I sometimes curse my running career because I didn't turn out to be the runner I wanted to be. I get angry when thinking about the races I choked in and the times I unraveled in front of total strangers. They had no idea how I trained or how hard I tried every day I was out on the run. But as soon as I calm down just a little, I realize all the things that I should be grateful for because of running. I have seen some beautiful sunrises and sunsets, sometimes on the same day. I have felt the joy of a cold rain on a warm day. I have felt the sun on my back and the wind on my face. I have glided down the road and trampled through a trail or two. I remember the first time I really felt like a runner. It was a Sunday afternoon in southern Indiana, before me I had one hundred and twenty minutes of running. I still couldn't understand why people enjoyed running even with running 60 or 70 miles a week at that time. I took off running, feeling the same awkwardness that I had felt before. After ten minutes I finally put it on autopilot and felt for the first time what many people know as a runner's high. The feeling lasted the rest of the run. I came up on the last hill on the dirt road and began sprinting. I ran to my truck and immediately put my hands on my knees looking at my legs. My legs thought that they were still running. My skin was covered in dried sweat and dust from the road as the warm sun shined on my back as it began to hide over the horizon. I was a runner from that day forward.
On another run I had began to doubt why I ran. Everything in my life was going wrong and it seemed that I could do nothing right. I was angry at the world and hadn't smiled in what seemed years. I went out for a fast run. I had planned on doing 6 but when I got out there I decided in route to run 10. When I hit the 3 mile mark I was feeling pretty bad then I felt something cold hit my face. It was only one or two drops that I felt on my face on the blistering hot summer afternoon. Then it poured down. It was so heavy that I could barely see in front of me. The road was nothing but mud in front of me. I cracked a small smile and then busted out laughing. For the rest of the run I was smiling, even though the rain stopped and the heat came back (and I was muddy). I felt like crap, but that smile made me feel so good.
I guess I am happy that I had the chance to see all the stuff that I have seen on my runs, whether it was the cougar and her cub or even running up to two crackheads dealing meth out in the country. Maybe it was being chased by wild turkeys or seeing a pack of coyotes in the middle of the day. It could have been the time I seen wild goats run out in front of me on the road or the wild boar that didn't want to waste energy chasing me. It might have been the first time that I realized that racism was a real problem when some hillbillies decided to scream profanities at my friend. It could have been the friends I made and the friends I lost out on the run. But I am almost certain that it was the way I found myself and thought over all of my problems on those long Saturday and Sunday runs.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thoughts from the Road
I hadn't been on the road for months. I missed the road dearly. Every time I looked out a window I could hear the road calling out to me, simply saying, "Run... Run..." It took all of my weak heart not to go out on that inviting road and run away my problems. It was how I dealt with the majority of my problems. An alcoholic would drink, a drug addict would shoot up, a glutton would eat, I ran. The winter air had crept on me. I was getting weak and strong at the same time. I did cross training that kept my fitness up, but I started to doubt if I would still run as if I had no limitations, no boundaries. I bundled up in three layers, for it was only 15 degrees outside. I sat and stared at my shoes, thinking of how they represented my running life; old, worn, and seasoned. They would definitely be getting those last few miles in them today. I realized these shoes had never been worn by another soul in their entire existence; I tied them tight. I walked to the door. It was still early; the sun was rising but did nothing to stop the bitter coldness from hitting every piece of exposed skin. A new layer of snow was on the ground as more gently fell from the sky. I breathed in the cold winter air and smiled. I started my run; tired, cold, stiff, and grumpy. My body seemed to remember every injury I had collected over the years. I smiled simply because I could run again. There was complete silence out there, other than the crunch of snow and my heavy breathing there was nothing else. I focused, remembering all the miles from the past and the trials I had been through and simply ran. Six minute pace. I had tried to explain it to my friends why I ran, but they will never understand the simplest reasons why a runner runs. They will never understand why a runner would get up early on a day off from work to run for three hours. They will never understand why someone would pay money to run down a road with people you may not even know. They will never understand the camaraderie that is represented from a simple head nod in mid-stride. Most importantly they will never understand the soft crunch of snow.
Friday, August 22, 2008
A Great Accomplishment
So, I had fell from where I had previously been in my "running" life. At one time I was a college cross country and 10,000 meter running on the track. At another junction I was an ultra runner hitting over 60 miles on Saturdays and Sundays. At another time I was just a guy running. But now I am learning to run all over again. I had my first big break through. I was struggling to run for 30 minutes and couldn't get past it in my mind. Finally on a cool summer evening I ran for an hour, raking in only 8 miles. It was slow, tiring, and felt weird... but I ran it without stopping. I took a couple days off so I wouldn't burn myself out. When I started to run again I went 6 miles for three days in a row. Each run was at 43 minutes to 45 minutes. Once again, not fast compared to my college running days but starting over takes some time. I hope to eventually get back down to a 34 minute 10km and around 57 minute 10 miler. That will take a long time but at least it gives me some direction to had towards. All I know is that right now I have to take baby steps towards running because I probably could do about a 20 minute 5km being rested. Those three days of running are a big acomplishment to me, more so than when I ran my first three hour run, more than my first sub 5 minute mile, more than my first sub 60 minute 10 miler.
It has given me some hope that I can transfrom back into the runner that I use to be. It gives me the hope that I can still compete in a serious race or two. I just want to get back to that feeling of being a good runner. Having the long hair and long beard, skinny and tan, and running in just my short shorts... not caring what the world thought of me.
It has given me some hope that I can transfrom back into the runner that I use to be. It gives me the hope that I can still compete in a serious race or two. I just want to get back to that feeling of being a good runner. Having the long hair and long beard, skinny and tan, and running in just my short shorts... not caring what the world thought of me.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
I was a Runner
Whenever my addiction was at its most intense, I was only filled with focus to complete that next run. It devoured my entire mind. At least when I ran I forgot about her. I suppose the fact that so much suffering was involved with long distance running is what really drew me towards running. She was a stained memory on my heart, someone I would never forget. I knew the first time our eyes met that we were meant to be together.
Sometimes no matter how much two people want to be together or were suppose to be together it just doesn’t work out. As her and I drifted apart I knew it was my responsibility to end it. When she was really gone from my life I ran more than ever. I was running near 100 miles a week and getting long runs over 20 miles. It wasn’t enough most of the time, but I couldn’t go further without hurting my chances at my actual races, 8k and 10k.
As my college career ended with a very disappointing race I had to move onward. I was done in college, but still needed running. I moved on to ultra running. I started up slowly, mostly trail runs at 7 minute pace. I eventually worked up to 35 mile runs at 6:30 to 6:50 mile pace. I would run 25 miles on Saturday and 35 miles on Sunday. I was obsessed with running. As my 50 miler approached I backed off training a little bit but suddenly realized that I wasn’t going to make it. I had to work 40 hours over the course of three days and one of those days was my race. It didn’t discourage me, I knew that I would have completed it. I never pushed my body all the way to the edge as I did when I was in college but I knew that I could make 15 more miles at a little slower pace.
I reflected many times when I was running of past pains that I had experienced. I remember running on a stress fracture in my tibia and thinking it was shin splints. I remember walking a mile and a half on a broken ankle. I remember all the bruised arches, runner’s knee, and tight ITB. I remember pushing my body so hard that my nose started to bleed, that my eyes would tear up, and my legs collapsed from pure exhaustion. I remember the first time I ran 25 miles and that feeling of the run pulsating through my bones and how badly it ached. I remember all the hills, all the flat open roads. I remember all the mile repeats, all the 400 meter repeats, and all the 1000 meter repeats. The things my feeble body has been through makes me think of what a man with a stronger mind could go through.
I think some of the greatest compliments I have ever received was when my college coach told me he wished he could put my heart in other runners. Another was when my assistant coach told me that running as hard as what I did was noble. What I really thought when my assistant coach told me that was that I never thought I ran hard enough. I guess that was my curse, I never thought I tried hard enough.
So the years passed and my mindset remained the same, but I fell from the runner that I was. I was a runner in my past, I would like to think that I still was, but I wasn’t. I worked too much and became lazy. I was still in good enough shape that I was better than a non runner. My two mile time fell from around 10:20 in high school to 13:30 to were I was. I remember when I could run 10 miles under an hour, run a 10k in 34:00 minutes.
I so badly want to return to be the same runner that I was, but starting again is so hard. It’s the fact that I know what a 10:20 feels like, what a 34:00 feels like, that makes it so hard to start again. I do know one thing though, I will return to be the runner I once was, to be the guy who ran only to run harder, ran to see when if my body would give out before my mind, ran to forget the past. I put a challenge out to all the former runners out there; start again, feel that feeling of gliding down a road, floating up a hill, forgetting about the past.
Sometimes no matter how much two people want to be together or were suppose to be together it just doesn’t work out. As her and I drifted apart I knew it was my responsibility to end it. When she was really gone from my life I ran more than ever. I was running near 100 miles a week and getting long runs over 20 miles. It wasn’t enough most of the time, but I couldn’t go further without hurting my chances at my actual races, 8k and 10k.
As my college career ended with a very disappointing race I had to move onward. I was done in college, but still needed running. I moved on to ultra running. I started up slowly, mostly trail runs at 7 minute pace. I eventually worked up to 35 mile runs at 6:30 to 6:50 mile pace. I would run 25 miles on Saturday and 35 miles on Sunday. I was obsessed with running. As my 50 miler approached I backed off training a little bit but suddenly realized that I wasn’t going to make it. I had to work 40 hours over the course of three days and one of those days was my race. It didn’t discourage me, I knew that I would have completed it. I never pushed my body all the way to the edge as I did when I was in college but I knew that I could make 15 more miles at a little slower pace.
I reflected many times when I was running of past pains that I had experienced. I remember running on a stress fracture in my tibia and thinking it was shin splints. I remember walking a mile and a half on a broken ankle. I remember all the bruised arches, runner’s knee, and tight ITB. I remember pushing my body so hard that my nose started to bleed, that my eyes would tear up, and my legs collapsed from pure exhaustion. I remember the first time I ran 25 miles and that feeling of the run pulsating through my bones and how badly it ached. I remember all the hills, all the flat open roads. I remember all the mile repeats, all the 400 meter repeats, and all the 1000 meter repeats. The things my feeble body has been through makes me think of what a man with a stronger mind could go through.
I think some of the greatest compliments I have ever received was when my college coach told me he wished he could put my heart in other runners. Another was when my assistant coach told me that running as hard as what I did was noble. What I really thought when my assistant coach told me that was that I never thought I ran hard enough. I guess that was my curse, I never thought I tried hard enough.
So the years passed and my mindset remained the same, but I fell from the runner that I was. I was a runner in my past, I would like to think that I still was, but I wasn’t. I worked too much and became lazy. I was still in good enough shape that I was better than a non runner. My two mile time fell from around 10:20 in high school to 13:30 to were I was. I remember when I could run 10 miles under an hour, run a 10k in 34:00 minutes.
I so badly want to return to be the same runner that I was, but starting again is so hard. It’s the fact that I know what a 10:20 feels like, what a 34:00 feels like, that makes it so hard to start again. I do know one thing though, I will return to be the runner I once was, to be the guy who ran only to run harder, ran to see when if my body would give out before my mind, ran to forget the past. I put a challenge out to all the former runners out there; start again, feel that feeling of gliding down a road, floating up a hill, forgetting about the past.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Running The B Team: The Heart Between My Shoulders
I used to think that the will to win was enough, that talent was a myth meant for books. I thought my body was capable of anything I tried. I was wrong. Sure God gave me the desire to win, but not the speed, He gave me the endurance but not the stomach, He gave me the will to press on when all roads looked gloomy, but not the talent. On some of my more upsetting runs I would scream out to Him asking why I can’t be great when I gave it all I had every time. I would hear nothing in return, just a hollow wind coming from the empty fields around me. I would reach the top of large hills and look into the distance hoping that maybe he would give me a sign of hope. I would get tired of looking and demand that he tell me in words whatever it was I wanted to hear. I knew one thing for sure, God gave every other runner two legs, two arms, one brain, and one heart. God gave more talent to some of those legs and less to others. The one thing He gave to me more than anyone else was more heart. When you have heart you think anything is possible, that mountains and storms will move from your way because you are willing to endure anything to achieve your goals. Well, they don’t move and neither do I. I’ve always heard that I had a big heart, that I was dedicated to whatever I tried, more determination than any normal man had, and I always looked at the best things in life. But none of that matters whenever you race against talent. Talent has a smug way of telling you that you aren’t the best because of the hard training or the simple things you have to give up, but because it is winning. Talent loves to be the best, to raise a finger after winning a race to say that your number one. Talent hates the runner who has none and tries anyways. Talent laughs in your face as they glide past you. Talent makes winners out of real losers. Talent makes people who otherwise wouldn’t care and beat the others who only train to win. So I guess you could say, talent hates me.
During my long runs I ran in a place I called the Pits, or to many others the river bottoms. I ran these ones alone. The worst place for me to be was alone, because I had time to think about myself other than carrying on a conversation or keeping a steady pace with others. This is what I believe every runner goes through sometime in their life. The old dirt roads always called my name as my foot grazed the ground. I always seemed to hear one thing from the road, that was “Faster.” Nothing else, just faster. So I did as I was told and ran faster. Tears rolled down my cheek as I ran as hard as my body would let me. Blood sometimes would gush from my nose as I pushed the physical construct of my body. Sweat would fly as my arms would stiffly swing. All this time wasted on a false dream, a fictitious hope, unproductive miles. All I wanted to do was give up. Sure I have given four years of my life to racing and seven years to running, but none of that mattered. I no longer wanted to known as a runner. I knew I could handle high mileage weeks and tough speed sessions, but I never seen it taking me anywhere. I was a nobody trying to act as a hero. My time was up. I was no longer a runner, just a man.
In dark times the Lord knows how to make you feel better than you started off at and, of course, I continued to run, like an idiot, and hoped for the best. The heart between my shoulders helped me run through the pain once again and for that I thank it, I thank God, and I thank my training partners. Without these I never would have continued to run.
Was I meant to go on though? All this time I had dreamed of something and pushed the other way. I never gained anymore respect than when I started. People still laughed at me when I ran, still called me names. If this was anything it was torment, I mean I had more respect when I lifted weights. At least then people knew what I was capable of, so they didn’t taunt me. Even though lifting made me feel like I was a big idiot who only knew how to lift, I was respected. But I never did need respect, at least not from others. All I needed was the feeling of completeness, the warm feeling in my heart. I only sought after respect from certain people, people I cared for. It was the only way I knew how to run my best time.
During my long runs I ran in a place I called the Pits, or to many others the river bottoms. I ran these ones alone. The worst place for me to be was alone, because I had time to think about myself other than carrying on a conversation or keeping a steady pace with others. This is what I believe every runner goes through sometime in their life. The old dirt roads always called my name as my foot grazed the ground. I always seemed to hear one thing from the road, that was “Faster.” Nothing else, just faster. So I did as I was told and ran faster. Tears rolled down my cheek as I ran as hard as my body would let me. Blood sometimes would gush from my nose as I pushed the physical construct of my body. Sweat would fly as my arms would stiffly swing. All this time wasted on a false dream, a fictitious hope, unproductive miles. All I wanted to do was give up. Sure I have given four years of my life to racing and seven years to running, but none of that mattered. I no longer wanted to known as a runner. I knew I could handle high mileage weeks and tough speed sessions, but I never seen it taking me anywhere. I was a nobody trying to act as a hero. My time was up. I was no longer a runner, just a man.
In dark times the Lord knows how to make you feel better than you started off at and, of course, I continued to run, like an idiot, and hoped for the best. The heart between my shoulders helped me run through the pain once again and for that I thank it, I thank God, and I thank my training partners. Without these I never would have continued to run.
Was I meant to go on though? All this time I had dreamed of something and pushed the other way. I never gained anymore respect than when I started. People still laughed at me when I ran, still called me names. If this was anything it was torment, I mean I had more respect when I lifted weights. At least then people knew what I was capable of, so they didn’t taunt me. Even though lifting made me feel like I was a big idiot who only knew how to lift, I was respected. But I never did need respect, at least not from others. All I needed was the feeling of completeness, the warm feeling in my heart. I only sought after respect from certain people, people I cared for. It was the only way I knew how to run my best time.
Running the B Team: Running Scared
Life sometimes has a funny way to make you think of the obvious. All my life I had been racing as though I was on another training run, just another tempo, no worries. This was wrong, I had to understand that when it was time to race, I had to perform better than all the long training runs. I found the true meaning on how to race on a lonely day when all I had was my thoughts to keep me company, I had to run scared. Racing in fear that my competition might find out the horrible high school career I had. Fearing that they might discover that I choke under pressure. But the greatest fear was the fear that this might be my last race. To me nothing was a certainty, injuries proved this to me. It wasn’t the ITB syndrome, or the runners knee, or even the stress fracture, it didn’t occur to me when I had the arch problems either. The thought of me not succeeding hit me when I sprained my ankle. One of the most simple injuries to have happened to you. It didn’t require intensive sessions with athletic trainers or doctors. It didn’t require special medication. All it required was the basics; RICE. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation. Of course more was required than just that, like flexibility, strength, and range of motion, but that is post swelling. Not my heart, my mind, or my strength could function normally for a while. I couldn’t run, barely walk, and I had no desire to. I was still the same guy that wanted to go all out on every run, I just didn’t see any reason to, everyone was telling me I had to take it easy, not to get burned out. But taking it easy wasn’t something my body understood, I had to go all out every time or I felt, well, guilty.
This injury showed me just how easily all your hard work can be taken away from you. All the eighty to one hundred mile weeks, all the early mornings waking at five to get at practice at time, all sweat lost from pushing my body to the limits, all races I’ve choked in, and all the people I knew thought I was a loser. Just another kid who didn’t train hard enough, another wannabe, another nobody, another face in the crowd. That was not who I wanted to be or who I was meant to be. Delicate issues control the lives of some men, but to me it was nothing. I had to run scared, I had to prove to all the skeptics that I could become the person I told them I could be. To run with my heart open and my mind free was something that I had to let go. From this point on I had to focus on all of my goals, not letting one detail pass my eye. I was the runner that should have gave up long ago, but never really could because I had no choice. The road was calling my name.
This injury showed me just how easily all your hard work can be taken away from you. All the eighty to one hundred mile weeks, all the early mornings waking at five to get at practice at time, all sweat lost from pushing my body to the limits, all races I’ve choked in, and all the people I knew thought I was a loser. Just another kid who didn’t train hard enough, another wannabe, another nobody, another face in the crowd. That was not who I wanted to be or who I was meant to be. Delicate issues control the lives of some men, but to me it was nothing. I had to run scared, I had to prove to all the skeptics that I could become the person I told them I could be. To run with my heart open and my mind free was something that I had to let go. From this point on I had to focus on all of my goals, not letting one detail pass my eye. I was the runner that should have gave up long ago, but never really could because I had no choice. The road was calling my name.
Running the B Team: Meeting the Team
As all of the distance guys lined up to listen to Coach, I remember the heat of the sun beating down on all of us even though it was sixty-five degrees outside. But that didn’t matter now I had one thing on my mind, the ten 400 meter repeats set before me. Coach spoke up, “Ok guys, we are doing ten 400s, with 200 meter jogs in between for recovery. I want the guys who finish last to catch up with the leaders by the time you hit the next start mark Now the pace is going to be between 65-70 for the A team and 75-80 seconds for the B team. Now the B team will always be chasing down the A team in everything. That gap will always remain. The B team will always be trying harder to catch the A team.”
Those words remained in my head, I knew I was not A team material at the time, just coming off an injury and not running for several months, but I also knew I was better than B team material. I had too much heart and too little talent. As each 400 progressed I slowly faded further from the A team, and as I ran the last few with the slower guys, I knew that I had given it my all. I felt like crying, but I knew that wasn’t going to make me any faster, so I focused. Sure all of you want to hear a success story, that I ran with the A team and beat all of them on the last one, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that I gave it all of my heart and I still finished at the back, just another face in the crowd. And that is when I shined the most because I had the heart to keep going, the courage to face another day of running, even though running made me feel bad about myself because of the performances.
Several months earlier was the beginning of my collegiate running experience you could say. I was still unsure on how well I could perform. Sure, I ran during the summer, probably not as much as I should have but I still ran, probably 45 mile weeks. But I was still not sure what kind of times to be expecting. I had been emailing a coach at Vincennes University in regards to running cross country and track. I figured I still had some racing to complete from high school. He emailed me back telling me what kind of workouts I should be doing and how far everyday, just the basics. Well towards the beginning of August I received a letter that told me that the coach of the college quit and that we should continue running on our own.
This was a blow to my self esteem. Not once in my life had I had a real coach. By real I mean professional coach. So it seemed that every time I tried to get help from professionals they would be unavailable. But as the letter read I made sure I showed up on Saturday morning on time, hoping that the mess would be worked out. Well to my dismay only two other guys showed up. One of the two was a guy from a local high school, the other was a guy from Kentucky. As we waited around hoping that someone would show up we were pretty quiet, keeping to ourselves. We sat on the track bleachers for ten minutes after eight and no one showed up. So we ran. It was our first run together. We went for forty-five minutes. The pace didn’t seem fast at all, but something inside me slowed me down and I finished a disappointing minute behind C. and B. It was a blow to my psyche finishing that far behind them on an easy run. The runs continued on like that for a while. Every once in a while I would have an alright run and finish strong. After a few weeks a couple other guys that were suppose to run on the team showed up, E. and BB. During those first couple months I sadly knew what the back of each one of my teammates looked like. That really made me want to be better, so with the mindset I have I tried harder. I put myself through so much pain that giving up would have been an ignorant mistake. As each of my runs intensified I began to have more pain in my right knee. That pain ended up being quadricep tendonitis. From then on I had to wear a band around my knee until the pain went away. Well the pain never really went away, not until about two months of training past. After it went away I started training even harder than before. I would use every run like a tempo run, no matter the length.
After doing this intense training for a while I started to have pain in my lower leg, not bad at first. But after each run it became worse. Every time I embarked upon a run my self-esteem seemed to be shot down as I couldn’t run any faster. These runs I ran by myself, totally alone. Sometimes I ran at home in the country, going down roads that cars rarely visited. On my longer runs of up to two hours I would see maybe two or three cars at the most. So I of course had a lot of time to think as I ran silently down the old dirt roads. I remember seeing the frost of my breath as I ran, I remembered the cold. In a sense it reminded me of myself and how I had to become heartless so I would not feel any pain. Simply put it, I ignored the pain. I ran through it.
Each workout I hid the pain from my coach, trying to walk as normal as possible when seen by other people. I never wanted anyone else to see me struggling to walk up a set of stairs or limping towards a classroom. It wasn’t in my nature to show my weaknesses. The pain in my lower right leg that I thought was shin splints never went away, not with ice, or compression, or pain killers. It kept growing even to the point were pressing a gas pedal in a vehicle was a painful task.
I never had shin splints in my life so I thought the pain in my leg was shin splints, sure people told me about shin splints and how bad they hurt, but this felt horrible, it felt almost like it was in the bone. And that was what it was, a stress reaction in my tibia, not a full fracture, but something to get me off my feet for six months. It would have been a lot shorter time but everytime I tried to run again the pain came back. Six months is a long time to think about if it is really worth going on in running. Six months gives you plenty time to think about why you should give up. Six months is also a long time listening to people telling you to give up, saying that if your going to be hurt then you shouldn’t run. Well, I listened to my voice during those six months. I never hit the road once, I did stationary bike workouts to an endless possibility, treading water in a pool for dozens of hours, and the days off. The days off are what got to me the fastest. I would look out a window and see the road calling my name, I would notice hills and think to myself that running up it would be a dream. I would see snow lightly falling, covering the ground in a pure white. I remember running during the snow from the year before. Heavy panting as I would try to breath down the cool air, the silence as snow drifted to the ground. And the crunching of my footsteps against the freshly landed snow. That is what I missed, that is what made me want to quit, to give up all my dreams and just stop running all together. I wasn’t a runner, I was too heavy according to some, especially in the upper body. And as I continued to cross train from my injury I gained weight because I also lifted weights. As the winter months continued I weighed in at 165 pounds, not too heavy for an average guy, but the only catch was that I was 5 foot 7 inches tall. Most other runner my size weighed around 130 pounds or less. I was too heavy. Not only was I too heavy I was also told I was built like a wrestler. I had a barrel chest and powerful arms, something that most runners don’t want or need. The reason I was built like this was because of my previous dreams of going the Army and going Special Forces the reasons why I didn’t at the time are a whole other story, maybe for a later chapter. My stride was short and inefficient because of short legs. My arms could never find a comfortable position. And of course when I ran my head tilted towards the left. So I had bad form, no physical characteristics of a runner, and wanted a job that included more rucking than running. Some would say the odds were against me at first glance. But at a deeper view I had the type of personality were I didn’t want to give up on anything, I had extremely strong muscles, and I wanted to prove everyone that thought I couldn’t be great wrong. I needed to become better. I had no other choice.
Giving up is something I had never done in my life and I didn’t plan on doing it at this point either. So I pushed on. I started running again, slowly, but it was running. My runs were short and very low intensity. My “speed work” wasn’t really speed work. My long runs were only 45 minutes, which isn’t very far for me. And my mind still didn’t want to become better. Even with all this pressure, I was still running. Something that I had given up for half a year. When I started running again I ran alone. Something that is hard whenever everyone else is training with each other progressively becoming better. I was basically jogging for about two months.
Slowly but surely the intensity became faster and the mileage increased. From the beginning of summer I started running further, faster. My mileage went from forty mile weeks to seventy-five mile weeks in time. My long runs were reaching two hours long and my speed work really felt like speed work. I felt like a runner, a real runner.
Those words remained in my head, I knew I was not A team material at the time, just coming off an injury and not running for several months, but I also knew I was better than B team material. I had too much heart and too little talent. As each 400 progressed I slowly faded further from the A team, and as I ran the last few with the slower guys, I knew that I had given it my all. I felt like crying, but I knew that wasn’t going to make me any faster, so I focused. Sure all of you want to hear a success story, that I ran with the A team and beat all of them on the last one, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that I gave it all of my heart and I still finished at the back, just another face in the crowd. And that is when I shined the most because I had the heart to keep going, the courage to face another day of running, even though running made me feel bad about myself because of the performances.
Several months earlier was the beginning of my collegiate running experience you could say. I was still unsure on how well I could perform. Sure, I ran during the summer, probably not as much as I should have but I still ran, probably 45 mile weeks. But I was still not sure what kind of times to be expecting. I had been emailing a coach at Vincennes University in regards to running cross country and track. I figured I still had some racing to complete from high school. He emailed me back telling me what kind of workouts I should be doing and how far everyday, just the basics. Well towards the beginning of August I received a letter that told me that the coach of the college quit and that we should continue running on our own.
This was a blow to my self esteem. Not once in my life had I had a real coach. By real I mean professional coach. So it seemed that every time I tried to get help from professionals they would be unavailable. But as the letter read I made sure I showed up on Saturday morning on time, hoping that the mess would be worked out. Well to my dismay only two other guys showed up. One of the two was a guy from a local high school, the other was a guy from Kentucky. As we waited around hoping that someone would show up we were pretty quiet, keeping to ourselves. We sat on the track bleachers for ten minutes after eight and no one showed up. So we ran. It was our first run together. We went for forty-five minutes. The pace didn’t seem fast at all, but something inside me slowed me down and I finished a disappointing minute behind C. and B. It was a blow to my psyche finishing that far behind them on an easy run. The runs continued on like that for a while. Every once in a while I would have an alright run and finish strong. After a few weeks a couple other guys that were suppose to run on the team showed up, E. and BB. During those first couple months I sadly knew what the back of each one of my teammates looked like. That really made me want to be better, so with the mindset I have I tried harder. I put myself through so much pain that giving up would have been an ignorant mistake. As each of my runs intensified I began to have more pain in my right knee. That pain ended up being quadricep tendonitis. From then on I had to wear a band around my knee until the pain went away. Well the pain never really went away, not until about two months of training past. After it went away I started training even harder than before. I would use every run like a tempo run, no matter the length.
After doing this intense training for a while I started to have pain in my lower leg, not bad at first. But after each run it became worse. Every time I embarked upon a run my self-esteem seemed to be shot down as I couldn’t run any faster. These runs I ran by myself, totally alone. Sometimes I ran at home in the country, going down roads that cars rarely visited. On my longer runs of up to two hours I would see maybe two or three cars at the most. So I of course had a lot of time to think as I ran silently down the old dirt roads. I remember seeing the frost of my breath as I ran, I remembered the cold. In a sense it reminded me of myself and how I had to become heartless so I would not feel any pain. Simply put it, I ignored the pain. I ran through it.
Each workout I hid the pain from my coach, trying to walk as normal as possible when seen by other people. I never wanted anyone else to see me struggling to walk up a set of stairs or limping towards a classroom. It wasn’t in my nature to show my weaknesses. The pain in my lower right leg that I thought was shin splints never went away, not with ice, or compression, or pain killers. It kept growing even to the point were pressing a gas pedal in a vehicle was a painful task.
I never had shin splints in my life so I thought the pain in my leg was shin splints, sure people told me about shin splints and how bad they hurt, but this felt horrible, it felt almost like it was in the bone. And that was what it was, a stress reaction in my tibia, not a full fracture, but something to get me off my feet for six months. It would have been a lot shorter time but everytime I tried to run again the pain came back. Six months is a long time to think about if it is really worth going on in running. Six months gives you plenty time to think about why you should give up. Six months is also a long time listening to people telling you to give up, saying that if your going to be hurt then you shouldn’t run. Well, I listened to my voice during those six months. I never hit the road once, I did stationary bike workouts to an endless possibility, treading water in a pool for dozens of hours, and the days off. The days off are what got to me the fastest. I would look out a window and see the road calling my name, I would notice hills and think to myself that running up it would be a dream. I would see snow lightly falling, covering the ground in a pure white. I remember running during the snow from the year before. Heavy panting as I would try to breath down the cool air, the silence as snow drifted to the ground. And the crunching of my footsteps against the freshly landed snow. That is what I missed, that is what made me want to quit, to give up all my dreams and just stop running all together. I wasn’t a runner, I was too heavy according to some, especially in the upper body. And as I continued to cross train from my injury I gained weight because I also lifted weights. As the winter months continued I weighed in at 165 pounds, not too heavy for an average guy, but the only catch was that I was 5 foot 7 inches tall. Most other runner my size weighed around 130 pounds or less. I was too heavy. Not only was I too heavy I was also told I was built like a wrestler. I had a barrel chest and powerful arms, something that most runners don’t want or need. The reason I was built like this was because of my previous dreams of going the Army and going Special Forces the reasons why I didn’t at the time are a whole other story, maybe for a later chapter. My stride was short and inefficient because of short legs. My arms could never find a comfortable position. And of course when I ran my head tilted towards the left. So I had bad form, no physical characteristics of a runner, and wanted a job that included more rucking than running. Some would say the odds were against me at first glance. But at a deeper view I had the type of personality were I didn’t want to give up on anything, I had extremely strong muscles, and I wanted to prove everyone that thought I couldn’t be great wrong. I needed to become better. I had no other choice.
Giving up is something I had never done in my life and I didn’t plan on doing it at this point either. So I pushed on. I started running again, slowly, but it was running. My runs were short and very low intensity. My “speed work” wasn’t really speed work. My long runs were only 45 minutes, which isn’t very far for me. And my mind still didn’t want to become better. Even with all this pressure, I was still running. Something that I had given up for half a year. When I started running again I ran alone. Something that is hard whenever everyone else is training with each other progressively becoming better. I was basically jogging for about two months.
Slowly but surely the intensity became faster and the mileage increased. From the beginning of summer I started running further, faster. My mileage went from forty mile weeks to seventy-five mile weeks in time. My long runs were reaching two hours long and my speed work really felt like speed work. I felt like a runner, a real runner.
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