Fallout

It's been a long while since I was laying in that hotel bad in Georgia writing about my boring life. I'm sure no one is wondering how I did at the Dual, but I'm prepared to explain in excruciating detail for those unlucky enough to stumble upon my blog. The past three weeks have just been the most hectic, homework-filled days of my life, all culminating to my pending graduation a week from today. Needless to say, time wasted on a blog was not an option when there was so much to be done. Instead of regurgitating my experience in one simple post, I'll let you know about Georgia and the rest of my season, then save the rest for later.

Although the night of the meet I wrote how good I was feeling and how confident my attitude was, in truth it was all mind games; I was simply trying to convince myself through positive thought that I wasn't completely exhausted from the season of tough training crammed into 6 weeks of work. From the moment I stepped on the campus, I knew I didn't feel right. Lethargy filled by bones, and the only thing I could think about was how perfect it would be if I was curled up in bed at home with all my worries cast aside. But that was 800 miles and a month away...

My warm-up served as a good indicator of how well I'd fare in the race. If you ask my cohorts, the minimum amount of times that I complained of being tired was around the 15-20 range. I honestly felt drained dragging my ass up and down hills at 7+ minute pace. That's never a good feeling. Spikes laced and uni donned, the humidity made my legs feel even heavier, like water-logged sequoias. I new from right then that it was going to be a long, embarrassing race.

Crossing the line in last place, seven seconds after my freshman teammate was the most embarrassing experience of my life. I even got a pity clap. Shit. I was filled with rage, frustration, doubt, and above all confusion. Is this really what I want to do with yet another year of my life. Sitting crouched in the shade with my spikes kicked off, head hanging low, I couldn't find my answer to that question. All I wanted to do was sink into the ground where no one could see me.

No amount of words can ever truly describe any one feeling, much less the menagerie of feelings welled up in my brain at that moment. The excitement of being on one of my first college trips in three years had completely worn off. There's nothing exciting about being with the big dogs and getting destroyed on the track. This is not the way I want to be seen. I mean, it's beyond frustrating. I'm here, I see what I can do, I see how to do it, I'm in the race, I want to out-kick everyone, and yet I just CAN'T! I'm sick of being the outcast on the team that no one really talks to or wants to hang out with because they feel awkward about why I'm still even on the team. Injuries leave you like an ex-con, and when you get out of the prison cell of the training room, there's no going back to the good old days. The person you were has been tainted by the persona you have to carry as the kid who used to be good, the washed up state-champion. I'm pretty sure there is no one on the team, coaching staff, or even in my life that truly believes I can rise back to the top and be a prominent runner again. Everyone has given up on me. Sometimes I fear I've given up on myself...

That night I drowned my sorrows with an old teammate, who may be my last tie to the good old days. We were two freshman studs, duking it out in all the middle distance races, dropping times that would make any rookie proud. We were the new face of Mizzou, and all the coaches and teammates saw it. What the hell happened?

A dismal travel day landed me back in mid-Missouri to revel on my predicament. I know my season is over, and I know my legs have had enough torture for one half-assed season. But I only had around thirty minutes to plot my next move, as the contents of my bookbag were slowly plotting to take over my life. As the physiology book escaped, all hell broke loose, and from then until now my nose has been buried deep in the final chapter of my undergraduate career. It was non-stop work, computer screens and squinted eyes, from then until yesterday at 4pm, where I completed the Mizzou tradition, and walked back through those iconic columns I ceremoniously entered as a freshman four short years ago. The "$30,000" beer was bittersweet, as what I accomplished at school seemed to pale in comparison to what I left unfinished. I came into college wanting to be a writer and a runner, and came out an engineer. Milkshakes melt, people change...