little some might say I have rights to.
The important thing to realize is that pride is baggage. I've let it hold me back instead of pushing me forward, for every step back that I've taken has weighed down my spirit, slowing progress by spending time feeling sorry for myself or that I've let someone down. Hopefully now I will simply run, only focusing on what's ahead and applying what I've learned.
Official RunDisney Marathon training begins September 9. My beloved Kat is back, and I've even picked up a new running buddy on occasion. A schedule is coming soon. Encouragement is always appreciated.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Lack of motivation...or just plain lazy?
Here's an update on my progress since setting my goals to reach THE goal: not much.
Typically, I begin the week well. After Tuesday, however, I jump mercilessly into Goal #3: Rest. The past few weeks have been odd because of vacation and work schedules, but I have still only managed to run an average of two days per week. I rarely stretch and haven't even been to a grocery store in weeks to purchase orange juice or chocolate milk.
This week, on the other hand, I've been blessed with a change of pace. Only working two hours in the mornings, my body will hopefully be trained to rise early, but will still be allowed to hit the pavement before the sun finishes stretching. I have returned to my previous weight-training schedule and have even added lunges, which I've neglected since high school (last Wednesday sucked). I also decided this morning that it is about time to replace the insoles in my shoes in order to be proactive.
I wish I could have more progress to share with you, but as we all know, it's not easy to do what we know we should. Though, I find it much more difficult to go back to sleep knowing someone is counting on me to show up (the walk of shame is less endurable at those times). Sometimes, a little pride is okay (as long as humility is there to back it up).
Ultimate frisbee!!!!!!
Typically, I begin the week well. After Tuesday, however, I jump mercilessly into Goal #3: Rest. The past few weeks have been odd because of vacation and work schedules, but I have still only managed to run an average of two days per week. I rarely stretch and haven't even been to a grocery store in weeks to purchase orange juice or chocolate milk.
This week, on the other hand, I've been blessed with a change of pace. Only working two hours in the mornings, my body will hopefully be trained to rise early, but will still be allowed to hit the pavement before the sun finishes stretching. I have returned to my previous weight-training schedule and have even added lunges, which I've neglected since high school (last Wednesday sucked). I also decided this morning that it is about time to replace the insoles in my shoes in order to be proactive.
I wish I could have more progress to share with you, but as we all know, it's not easy to do what we know we should. Though, I find it much more difficult to go back to sleep knowing someone is counting on me to show up (the walk of shame is less endurable at those times). Sometimes, a little pride is okay (as long as humility is there to back it up).
Ultimate frisbee!!!!!!
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
A "true runner"
If you've never taken the time to contemplate the differences in the types of runners out there, you might be surprised to find out that we are not all alike. I've recently had to re-evaluate my own definition of a "true runner," and in doing so, I have also had to remove myself from my pedestal.
The truth is, I often feel superior to other runners, the ones who just decide to start running one day and think they've discovered some new revelation. These are the ones who are seen with the running tech, the gels, the different kinds of nutrition bars, etc. But really, the only difference between these runners and myself and my former teammates is our approach to the discipline.
I don't know why, but I've never had a coach who preached running gels and all that other jazz. I guess you could say we take the more natural approach? In fact, it wasn't until after meeting runners who actually use this fancy running gear that I even knew it existed. When I decided to register for my first marathon, a friend asked me how I would train, if I would 'gel train.'........What? (If you don't know what this means, I'm still not completely sure either, so I suggest you use a more reliable source to look it up.)
What is it about us student-athletes that makes us think we're better than other runners, even some marathoners? They train their asses off just like we do, and probably with a better attitude. They often coach themselves, while we rely on "professional" runners to design our workouts.
Maybe I nailed it earlier when I mentioned the "stuff." Perhaps we feel superior because we rely less on the running gear than they do. However, after pondering this idea for weeks, I've come to the realization that I've had it backwards. It's the student-athletes who just get up and run, for the most part. Most runners who use the gadgets do so because they do their homework first. They research different workouts, gear, nutrition guides, and even motivational techniques.
I'm no better than some 40-year-old who up and decides to take up running; we're just different, coming from different backgrounds and most likely seeking different outcomes. But we're both runners. And that's my point. I can define a true runner however I want, but someone will dispute it. So I've decided that the definition lies within the mindset. If you train to run, with or without the gear, and you call yourself a runner, then a runner you will be. Who am I to judge?
But...if you never run a step off that treadmill, I cannot, will not, consider you a runner. Would you give me a driver's license because I can keep my go-cart on the track at an arcade? Think about it.
And as for my marathon training, I plan to train as I always have; water, orange juice, Gatorade, and chocolate milk will suffice, along with my Mizunos and one pair of legs.
The truth is, I often feel superior to other runners, the ones who just decide to start running one day and think they've discovered some new revelation. These are the ones who are seen with the running tech, the gels, the different kinds of nutrition bars, etc. But really, the only difference between these runners and myself and my former teammates is our approach to the discipline.
I don't know why, but I've never had a coach who preached running gels and all that other jazz. I guess you could say we take the more natural approach? In fact, it wasn't until after meeting runners who actually use this fancy running gear that I even knew it existed. When I decided to register for my first marathon, a friend asked me how I would train, if I would 'gel train.'........What? (If you don't know what this means, I'm still not completely sure either, so I suggest you use a more reliable source to look it up.)
What is it about us student-athletes that makes us think we're better than other runners, even some marathoners? They train their asses off just like we do, and probably with a better attitude. They often coach themselves, while we rely on "professional" runners to design our workouts.
Maybe I nailed it earlier when I mentioned the "stuff." Perhaps we feel superior because we rely less on the running gear than they do. However, after pondering this idea for weeks, I've come to the realization that I've had it backwards. It's the student-athletes who just get up and run, for the most part. Most runners who use the gadgets do so because they do their homework first. They research different workouts, gear, nutrition guides, and even motivational techniques.
I'm no better than some 40-year-old who up and decides to take up running; we're just different, coming from different backgrounds and most likely seeking different outcomes. But we're both runners. And that's my point. I can define a true runner however I want, but someone will dispute it. So I've decided that the definition lies within the mindset. If you train to run, with or without the gear, and you call yourself a runner, then a runner you will be. Who am I to judge?
But...if you never run a step off that treadmill, I cannot, will not, consider you a runner. Would you give me a driver's license because I can keep my go-cart on the track at an arcade? Think about it.
And as for my marathon training, I plan to train as I always have; water, orange juice, Gatorade, and chocolate milk will suffice, along with my Mizunos and one pair of legs.
Monday, June 18, 2012
The fond memory of a runner
Time to hammer...
11:00 pm. POW
We're running.
Curve.
Straight-away.
Get out of the trash.
Curve.
Straight-away.
Three to go.
Relax, and get comfy.
Somewhere deep inside me, I know. I don't have to think. My body knows what to do. I'm running harder than I've ever begun a race before. Tonight's the night. This is the year. Senior year. I'm going to make it to regionals if I have to grow wings and fly across the finish line.
Fifty meters to the 800m mark.
Get ready.
Half way there.
Time to hammer...
This is the lap I've been visualizing all season. This is the lap I've been training for for two years. This is the purpose for the agony I have voluntarily endured for weeks, months. I'm breaking a trend, the barrier that has kept me from prolonging said agony for another two weeks since freshman year. This is the most crucial lap of my life (little did I know, then).
Hammering.
Good position.
1, 2, 3, me.
No, wait--
I am 3!
400 meters left.
Hold it.
Hold it.
The last lap is all about heart. Strategy has nothing to do with it, not intentionally, anyway.
300 meters.
1, 2, me...
200 meters.
1, 2, 3...me.
No!
150...I want it more.
100 meters.
These last 100 meters are filled with pain, dread, fear, and hunger. My legs have never run this fast (I swear I grew shorter with each step). I pass my target, the third place runner at the time, on the outside at the 100 meter mark. First and second place are inches in front of her. She is blocked in, nowhere to go. To my former coach and others, I look as if I had planned it this way. Strategy. I wish I could take credit. Really, I am just determining in my mind that I CANNOT BARE ANOTHER "RUNNER-UP" FINISH.
The four of us crossed the finish line within two seconds of each other. Had my mind been present, maybe I could have summoned enough strength to take first. But that wasn't important. I was moving on. I had earned regionals. I fell into the arms of a friend, not strong enough to carry my body another step. The White Gazelle finished only seconds later. When she gathered her bearings, she came over to congratulate me, giving me a light shove on the shoulders out of excitement. I went down like a sack of potatoes; my heart and strength were still on the track.
11:00 pm. POW
We're running.
Curve.
Straight-away.
Get out of the trash.
Curve.
Straight-away.
Three to go.
Relax, and get comfy.
Somewhere deep inside me, I know. I don't have to think. My body knows what to do. I'm running harder than I've ever begun a race before. Tonight's the night. This is the year. Senior year. I'm going to make it to regionals if I have to grow wings and fly across the finish line.
Fifty meters to the 800m mark.
Get ready.
Half way there.
Time to hammer...
This is the lap I've been visualizing all season. This is the lap I've been training for for two years. This is the purpose for the agony I have voluntarily endured for weeks, months. I'm breaking a trend, the barrier that has kept me from prolonging said agony for another two weeks since freshman year. This is the most crucial lap of my life (little did I know, then).
Hammering.
Good position.
1, 2, 3, me.
No, wait--
I am 3!
400 meters left.
Hold it.
Hold it.
The last lap is all about heart. Strategy has nothing to do with it, not intentionally, anyway.
300 meters.
1, 2, me...
200 meters.
1, 2, 3...me.
No!
150...I want it more.
100 meters.
These last 100 meters are filled with pain, dread, fear, and hunger. My legs have never run this fast (I swear I grew shorter with each step). I pass my target, the third place runner at the time, on the outside at the 100 meter mark. First and second place are inches in front of her. She is blocked in, nowhere to go. To my former coach and others, I look as if I had planned it this way. Strategy. I wish I could take credit. Really, I am just determining in my mind that I CANNOT BARE ANOTHER "RUNNER-UP" FINISH.
...
The four of us crossed the finish line within two seconds of each other. Had my mind been present, maybe I could have summoned enough strength to take first. But that wasn't important. I was moving on. I had earned regionals. I fell into the arms of a friend, not strong enough to carry my body another step. The White Gazelle finished only seconds later. When she gathered her bearings, she came over to congratulate me, giving me a light shove on the shoulders out of excitement. I went down like a sack of potatoes; my heart and strength were still on the track.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Goals to reach goals
Now that it's official, I can finally share with you what I've been excited about for months: if God allows it, I will be running my first marathon in January. Kat and I registered for the Disney Marathon a couple of days ago, and training begins in August.
In order to prep myself for training, I thought it would be beneficial to sit down and do some goal setting. I used to hate when my coaches would require us to write down our goals for the season. I thought it was a waste of time; after all, I know what I expect of myself. What does it matter to anyone else? However, being on my own (running wise) for almost a year now, I've come to realize that writing out those goals for other people to read and know served as a form of accountability. When others know what your ambitions, dreams, expectations are, they can provide the encouragement you need to reach them. Furthermore, it never hurts to put your goals on paper, sort of like signing a lease--through this act, you are declaring your commitment to follow through with whatever you have set out to accomplish.
So here is my list of goals, which will probably and hopefully grow throughout the next six months:
I hope I can count on all of my readers to send encouragement from time to time. Thanks for reading.
In order to prep myself for training, I thought it would be beneficial to sit down and do some goal setting. I used to hate when my coaches would require us to write down our goals for the season. I thought it was a waste of time; after all, I know what I expect of myself. What does it matter to anyone else? However, being on my own (running wise) for almost a year now, I've come to realize that writing out those goals for other people to read and know served as a form of accountability. When others know what your ambitions, dreams, expectations are, they can provide the encouragement you need to reach them. Furthermore, it never hurts to put your goals on paper, sort of like signing a lease--through this act, you are declaring your commitment to follow through with whatever you have set out to accomplish.
So here is my list of goals, which will probably and hopefully grow throughout the next six months:
- Discipline myself by getting up early enough to complete a quality workout. The heat and sun serve as mental barriers, so I must strive to overcome these obstacles, even if that means taking the longer road around them.
- Hydrate. "Hydration, hydration, hydration," is what my college coach always preached. Typically, I let my body decide when it's lacking hydration, nutrients, vitamins, electrolytes, and so forth. But I could definitely drink more water in order to prevent dehydration, not just to cure it.
- Keep my legs healthy. As I've mentioned before, shin splints have haunted my running dreams since the very beginning. And since senior year of high school, I have been plagued with various minor, nagging injuries that could have been prevented if I had only taken better care of myself. In order to save my legs, I will need to stretch often, replace my running shoes before they start causing problems, and allow my body time to rest between workouts. This may also mean taking two to three days off at a time (which is no problem for me).
- Develop an efficient workout routine. With a marathon in sight, one cannot, or at least should not, simply put on miles. Just like in every other sport, running often relies on strategic planning. Long runs, speed workouts, recovery runs, cross training, rest. A workout schedule will have to be determined in order to maintain effectiveness.
I hope I can count on all of my readers to send encouragement from time to time. Thanks for reading.
Monday, May 28, 2012
The perfect shoe
The perfect shoe: it's not for two.
It works for me, but not for you.
The last time I bought a pair of running shoes, I took along a friend who is not a runner. She seemed baffled by my evaluation of each shoe that I tried on. I asked questions about each pair, making comparisons based on fact and feeling, comfort and credibility. My last thought, as I made my purchase, was how the shoe looked.
Like I told my friend, if I'm going to spend so much money on one pair of shoes, it sure as hell better last me a couple hundred miles (at least), whether it sparkles, shines, shouts, or shimmers. The perfect shoe for a runner is one that bounces back with every step you take, can handle the heat and holler of every terrain, compliments your arches, hangs onto your heels, stabilizes, neutralizes, or controls the motion of your foot (depending on your foot type), and helps correct your gait (the way you walk, or run). Furthermore, the perfect shoe for an athlete depends on the types of workouts one conducts: speed, long distance, on the road, on the track, on the field, with a jump or a leap, cutting, sliding, kicking, and on and on and on.
When I run, I don't even want to notice that I'm wearing shoes. I've had shin splints far too many times to trust just any shoe or brand. Just like people, the prettiest shoe isn't always the nicest. My shoes are like armor, protecting me against the evils of the running world, the mighty stress fractures, the dreaded Iliotibial Band Syndrome, and the ferocious, ruthless, merciless runner's knee, while providing the flexibility and breathability that my toes and feet desperately need. As materialistic as this may be, your running shoes should become a part of you, otherwise you'll find nagging issues with them, particularly blisters.
Every foot is different, like snowflakes!
It works for me, but not for you.
The last time I bought a pair of running shoes, I took along a friend who is not a runner. She seemed baffled by my evaluation of each shoe that I tried on. I asked questions about each pair, making comparisons based on fact and feeling, comfort and credibility. My last thought, as I made my purchase, was how the shoe looked.
Like I told my friend, if I'm going to spend so much money on one pair of shoes, it sure as hell better last me a couple hundred miles (at least), whether it sparkles, shines, shouts, or shimmers. The perfect shoe for a runner is one that bounces back with every step you take, can handle the heat and holler of every terrain, compliments your arches, hangs onto your heels, stabilizes, neutralizes, or controls the motion of your foot (depending on your foot type), and helps correct your gait (the way you walk, or run). Furthermore, the perfect shoe for an athlete depends on the types of workouts one conducts: speed, long distance, on the road, on the track, on the field, with a jump or a leap, cutting, sliding, kicking, and on and on and on.
When I run, I don't even want to notice that I'm wearing shoes. I've had shin splints far too many times to trust just any shoe or brand. Just like people, the prettiest shoe isn't always the nicest. My shoes are like armor, protecting me against the evils of the running world, the mighty stress fractures, the dreaded Iliotibial Band Syndrome, and the ferocious, ruthless, merciless runner's knee, while providing the flexibility and breathability that my toes and feet desperately need. As materialistic as this may be, your running shoes should become a part of you, otherwise you'll find nagging issues with them, particularly blisters.
Every foot is different, like snowflakes!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
The smells of life
What's your favorite smell?
It's amazing how many smells are out there--on the road, in the fields, on the track, in a house with a mouse, or a box with a fox. I couldn't help myself. But seriously, just the other day, I re-realized how full of smells life is. I've heard that smell is one of the strongest memory "strikers," for lack of the real term. I believe this with all my being.
Any true runner can tell you that there is a smell for each running season. I can't describe the smell of track season or the smell of cross country season, but they are definitely distinguishable. Even being a retired collegiate runner, I still find myself walking out the door or to class and thinking, "Ah, the smell of (track/cross country) season!" And there's almost nothing more appealing to me.
On my run the other day, I attempted to count the smells I encountered, but instead I can only recall these: freshly cut grass; the humidity (yes, it has a smell); a rotting animal hidden in the brush; laundry detergent, chlorine, pancakes, and garbage as I ran through a residential neighborhood; dust and dirt; cattle and manure (I live in Stephenville...); my own sweat; a port-a-potty near a construction zone; pine and other trees; more.
One of my least favorite smells on a run is food--all kinds. There's little more sickening to inhale on a run than the smell of freshly-baked doughnuts or greasy hamburgers or fried anything. I've even had to adjust some of my routes to avoid these fragrant curses during prime eating hours. And the dumpster truck! When I see one, I turn, whether I break from my route or make it longer. I believe The White Gazelle can attest to this.
My favorite smell, whether running or otherwise, believe it or not, is the smell of roses. I'm sure most, if not all, of my readers know that I'm not the girliest gal out there, but roses provide a refreshing scent that can calm my mind...and stomach.
Next time you work out, or even the next time you simply go outside, try to distinguish as many smells as you can. It could be like bird-watching! Keep notes.
Smell you later.
It's amazing how many smells are out there--on the road, in the fields, on the track, in a house with a mouse, or a box with a fox. I couldn't help myself. But seriously, just the other day, I re-realized how full of smells life is. I've heard that smell is one of the strongest memory "strikers," for lack of the real term. I believe this with all my being.
Any true runner can tell you that there is a smell for each running season. I can't describe the smell of track season or the smell of cross country season, but they are definitely distinguishable. Even being a retired collegiate runner, I still find myself walking out the door or to class and thinking, "Ah, the smell of (track/cross country) season!" And there's almost nothing more appealing to me.
On my run the other day, I attempted to count the smells I encountered, but instead I can only recall these: freshly cut grass; the humidity (yes, it has a smell); a rotting animal hidden in the brush; laundry detergent, chlorine, pancakes, and garbage as I ran through a residential neighborhood; dust and dirt; cattle and manure (I live in Stephenville...); my own sweat; a port-a-potty near a construction zone; pine and other trees; more.
One of my least favorite smells on a run is food--all kinds. There's little more sickening to inhale on a run than the smell of freshly-baked doughnuts or greasy hamburgers or fried anything. I've even had to adjust some of my routes to avoid these fragrant curses during prime eating hours. And the dumpster truck! When I see one, I turn, whether I break from my route or make it longer. I believe The White Gazelle can attest to this.
My favorite smell, whether running or otherwise, believe it or not, is the smell of roses. I'm sure most, if not all, of my readers know that I'm not the girliest gal out there, but roses provide a refreshing scent that can calm my mind...and stomach.
Next time you work out, or even the next time you simply go outside, try to distinguish as many smells as you can. It could be like bird-watching! Keep notes.
Smell you later.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Self-sufficiency? Yeah, right.
It's been over a year since I've run competitively. And it's been over a year since I have even had a consistent running/workout routine. I used to be so self-disciplined, or so I thought. Maybe I don't give my coaches and teammates enough credit. Sure, it was my choice to stay on the team and therefore get up at the crack of dawn for a workout and then again later in the day. But now that I have no team or coach to report to, I find it that much harder to get up early, to start a daily routine (for more than one week at a time), and to give a 100% effort when I do hit the pavement.
I'm not stupid: I knew this would be the case, as it is for most athletes when they leave the team setting. But it has come to my attention just how important a team can be in the development of an athlete. First of all, the commitment to my fellow runners held me in place. Without knowing that my teammates were nearby, struggling as I was, I wouldn't have lasted long after junior high. And since we were all hurting in our own ways, we could count on each other for encouragement and understanding.
Second of all, until last September, I've always had a coach to push me toward success. Despite minor conflicts and disagreements (and sometimes rude thoughts--in both directions, I'm sure), I owe any success in my past to the determination of my coaches. After all, they were the ones who decided on my workouts, adjusted them as they saw fit, and, for the most part, encouraged me when I sucked.
There are so many things I miss about running for a team: the conversations, motivation, encouragement, the meets, the crowds, bus/van rides, the competition, comradery, ice baths. But mostly--and this is the competitor and pride in me--I miss being a strong runner. I was never the best, but at least I could run three miles in under 23 minutes. At least I could run more than five miles at a time without taking a break.
Boo-hoo, right? I know. I'm not asking for sympathy, but if you're reading this, keep in mind that self-motivation only lasts for so long. Mine died out long before I realized it. As much as we may hate to admit it, we all need someone to cheer for us, to push us, even to criticize us every once in a while--especially for the things we care about most.
Peace out
I'm not stupid: I knew this would be the case, as it is for most athletes when they leave the team setting. But it has come to my attention just how important a team can be in the development of an athlete. First of all, the commitment to my fellow runners held me in place. Without knowing that my teammates were nearby, struggling as I was, I wouldn't have lasted long after junior high. And since we were all hurting in our own ways, we could count on each other for encouragement and understanding.
Second of all, until last September, I've always had a coach to push me toward success. Despite minor conflicts and disagreements (and sometimes rude thoughts--in both directions, I'm sure), I owe any success in my past to the determination of my coaches. After all, they were the ones who decided on my workouts, adjusted them as they saw fit, and, for the most part, encouraged me when I sucked.
There are so many things I miss about running for a team: the conversations, motivation, encouragement, the meets, the crowds, bus/van rides, the competition, comradery, ice baths. But mostly--and this is the competitor and pride in me--I miss being a strong runner. I was never the best, but at least I could run three miles in under 23 minutes. At least I could run more than five miles at a time without taking a break.
Boo-hoo, right? I know. I'm not asking for sympathy, but if you're reading this, keep in mind that self-motivation only lasts for so long. Mine died out long before I realized it. As much as we may hate to admit it, we all need someone to cheer for us, to push us, even to criticize us every once in a while--especially for the things we care about most.
Peace out
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
"More than just okay"
As much as I tried not to complain about speed workouts while running cross country and track, I secretly cursed them in my mind and body. 400m repeats, circuit training, 300m repeats, ladder runs, fartleks, strides. Ugh. But as much as I dreaded these workouts from Hell, I always appreciated them. And now that I've been on my own for almost a year, my appreciation for butt-busting, gut-wrenching, confidence-slapping speed workouts has hit a new high.
For most runners, to be considered a good/strong runner means more than going for a run everyday. For me, averaging twenty-thirty miles a week doesn't cut it (not that I've even met that standard recently). Mileage is the foundation, the base, as my former coach would call it. At some point, though, I have to step outside of my comfort zone, pick up the knees, and drive hard for more than just the home stretch.
Lately, my philosophy has been, "start easy and pick it up later (if you feel like it)." That's crap! That's a good plan for new runners, people just starting to get into a routine. That's a good plan for runners who have taken months or weeks off from running for whatever reasons. I've been running since I was twelve, have never taken more than one full month off from running (and even then I found myself on a bike or in the pool), and I have been running at least weekly since September. It's time for me to man up.
So today I ran a fartlek. I ran a very poor fartlek, but that's beside the point. For those of you who aren't familiar with the term, fartlek simply means alternating between high- and low-intensity intervals. For instance, I began with a three-minute warm-up, which is not a sufficient warm-up, by the way, followed by three minutes at a faster pace, then back to 3 minutes easy. I only completed three sets before I had to cool down, but I guess it's a start.
As I'm recovering from my workout, I'm struggling to put my thoughts into words, but here goes: endurance will get you there, but what if you want to get there well? I would say faster, but then someone will argue that patience is a virtue and that first place is not the most important prize. Anyway, I am not content with simply "getting there;" I want people to know I trained, and I trained with purpose. I want to know in my heart that I did more than just finish; I finished strong.
For most runners, to be considered a good/strong runner means more than going for a run everyday. For me, averaging twenty-thirty miles a week doesn't cut it (not that I've even met that standard recently). Mileage is the foundation, the base, as my former coach would call it. At some point, though, I have to step outside of my comfort zone, pick up the knees, and drive hard for more than just the home stretch.
Lately, my philosophy has been, "start easy and pick it up later (if you feel like it)." That's crap! That's a good plan for new runners, people just starting to get into a routine. That's a good plan for runners who have taken months or weeks off from running for whatever reasons. I've been running since I was twelve, have never taken more than one full month off from running (and even then I found myself on a bike or in the pool), and I have been running at least weekly since September. It's time for me to man up.
So today I ran a fartlek. I ran a very poor fartlek, but that's beside the point. For those of you who aren't familiar with the term, fartlek simply means alternating between high- and low-intensity intervals. For instance, I began with a three-minute warm-up, which is not a sufficient warm-up, by the way, followed by three minutes at a faster pace, then back to 3 minutes easy. I only completed three sets before I had to cool down, but I guess it's a start.
As I'm recovering from my workout, I'm struggling to put my thoughts into words, but here goes: endurance will get you there, but what if you want to get there well? I would say faster, but then someone will argue that patience is a virtue and that first place is not the most important prize. Anyway, I am not content with simply "getting there;" I want people to know I trained, and I trained with purpose. I want to know in my heart that I did more than just finish; I finished strong.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Confessions of a runner: my wall (or at least one of them)
5:30 A.M. run and I haven't met since track season of 2011.
I forgot how beautiful a run before the sunrise can be--no traffic, no irrelevant stoplights, birds singing, and NO SUN. For some reason I can't explain, my mind has been conditioned to believe that the sun is my enemy when running. Whether it's eighty degrees or forty, my body doesn't want to push itself when it faces the sun. I know it's all in my head, but this is an obstacle I haven't been able to overcome since whenever it developed.
Yesterday's run should have been perfect; the sun didn't come out till later in the afternoon, which meant cooler temperatures, though it was pretty humid. Kat and I took off for a five-miler, keeping it easy, and I hadn't skipped a day, so the two-day curse couldn't even apply. Yet I had to stop a couple of times for no apparent reason. Seriously. No apparent reason. I wasn't hurting anymore than I should have been; I didn't feel sick; I wasn't out of breath; I'm not THAT out of shape (though I am pretty out of shape). I just couldn't push myself anymore.
The funny thing is this: we'd turn toward the sun, I'd fall back, lose motivation, sometimes stop for a quick break. Then we would turn away from the sun, maybe find some shade, and I would feel strong enough to push myself harder and try to close the gap. But as soon as we turned back toward the sun, my progress would be erased.
I wouldn't call that run a success. This morning, however, was more enjoyable. Though running in the dark has that I-think-I'm-running-faster-than-I-really-am effect on you, at least I didn't stop for a break or run so slow that I got nothing out of it.
I don't usually like to waste time by rambling, but at least I'm not in the Denial stage anymore.
I forgot how beautiful a run before the sunrise can be--no traffic, no irrelevant stoplights, birds singing, and NO SUN. For some reason I can't explain, my mind has been conditioned to believe that the sun is my enemy when running. Whether it's eighty degrees or forty, my body doesn't want to push itself when it faces the sun. I know it's all in my head, but this is an obstacle I haven't been able to overcome since whenever it developed.
Yesterday's run should have been perfect; the sun didn't come out till later in the afternoon, which meant cooler temperatures, though it was pretty humid. Kat and I took off for a five-miler, keeping it easy, and I hadn't skipped a day, so the two-day curse couldn't even apply. Yet I had to stop a couple of times for no apparent reason. Seriously. No apparent reason. I wasn't hurting anymore than I should have been; I didn't feel sick; I wasn't out of breath; I'm not THAT out of shape (though I am pretty out of shape). I just couldn't push myself anymore.
The funny thing is this: we'd turn toward the sun, I'd fall back, lose motivation, sometimes stop for a quick break. Then we would turn away from the sun, maybe find some shade, and I would feel strong enough to push myself harder and try to close the gap. But as soon as we turned back toward the sun, my progress would be erased.
I wouldn't call that run a success. This morning, however, was more enjoyable. Though running in the dark has that I-think-I'm-running-faster-than-I-really-am effect on you, at least I didn't stop for a break or run so slow that I got nothing out of it.
I don't usually like to waste time by rambling, but at least I'm not in the Denial stage anymore.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
It's the simple things.
Sometimes I resort to cliches when I'm not feeling my most creative. But in the past few days, weeks even, this phrase has held especially true, and there's nothing like an easy twenty-minute run to remind you that it really is the simple things in life that are the most spectacular.
Memories are great, and we usually remember the most significant incidents, the most interesting or complicated events in our lives. But the memories I find the most fascinating are the ones that seem to hold the least value, the stories I would never think to tell because no one would care to hear them.
For instance, one pleasant memory that comes to mind is showering in the locker room after morning practices. The conversations my teammates and I held during those showers are long forgotten, but I can recall the pleasantness of them (We had walls to separate us. Get your mind out of the gutter.). I specifically remember The White Gazelle splashing warm water into my shower stall, which usually only produced cold water and was unbearable during the winter months.
I remember talking about the Power Rangers during a longer easy run my freshman year of high school; getting stung by a bee and exclaiming every profane word in the book right before timing my mile the summer before sophomore year; chasing rabbits on the football field while waiting for my coach to set up the track; shielding ourselves from the sun at track meets while sharing food and discussing Jered's latest shenanigans; people-watching and making friends with other runners whom I would never see again; riding out to practices on country roads at six or seven in the morning in silence with my teammates freshman year of college; watching Youtube videos in the hotel room before Conference.
Even simpler than those are the moments you know you will forget before the end of the run, but are of such significance to you at the time that it's worth sending up a quick praise to the Lord for blessing you with such an opportunity or spasm of joy--the breeze you've been longing for, the hill you just conquered, the old couple taking a walk hand in hand, the beauty of Spring or Autumn, the storm approaching, the kid that tripped over his own feet across the street and looked around to see if anyone noticed, the sweat dripping from your ear lobe or running down your neck.
I don't know about you, but I'm always seeking adventure, looking for a story to tell my friends.However, it's when I stop looking that something finally happens (that's another cliche, isn't it?). What's more, everyone has stories; everyone experiences life in their own ways. But not everyone has silence or a depth of appreciation that reaches further into their souls than the food that reaches their stomachs.
I'll never forget making it to Regionals my senior year of high school. But I'll always cherish the pain that pushed me across the finish line at District just in the nick of time.
Time to re-develop abs of steel.
Memories are great, and we usually remember the most significant incidents, the most interesting or complicated events in our lives. But the memories I find the most fascinating are the ones that seem to hold the least value, the stories I would never think to tell because no one would care to hear them.
For instance, one pleasant memory that comes to mind is showering in the locker room after morning practices. The conversations my teammates and I held during those showers are long forgotten, but I can recall the pleasantness of them (We had walls to separate us. Get your mind out of the gutter.). I specifically remember The White Gazelle splashing warm water into my shower stall, which usually only produced cold water and was unbearable during the winter months.
I remember talking about the Power Rangers during a longer easy run my freshman year of high school; getting stung by a bee and exclaiming every profane word in the book right before timing my mile the summer before sophomore year; chasing rabbits on the football field while waiting for my coach to set up the track; shielding ourselves from the sun at track meets while sharing food and discussing Jered's latest shenanigans; people-watching and making friends with other runners whom I would never see again; riding out to practices on country roads at six or seven in the morning in silence with my teammates freshman year of college; watching Youtube videos in the hotel room before Conference.
Even simpler than those are the moments you know you will forget before the end of the run, but are of such significance to you at the time that it's worth sending up a quick praise to the Lord for blessing you with such an opportunity or spasm of joy--the breeze you've been longing for, the hill you just conquered, the old couple taking a walk hand in hand, the beauty of Spring or Autumn, the storm approaching, the kid that tripped over his own feet across the street and looked around to see if anyone noticed, the sweat dripping from your ear lobe or running down your neck.
I don't know about you, but I'm always seeking adventure, looking for a story to tell my friends.However, it's when I stop looking that something finally happens (that's another cliche, isn't it?). What's more, everyone has stories; everyone experiences life in their own ways. But not everyone has silence or a depth of appreciation that reaches further into their souls than the food that reaches their stomachs.
I'll never forget making it to Regionals my senior year of high school. But I'll always cherish the pain that pushed me across the finish line at District just in the nick of time.
Time to re-develop abs of steel.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The cheapest addiction
To quote a friend and fellow runner, "I WANNA GET HIGH...SO HIGH..WE ARE STILL TALKING ABOUT RUNNING...RIGHT?"
I touched on the idea that running has become a lifestyle in one of my first posts. But it didn't start out that way. And it took reading a friend's blog to remind me of the beginnings of my addiction. That's how it started. I wasn't immediately addicted, but with every run and every accomplishment, I soon became hooked.
Seventh grade: I was introduced. My meager talent allowed me to enjoy what others view as punishment. Some of my friends were on the cross country team; I had the endurance necessary; I wasn't very good, but there was potential.
Eighth grade: I remember sitting on the bus, headed for a meet, the sun setting, and thinking to myself, "I can't wait to get out there." This was the moment I realized I loved running.
Hooked.
High school only further developed my addiction. Soon I was running five days a week, then six, sometimes two-a-days. Getting up for 6 A.M. runs wasn't so difficult back then. It was worth the price, which was sleep and sometimes a social life. What distinctly comes to mind is how I felt if I was prompted to take a week or two off from running, always at the end of each season, after District. I would actually experience withdrawals. Anxiety. Restlessness. Loss of appetite. Irritableness (did I just coin a word?). And nothing was more rewarding, or euphoric, than finally lacing up and taking to the road, the track, the field, the trail, wherever my feet took me.
After years of running, the high I sought and still seek comes less and less. But when I do reach it, I welcome it with open arms. Now that I reflect on my last post, I believe that I reached that high during that run with no destination. I could have continued for miles on end had we not stopped for guidance. It's funny that I didn't recognize the feeling at the time. Or is it sad? How long has it been since I last experienced a runner's high? But I guess that's what I was getting at when I mentioned running is now a lifestyle. It's no longer a drug, but physically part of who I am.
I touched on the idea that running has become a lifestyle in one of my first posts. But it didn't start out that way. And it took reading a friend's blog to remind me of the beginnings of my addiction. That's how it started. I wasn't immediately addicted, but with every run and every accomplishment, I soon became hooked.
Seventh grade: I was introduced. My meager talent allowed me to enjoy what others view as punishment. Some of my friends were on the cross country team; I had the endurance necessary; I wasn't very good, but there was potential.
Eighth grade: I remember sitting on the bus, headed for a meet, the sun setting, and thinking to myself, "I can't wait to get out there." This was the moment I realized I loved running.
Hooked.
High school only further developed my addiction. Soon I was running five days a week, then six, sometimes two-a-days. Getting up for 6 A.M. runs wasn't so difficult back then. It was worth the price, which was sleep and sometimes a social life. What distinctly comes to mind is how I felt if I was prompted to take a week or two off from running, always at the end of each season, after District. I would actually experience withdrawals. Anxiety. Restlessness. Loss of appetite. Irritableness (did I just coin a word?). And nothing was more rewarding, or euphoric, than finally lacing up and taking to the road, the track, the field, the trail, wherever my feet took me.
After years of running, the high I sought and still seek comes less and less. But when I do reach it, I welcome it with open arms. Now that I reflect on my last post, I believe that I reached that high during that run with no destination. I could have continued for miles on end had we not stopped for guidance. It's funny that I didn't recognize the feeling at the time. Or is it sad? How long has it been since I last experienced a runner's high? But I guess that's what I was getting at when I mentioned running is now a lifestyle. It's no longer a drug, but physically part of who I am.
Monday, February 27, 2012
A Runner's Story #4: The beauty of the unknown
Most of the time, when I begin a run, I already have a route in mind. I usually know about how long it is, how long it will take to complete, and exactly where I will be at any given moment. I'm prepared for traffic, picking routes that will keep me away from crowded roads, or well-lit areas if I'm running at night.
Today's run began that way. Kat and I picked a road we are familiar with, one on which we ran often during our cross country days. After fifteen minutes, we decided not to turn around like usual, instead opting to discover where this road eventually leads. By the time we realized where we were headed, an out-and-back was out of the question. So we pressed on. Our next turn took us to another familiar road with another chance for discovery.
What most interests me is how much detail I can remember from this run: the blue-gray sky marked with thick, puffy clouds; the dead armadillo with its blood splattered on the ground and flies enjoying its flesh; the rich green grass that surrounded us on all sides; the horses--some roaming free in their fields, one tied to a pole; the dust and dirt blown into our faces as cars and trucks zoomed by at ungodly speeds.
We ran. We counted sixteen dogs who greeted us as we passed their residence (note: that's 16 dogs, one residence). We ran. We disturbed a chicken/kitten and its neighborly rooster friend. We ran. We invaded a church hosting a Boy Scouts event. We ran.
After a brief break to catch our breaths, we ran some more. I am amazed at how great I felt, considering I hadn't run in six days. Not knowing where I was headed or what I would encounter each moment left me feeling free and exhilarated. This was the most beautiful and relieving run I've been fortunate enough to experience in months, possibly years, though tomorrow morning's run will likely not treat us with as much hospitality.
The road continued.
An encounter with friendly passers-by revealed to us the realization we anticipated: this road will not lead us back to Kat's car. A decision had to be made. By phoning a friend, my beloved Kat and I were blessed with a ride back to our starting line, not the exciting ending a reader would hope for, but certainly pleasant for two runners with miles behind them.
As I reflect on the afternoon's run, I realize this: routes are like routines. We learn to depend on them, thinking they are stone and safe to build on. But it's okay to reroute, to change directions and even your destination. There are so many roads out there, and each holds its own sense of beauty. When you restrict yourself to the familiar, you become blind to the beauty around you. It becomes necessary to seek it out on other roads, if only to remember what beauty really is.
Today's run began that way. Kat and I picked a road we are familiar with, one on which we ran often during our cross country days. After fifteen minutes, we decided not to turn around like usual, instead opting to discover where this road eventually leads. By the time we realized where we were headed, an out-and-back was out of the question. So we pressed on. Our next turn took us to another familiar road with another chance for discovery.
What most interests me is how much detail I can remember from this run: the blue-gray sky marked with thick, puffy clouds; the dead armadillo with its blood splattered on the ground and flies enjoying its flesh; the rich green grass that surrounded us on all sides; the horses--some roaming free in their fields, one tied to a pole; the dust and dirt blown into our faces as cars and trucks zoomed by at ungodly speeds.
We ran. We counted sixteen dogs who greeted us as we passed their residence (note: that's 16 dogs, one residence). We ran. We disturbed a chicken/kitten and its neighborly rooster friend. We ran. We invaded a church hosting a Boy Scouts event. We ran.
After a brief break to catch our breaths, we ran some more. I am amazed at how great I felt, considering I hadn't run in six days. Not knowing where I was headed or what I would encounter each moment left me feeling free and exhilarated. This was the most beautiful and relieving run I've been fortunate enough to experience in months, possibly years, though tomorrow morning's run will likely not treat us with as much hospitality.
The road continued.
An encounter with friendly passers-by revealed to us the realization we anticipated: this road will not lead us back to Kat's car. A decision had to be made. By phoning a friend, my beloved Kat and I were blessed with a ride back to our starting line, not the exciting ending a reader would hope for, but certainly pleasant for two runners with miles behind them.
As I reflect on the afternoon's run, I realize this: routes are like routines. We learn to depend on them, thinking they are stone and safe to build on. But it's okay to reroute, to change directions and even your destination. There are so many roads out there, and each holds its own sense of beauty. When you restrict yourself to the familiar, you become blind to the beauty around you. It becomes necessary to seek it out on other roads, if only to remember what beauty really is.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Ugh
...that moment when you have to audibly tell yourself to "SUCK IT UP!"
You've been there, in that state of mind, pathetic and whiny. You have only one blank box awaiting its check mark for the day, and now is the time to complete the task. Curse words travel through your mind. You call up your buddies, hoping someone will give you an excuse not to physically exert yourself in ANY way; check the forecast-if it's cold and rainy, you're not going; rewrite your "List of things to do today" because it should be prettier; check your body for aches and pains that deserve rest.
Nope.
You slowly arise from the couch, head to the kitchen for hydration, a good excuse to stall. Maybe once you're dressed for the workout it will be easier. Nope. Tie your shoes. Swing your arms to loosen up. Pop your back and neck. Stretch a bit, which ultimately means letting your upper body fall over and hang limply until you decide enough blood has rushed to your head that it's time to straighten up. Don't forget the iPod.
You're ready to go. damn it.
Here it comes, 'cause you know you can't afford to skip another day, another workout. Even though you're convinced that you can live with yourself if you don't go, you know you'll punish yourself later. The Oreos are calling your name.
"Suck it up." Open the door. Step outside. Shut the door. Lock it. Turn and go.
This has NEVER happened to me...
You've been there, in that state of mind, pathetic and whiny. You have only one blank box awaiting its check mark for the day, and now is the time to complete the task. Curse words travel through your mind. You call up your buddies, hoping someone will give you an excuse not to physically exert yourself in ANY way; check the forecast-if it's cold and rainy, you're not going; rewrite your "List of things to do today" because it should be prettier; check your body for aches and pains that deserve rest.
Nope.
You slowly arise from the couch, head to the kitchen for hydration, a good excuse to stall. Maybe once you're dressed for the workout it will be easier. Nope. Tie your shoes. Swing your arms to loosen up. Pop your back and neck. Stretch a bit, which ultimately means letting your upper body fall over and hang limply until you decide enough blood has rushed to your head that it's time to straighten up. Don't forget the iPod.
You're ready to go. damn it.
Here it comes, 'cause you know you can't afford to skip another day, another workout. Even though you're convinced that you can live with yourself if you don't go, you know you'll punish yourself later. The Oreos are calling your name.
"Suck it up." Open the door. Step outside. Shut the door. Lock it. Turn and go.
This has NEVER happened to me...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Conquering hills
I LOVE running hills. You may think I'm crazy, perhaps even demented, but I find a certain thrill in pushing myself against gravity, against comfort, against reason.
Gravity says "conform," that we should all stay in one place, never venturing out, taking no "paths less traveled."
Comfort means not exerting enough energy to excel, endure, strengthen. Any athlete knows that achievements, trophies, improvements cannot be earned by remaining in a state of comfort.
Reason persuades us to accept the impossible, to give in to gravity, to choose comfort over discomfort.
Here's the really sickening part: I enjoy the pain of pressing up an incline, the sweat of exertion. I put my head down, lean forward, stick my elbows out a bit, push off of my toes, and pick my knees up.
My high school coach passed on wise advice; the key to conquering a hill is to maintain your speed and intensity after you've reached the top. He never explained why, but left the logic to each individual runner. My thinking is this: Running at a certain pace UP HILL will always be harder than running at that same pace on a level surface. So if you push yourself up the hill, even keeping at the same pace afterward will still be a relief. So why slow down? (That's a rhetorical question, for you "wise" ones.)
I also LOVE metaphors.
Stay golden, Ponyboy.
Gravity says "conform," that we should all stay in one place, never venturing out, taking no "paths less traveled."
Comfort means not exerting enough energy to excel, endure, strengthen. Any athlete knows that achievements, trophies, improvements cannot be earned by remaining in a state of comfort.
Reason persuades us to accept the impossible, to give in to gravity, to choose comfort over discomfort.
Here's the really sickening part: I enjoy the pain of pressing up an incline, the sweat of exertion. I put my head down, lean forward, stick my elbows out a bit, push off of my toes, and pick my knees up.
My high school coach passed on wise advice; the key to conquering a hill is to maintain your speed and intensity after you've reached the top. He never explained why, but left the logic to each individual runner. My thinking is this: Running at a certain pace UP HILL will always be harder than running at that same pace on a level surface. So if you push yourself up the hill, even keeping at the same pace afterward will still be a relief. So why slow down? (That's a rhetorical question, for you "wise" ones.)
I also LOVE metaphors.
Stay golden, Ponyboy.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Inside out
Running today brought back some memories, and not just because Kat and I revisited an old route we ran with the team back in the day. Admittedly, I have not enforced running hills since I left the cross country team. Sure, I've encountered a hill or two since then, but any runner can tell you that that does not count.
Today's weather could be considered by any runner near-perfect. The sun poked through the clouds a couple of times, the wind finally died down after causing so much commotion yesterday, and we didn't need to layer for cold temperatures nor pray for a cold-front.
It's a shame I refused to enjoy it.
Instead, my weak mind focused on the tightening in my chest, the pain from not running in the past week; later in the run, I began to feel my lunch (don't run too soon after eating); my back and shoulders grew so tense, my arms and legs weak. I could not wait to finish. Here's an interesting side note: during vigorous exercise, as many of you well-know, stopping sometimes hurts worse than continuing. To stop for a break means to stop in order to hurt so bad that you'd rather keep going. My first "break" today was simply to catch my breath (like I said--I'd taken a week off). The second time was due to a potentially vicious dog (turned out to be a coward with a loud bark). Both times were immediately regretted. Persevere.
The pain I endured today was not evidence of progress. It was not punishment for doing wrong. It was a warning, a reminder that taking too much time off has its consequences. Not only will you have lost touch with a part of yourself, but you'll suffer in the process of finding it again.
Good night, Saturday.
Today's weather could be considered by any runner near-perfect. The sun poked through the clouds a couple of times, the wind finally died down after causing so much commotion yesterday, and we didn't need to layer for cold temperatures nor pray for a cold-front.
It's a shame I refused to enjoy it.
Instead, my weak mind focused on the tightening in my chest, the pain from not running in the past week; later in the run, I began to feel my lunch (don't run too soon after eating); my back and shoulders grew so tense, my arms and legs weak. I could not wait to finish. Here's an interesting side note: during vigorous exercise, as many of you well-know, stopping sometimes hurts worse than continuing. To stop for a break means to stop in order to hurt so bad that you'd rather keep going. My first "break" today was simply to catch my breath (like I said--I'd taken a week off). The second time was due to a potentially vicious dog (turned out to be a coward with a loud bark). Both times were immediately regretted. Persevere.
The pain I endured today was not evidence of progress. It was not punishment for doing wrong. It was a warning, a reminder that taking too much time off has its consequences. Not only will you have lost touch with a part of yourself, but you'll suffer in the process of finding it again.
Good night, Saturday.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Numb
Contrary to this blog's title, sometimes it's necessary to feel nothing at all (even if it isn't necessary, it still may happen). Just about everyone can relate to losing feeling in their hands or face in extremely cold weather. This is quite similar.
At first, you may feel some discomfort. Then the pain sets in. You may even feel a tingling in your hands and feet. Then, nothing. All feeling is gone; you're there, but if you lost sight, you wouldn't believe it.
I experienced this numbness a couple of days ago. Of course, it was also chilly outside, so not only did I experience two different kinds of pain, but also two different kinds of numb. However, numb is numb. You cannot distinguish between the numbness brought on by the cold air from that of a hard workout. Anyway, I had just finished a nice, semi-intense run with a friend. I decided to add a mile-and-a-half near-sprint to my apartment. My legs grew tired, and my hands became stiff. Soon enough, my entire body was in agony. Until it wasn't anymore. I'm not saying this is necessarily a good thing, but it certainly doesn't have to be a bad thing. When this happens, one should take advantage. Since I had no feeling, I was able to push myself harder, finishing strong instead of giving in to "good sense."
By the way, just like warming up after sitting in below-freezing temperatures at a football game, regaining feeling after a hard, numbing workout can be painful, too. Muscles feel tight and need immediate stretching; headaches are common; and your legs may become like spaghetti suddenly, even though they felt fine on the run.
For every positive, there is a negative. It's up to us to rig the scale that weighs them.
Later
At first, you may feel some discomfort. Then the pain sets in. You may even feel a tingling in your hands and feet. Then, nothing. All feeling is gone; you're there, but if you lost sight, you wouldn't believe it.
I experienced this numbness a couple of days ago. Of course, it was also chilly outside, so not only did I experience two different kinds of pain, but also two different kinds of numb. However, numb is numb. You cannot distinguish between the numbness brought on by the cold air from that of a hard workout. Anyway, I had just finished a nice, semi-intense run with a friend. I decided to add a mile-and-a-half near-sprint to my apartment. My legs grew tired, and my hands became stiff. Soon enough, my entire body was in agony. Until it wasn't anymore. I'm not saying this is necessarily a good thing, but it certainly doesn't have to be a bad thing. When this happens, one should take advantage. Since I had no feeling, I was able to push myself harder, finishing strong instead of giving in to "good sense."
By the way, just like warming up after sitting in below-freezing temperatures at a football game, regaining feeling after a hard, numbing workout can be painful, too. Muscles feel tight and need immediate stretching; headaches are common; and your legs may become like spaghetti suddenly, even though they felt fine on the run.
For every positive, there is a negative. It's up to us to rig the scale that weighs them.
Later
Friday, January 13, 2012
No such thing as "for nothing"
Today's run wasn't satisfying. Not because I didn't run far enough, long enough, fast enough. Not because I was bored or out of shape or dehydrated after drinking absolutely no water all day (whoops). It didn't leave me with a refreshing sense of accomplishment; a better mood after a dull (and then disappointing) day; or a clear head, free of stressful thoughts and irritation.
No; even a good run can't always cure a poor attitude, though it usually does for me. It doesn't always benefit to go for a relaxing run during the warmest part of a cold, winter day, with some of your favorite music blasting in your ears.
Though I'll try to forget about this less-than-encouraging outing, on some level, I believe it served a purpose. I can assume it had some effect on my body, even though I feel no stronger or weaker. It may have even affected my mentality in a way even I can't observe. I might have learned something on this run that will guide me during another, but I've no clue as to what sort of knowledge I may or may not have gained. Perhaps someone saw me on the road and received the inspiration they've been longing for. I could have stepped on a bug that either was in misery and awaiting death or was on a killing spree and needed to be stopped.
The point is this: whether negative or positive, my actions had some effect--on someone, something, the world, the universe, life...Don't worry; I've got too many tattoos to be a hippie. I may never know what was gained or lost because of it, but I take comfort in knowing it wasn't for nothing (that and the idea that a deer may have seen me and thought, "how peculiar").
peace
No; even a good run can't always cure a poor attitude, though it usually does for me. It doesn't always benefit to go for a relaxing run during the warmest part of a cold, winter day, with some of your favorite music blasting in your ears.
Though I'll try to forget about this less-than-encouraging outing, on some level, I believe it served a purpose. I can assume it had some effect on my body, even though I feel no stronger or weaker. It may have even affected my mentality in a way even I can't observe. I might have learned something on this run that will guide me during another, but I've no clue as to what sort of knowledge I may or may not have gained. Perhaps someone saw me on the road and received the inspiration they've been longing for. I could have stepped on a bug that either was in misery and awaiting death or was on a killing spree and needed to be stopped.
The point is this: whether negative or positive, my actions had some effect--on someone, something, the world, the universe, life...Don't worry; I've got too many tattoos to be a hippie. I may never know what was gained or lost because of it, but I take comfort in knowing it wasn't for nothing (that and the idea that a deer may have seen me and thought, "how peculiar").
peace
Monday, January 2, 2012
Cliche?
Newly developed blisters on at least four toes; side stitches stretching about 3 inches on either side of the torso; hips in need of replacement; on-comings of a recurring injury. One run.
Kat Grillo pushed me to my limits tonight. Gotta love her for it. Or is it hate? Needless to say, I hurt. But what is exercise without pain? What is cardio without struggling lungs? What is a workout without sweat?
Without a few up-hills, racing cars across the street, brick roads that make your feet scream, maybe a rabid dog or raccoon to keep you on your toes, running just isn't worth the time. Every step makes you a little bit stronger. And every road has a different story for you to pass on. So keep your eyes open, even if that drop of sweat threatens to obscure your vision. Who knows--maybe it will give you an interesting perspective.
Happy struggles!
Kat Grillo pushed me to my limits tonight. Gotta love her for it. Or is it hate? Needless to say, I hurt. But what is exercise without pain? What is cardio without struggling lungs? What is a workout without sweat?
Without a few up-hills, racing cars across the street, brick roads that make your feet scream, maybe a rabid dog or raccoon to keep you on your toes, running just isn't worth the time. Every step makes you a little bit stronger. And every road has a different story for you to pass on. So keep your eyes open, even if that drop of sweat threatens to obscure your vision. Who knows--maybe it will give you an interesting perspective.
Happy struggles!
Running off the night before
I ran tonight to clear my head. It must have worked because I just stared at a blank page for five minutes before typing anything, and I've already erased line after line, not sure what I want to get out of this sitting. This is what I was left with:
Calories are evil. (I know I'm not fat; just run with me for a minute.) When we run, work out, do anything active, we're burning calories, working off those guilty pleasures. Every bead of sweat represents your momentary weakness from the night before: a piece of cake after a full meal that left you breathing heavy; the last bite of that chicken alfredo you just couldn't say no to; the third or fourth or fifth shot of whiskey you don't even remember taking.
What do we do about that piece of cake? We run it off (or whatever form of exercise you choose). Or we contribute to obesity. (That was a joke. Please don't take offense.)
That's not the end of my thought.
Aren't calories like the evils of the world? Do you see it? Do you like metaphors? If only we could run off those regrets that linger in the backs of our heads. All the lies ever told, all the judgments ever passed, all the broken promises and disappointments, poor timings and bad thoughts, torn friendships, ugly looks, unnecessary arguments, bottled-up thoughts.
However, in most cases, it's to my understanding that these "calories" can only be removed by two or more people, not one. An evil is only removed when the evil-doer repents and the evil-receiver forgives. Teamwork.
Now let's turn it around. What if real calories could only be removed that way? I might actually be fat, considering how often I work out or run on my own.
Food for thought.
Calories are evil. (I know I'm not fat; just run with me for a minute.) When we run, work out, do anything active, we're burning calories, working off those guilty pleasures. Every bead of sweat represents your momentary weakness from the night before: a piece of cake after a full meal that left you breathing heavy; the last bite of that chicken alfredo you just couldn't say no to; the third or fourth or fifth shot of whiskey you don't even remember taking.
What do we do about that piece of cake? We run it off (or whatever form of exercise you choose). Or we contribute to obesity. (That was a joke. Please don't take offense.)
That's not the end of my thought.
Aren't calories like the evils of the world? Do you see it? Do you like metaphors? If only we could run off those regrets that linger in the backs of our heads. All the lies ever told, all the judgments ever passed, all the broken promises and disappointments, poor timings and bad thoughts, torn friendships, ugly looks, unnecessary arguments, bottled-up thoughts.
However, in most cases, it's to my understanding that these "calories" can only be removed by two or more people, not one. An evil is only removed when the evil-doer repents and the evil-receiver forgives. Teamwork.
Now let's turn it around. What if real calories could only be removed that way? I might actually be fat, considering how often I work out or run on my own.
Food for thought.
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