I don't know when my next post will be. I don't think it terribly matters. No one is really reading this except for one person that I'm sure by now has come to his senses and stopped trying to look for newer updates that just don't exist anymore.
It's simply that I am too busy. There are two more weeks left of regular classes and then a week of finals and it just seems like I am never going to get around to be able to run. I want to run. I want to be able to feel better about myself again. It just doesn't seem likely for quite some time.
My mom said that my best days of running are ahead of me. I am going to do everything I can to prove her right.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Full Circle Once Again
I started this blog my junior year before Thanksgiving in hopes that I would train for the Turkey Trot 5 Mile race on Thanksgiving and shock my old buddies on the cross country team showing them that I would be in shape and do very well there. Well I started off strong and then just got too busy and then it didn't happen. The race was a rough one, and I obviously ran five miles untrained and therefore very slow. That was a year ago. Since then, I must've posted on this blog once or twice and throughout the year with hopeful posts saying that I was getting back in the swing of things and starting to train again. You could've probably guessed through the lack of posts after that, I did no such thing. I did run the race this Thanksgiving once again, though. This time with much less training then the year before.
I woke up that morning excited. Not to run five miles but to see old friends that I haven't yet seen. When I arrived, I knew no one. The alumni, that were much younger than me now, were greeted enthusiastically by a team of runners of which I knew no one. I was too old now to be missed, too old to be known. I was never good enough to break a record and have my plaque on a wall, so my name was non-existant to these high school dream chasers. There was nothing to do but let these depressing thoughts drift in and out of my head as I stand near the Fairfield Prep tent, awkwardly.
It was at this moment that I ran into two captains that were a year ahead of me, Kevin and Rob. They were good friends of mine and it was great to see them, once again. Rob suggested we do a Warm Up. "Warm Up?" I thought to myself, "Warm Up for what? Like I'm actually looking for a good time in this race, I'm just looking to finish." But when Kevin agreed, who was I to turn it down. The three of us jogging down the road truly felt like old times. Joking about my "hot mom", talking trash about past runners, and in general just remembering what used to go on during those ten mile runs we always were on. It was more than just running. It was more than just training. It was a brotherhood that should be cherished while it happens. I wish I was able to know that then or be able to tell it to the current runners, but they would never believe me until it was too late.
It was when the gun went off that nostalgia faded and reality set in...
It's always chaotic at the beginning of a race, there are pile ups pushing shoving. Everyone is one place and is expected to move forward as fast as possible. One person was running backwards becuase they lost there shoe in the pile up. It's always a mess. Kevin was gone when the gun went off, that was expected. He went to Navy and therefore never had the opportunity to get out of shape like most college students. I was with Rob for as much as you can be with someone in the beginning of the race. While must people struggled to advance in the crowd, Rob and I knew what we were doing. We hopped off the road and onto the sidewalk (completely legal but out of the way) and ran ahead of the crowd as much as we can. After that it was a matter of weaving. While weaving, Rob started to move much faster than me. When things started to settle, I saw Rob's back dissappear into the crowd. It became very apparant that I would be running the next five miles alone.
The race consisted of me attempting to push the pace and then failing. When you do poor in a race it seems like there are always people passing you throughout the race, and such was the feeling this Thanksgiving. It would always be difficult to see the 50 year old women in a painters cap, or the 12 year old boy in only underarmour gliding past you effortlessly, but it's part of the job as a runner to swallow your pride and continue pressing on.
It was the fifth mile when I began to hear music. I was either dead or everyone else could hear it too. When it became louder, I realized that a girl had her headphones too loud, while listening to Usher. When we turned the corner to head towards the finish. This music helped me push ahead and beat her over the line. I knew the thought of every person watching us, "Who the hell does that asshole think he is, he's in 800th place what does it matter if he beats someone or not?" I know that was what they were thinking because whenever I saw that person I thought the same thing. I now know, that it was still important for them to know they had something to push for, to compete against. They wanted to have purpose and feel important just one more time.
After walking through the shoot, I walked back to the tent, happy it was over, and greeted by fellow former teammates and sarcastic applause. I simply embraced it. I may have been gone from a team for quite some time, but I was still a part of something. I was still able to kneel down with ten other team members when our coach, holding a camera, requested that we take a Captain's picture. I'm still a captain, however much I may have fallen.
I woke up that morning excited. Not to run five miles but to see old friends that I haven't yet seen. When I arrived, I knew no one. The alumni, that were much younger than me now, were greeted enthusiastically by a team of runners of which I knew no one. I was too old now to be missed, too old to be known. I was never good enough to break a record and have my plaque on a wall, so my name was non-existant to these high school dream chasers. There was nothing to do but let these depressing thoughts drift in and out of my head as I stand near the Fairfield Prep tent, awkwardly.
It was at this moment that I ran into two captains that were a year ahead of me, Kevin and Rob. They were good friends of mine and it was great to see them, once again. Rob suggested we do a Warm Up. "Warm Up?" I thought to myself, "Warm Up for what? Like I'm actually looking for a good time in this race, I'm just looking to finish." But when Kevin agreed, who was I to turn it down. The three of us jogging down the road truly felt like old times. Joking about my "hot mom", talking trash about past runners, and in general just remembering what used to go on during those ten mile runs we always were on. It was more than just running. It was more than just training. It was a brotherhood that should be cherished while it happens. I wish I was able to know that then or be able to tell it to the current runners, but they would never believe me until it was too late.
It was when the gun went off that nostalgia faded and reality set in...
It's always chaotic at the beginning of a race, there are pile ups pushing shoving. Everyone is one place and is expected to move forward as fast as possible. One person was running backwards becuase they lost there shoe in the pile up. It's always a mess. Kevin was gone when the gun went off, that was expected. He went to Navy and therefore never had the opportunity to get out of shape like most college students. I was with Rob for as much as you can be with someone in the beginning of the race. While must people struggled to advance in the crowd, Rob and I knew what we were doing. We hopped off the road and onto the sidewalk (completely legal but out of the way) and ran ahead of the crowd as much as we can. After that it was a matter of weaving. While weaving, Rob started to move much faster than me. When things started to settle, I saw Rob's back dissappear into the crowd. It became very apparant that I would be running the next five miles alone.
The race consisted of me attempting to push the pace and then failing. When you do poor in a race it seems like there are always people passing you throughout the race, and such was the feeling this Thanksgiving. It would always be difficult to see the 50 year old women in a painters cap, or the 12 year old boy in only underarmour gliding past you effortlessly, but it's part of the job as a runner to swallow your pride and continue pressing on.
It was the fifth mile when I began to hear music. I was either dead or everyone else could hear it too. When it became louder, I realized that a girl had her headphones too loud, while listening to Usher. When we turned the corner to head towards the finish. This music helped me push ahead and beat her over the line. I knew the thought of every person watching us, "Who the hell does that asshole think he is, he's in 800th place what does it matter if he beats someone or not?" I know that was what they were thinking because whenever I saw that person I thought the same thing. I now know, that it was still important for them to know they had something to push for, to compete against. They wanted to have purpose and feel important just one more time.
After walking through the shoot, I walked back to the tent, happy it was over, and greeted by fellow former teammates and sarcastic applause. I simply embraced it. I may have been gone from a team for quite some time, but I was still a part of something. I was still able to kneel down with ten other team members when our coach, holding a camera, requested that we take a Captain's picture. I'm still a captain, however much I may have fallen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)