In the few remaining pre-practice days before the onslaught of two-a-days, weights, circuits, and workouts, I sat beside myself in a newly acquired apartment room void of external interaction. No cable, no internet, and no true sense that the world is still revolving as the hands of the clock seem to remain still. The turmoil of evacuating my former residence in the most inane way humanly plausible has left me with an elevated blood pressure and a mind fogged by stress. The thought that a move to the apartment building across the street would require two days of moving trailers, a thousand dollars, a brief stay on a friend's couch and countless forms of agonizing paperwork is nearly too ridiculous to believe. However, the antics of our slumlord real estate managers have prepared us to at least expect the most ludicrous thing imaginable. I mean, honestly...thirty minutes late to an inspection because you couldn't find a sock and you wanted to wear tennis shoes? Stupid people shouldn't be allowed to breed.
So putting that on the back burner of my overheated brain, my next move was to sit in silence and immerse myself into the world of literature. The Hunger Games trilogy, Life of Pi, and a textbook on LabVIEW have overtaken all of my waking hours.... well that and guitar hero. If only I could write as well as the authors of those novels or play the real guitar as well as I can bang on the cheap plastic one then maybe I wouldn't be sitting here typing out the mundane happenings of my pedestrian life.
However, after a week of down time practice reared its head with an awful vengeance. Coming off a down week, my ears must have been mistaken, as I could have sworn the new coach explained his strategy to have everyone running 80-120 miles a week. That's a lot. So as I sit here on the third official day of practice between my morning and afternoon session, my legs are aching. By the end of today I will have run 45 miles, lifted twice, done three P90X style circuits, and will be fully consumed by a constant state of soreness and exhaustion. Yet, despite the long death march laid out in front of my ever moving feet, I find comfort in its infinitude. Although the mileage is high, its a direct progression towards my goal of becoming an elite runner. I once again have the desire and can't wait to prove my mettle to the team and mostly to myself. I'm locked in on my future... let's just hope school, stress, fatigue, and injury can keep to themselves.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Lost in My Mind
Escape.
The sticky, humid midwest air is an aphrodisiac to my disgruntled mind. The sweet scent floods my lungs as my nostrils flare, greedily craving the feeling of freedom it evokes. My chest heaves and my body relaxes as the rhythmic percussion of synthetic rubber on concrete, my last tie to the world, slowly slips into the oblivion. With each passing step the material world disappears, as I become an ethereal being, existing as only a constant stream of thoughts meandering through the city streets. I have escaped.
Along the trails, backroads, and dirt paths of my route exists an unearthly sense of levity. The troubles of life simply fade away as I press further into my Eden. Without this temporary solace, I am quite certain I would lose my mind. You see, my mind is a terrible thing...always thinking. Contrary to what one might expect, thinking can be extremely hazardous to your health. Life's simple problems and deadlines, goals and dreams, the dues and owes, all weigh more heavily on my mind than most. It is only when I lace up that the gravity of worry and stress piled on my shoulders morphs from the globe on burden laden Atlas' shoulders to the bright red ball resting on the nose of a frivolous seal. I admit, that's not my best metaphor, but it illustrates my point poignantly.
Speaking of my mind, the damn thing never stops. Whether I'm out on a run imagining typing a grandiose blog post or huddled in bed staring at the ceiling, the thoughts never cease. It's scary the power that thoughts hold over me. Only with my daily hour long meditation in my running shoes have I slowly begun to harness their unimaginable power. It's amazing to watch how the smallest of pains, the most innocent comments, and the littlest stresses can derail me from positive thought and make the task ahead seam insurmountable. Sometimes I marvel at the ease at which my mind convinces me I can't do something. One day I'll embrace my inner Oppenheimer and discover the power of fusion between my body and mind and turn the impossible to the every day.
And so I press on.
The sticky, humid midwest air is an aphrodisiac to my disgruntled mind. The sweet scent floods my lungs as my nostrils flare, greedily craving the feeling of freedom it evokes. My chest heaves and my body relaxes as the rhythmic percussion of synthetic rubber on concrete, my last tie to the world, slowly slips into the oblivion. With each passing step the material world disappears, as I become an ethereal being, existing as only a constant stream of thoughts meandering through the city streets. I have escaped.
Along the trails, backroads, and dirt paths of my route exists an unearthly sense of levity. The troubles of life simply fade away as I press further into my Eden. Without this temporary solace, I am quite certain I would lose my mind. You see, my mind is a terrible thing...always thinking. Contrary to what one might expect, thinking can be extremely hazardous to your health. Life's simple problems and deadlines, goals and dreams, the dues and owes, all weigh more heavily on my mind than most. It is only when I lace up that the gravity of worry and stress piled on my shoulders morphs from the globe on burden laden Atlas' shoulders to the bright red ball resting on the nose of a frivolous seal. I admit, that's not my best metaphor, but it illustrates my point poignantly.
Speaking of my mind, the damn thing never stops. Whether I'm out on a run imagining typing a grandiose blog post or huddled in bed staring at the ceiling, the thoughts never cease. It's scary the power that thoughts hold over me. Only with my daily hour long meditation in my running shoes have I slowly begun to harness their unimaginable power. It's amazing to watch how the smallest of pains, the most innocent comments, and the littlest stresses can derail me from positive thought and make the task ahead seam insurmountable. Sometimes I marvel at the ease at which my mind convinces me I can't do something. One day I'll embrace my inner Oppenheimer and discover the power of fusion between my body and mind and turn the impossible to the every day.
And so I press on.
Random Rants of the Residentially Restrained
My mind is a jumble of thoughts, longings, regrets and ideas that have aroused from the countless hours of contemplation 70 mile weeks of running bring. So, unlike my usual "central theme of the day" post, this one is gonna jump around in a more eclectic path than a cicada in mid-Missouri. Speaking of cicadas, thank god they're finally giving up. For two or three weeks there I was convinced that I would either lose my hearing or get my eyes poked out by a dive bombing insect that only comes out of the ground to fly around and scream after 13 years of underground solitude. I mean, come on. They live for two weeks, max, and are constantly looking to get it on. So, naturally, all they do is scream: "HEY! HEY! HEY!!!! HEEEEY!! HEY!" Their incessant chants made afternoon naps impossible, their tree infestations made grilling hazardous, and their overwhelming numbers allowed them to actually supplant the June Bug as the most annoying and haphazardous flyer in the sixth month of the year. I truly don't think I've seen a June bug this month.... Anyway, they're shutting up, so I'll shut up about them.
Today's father's day, and that's bringing up some uncomfortable thoughts of my rapidly approaching future. I love my family beyond description, and can't imagine getting this far in life without them. So when considering a possible future on the west coast for even more graduate school, there's always a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Four years of my ever continuing life could possibly be spent a thousand miles away from everyone I care about. On top of that, when I finally do valiantly return with a new salutation affixed before my name, I'll be pushing thirty years old. Wow... my life is just flying by. Time has never been on my side, and recently that fact is making me self-conscious about my choices and actions locked in the past. I can't help but always feeling as if I squandered the first four years here at Missouri, only skimming the top of my potential. So many goals and dreams were simply overlooked, as the stress and pain associated with running, injuries, and college life in general was too much weight atop my shoulders. It seems foolish to me now that I behaved as I did. Why was I so stressed, and unhappy? My actions look more like martyrdom and self-loathing rather than normal reactions to arising problems. So many days I spent curled up in my room, watching TV and ignoring friends, school, and the whole college experience! What the hell was I thinking!
There's an amazingly beautiful, fun, spontaneous, and downright perfect world right at my fingertips that has an expiration date. I only have one year left in this city, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to enjoy it. The unique experience of living downtown on a college campus with a jumble of amazing friends who are just like you on a constant search for a good time is not something I'm ready to relinquish. I love my friends and I love my life, and I don't want to look back and be disappointed with myself, regretting my immature actions. As every day goes by, I realize more clearly than ever that life is short. Slaid Cleaves gets it right when he says, "You'll never see those blue skies through young eyes again." So enough with both dwelling on my past, cursing my regrets, and letting everything ride on my future. Life is not about past or future, it's about the present. Carpe Diem. Enjoy every day!
On a less indoctrinated note, I'm slowly beginning to get in shape. It never ceases to amaze me how much repetition can improve fitness. You can read thousands of books, inquire hundreds of running legends, and develop a multitude of training regiments, and still never succeed. The one true secret of distance running is that there is no secret. To be good at running, you just have to run, plain and simple. Ten miles a day. Every day. So as I continue to pound out the miles, I can feel the transformation from injured fat-ass to high-octane champion. My resting heart rate drops below 45 at night. The low, deep beats have enough power to physically move the bed! Breathing seems less necessary, and once challenging tasks such as ascending the basement stairs no longer cause a baroreceptor reflex to adapt. And instead of transforming all food straight into fat, my body has become an incinerator that requires upwards of 6000 calories a day to operate. I feel good.
(WRITTEN EARLY JUNE)
Today's father's day, and that's bringing up some uncomfortable thoughts of my rapidly approaching future. I love my family beyond description, and can't imagine getting this far in life without them. So when considering a possible future on the west coast for even more graduate school, there's always a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Four years of my ever continuing life could possibly be spent a thousand miles away from everyone I care about. On top of that, when I finally do valiantly return with a new salutation affixed before my name, I'll be pushing thirty years old. Wow... my life is just flying by. Time has never been on my side, and recently that fact is making me self-conscious about my choices and actions locked in the past. I can't help but always feeling as if I squandered the first four years here at Missouri, only skimming the top of my potential. So many goals and dreams were simply overlooked, as the stress and pain associated with running, injuries, and college life in general was too much weight atop my shoulders. It seems foolish to me now that I behaved as I did. Why was I so stressed, and unhappy? My actions look more like martyrdom and self-loathing rather than normal reactions to arising problems. So many days I spent curled up in my room, watching TV and ignoring friends, school, and the whole college experience! What the hell was I thinking!
There's an amazingly beautiful, fun, spontaneous, and downright perfect world right at my fingertips that has an expiration date. I only have one year left in this city, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to enjoy it. The unique experience of living downtown on a college campus with a jumble of amazing friends who are just like you on a constant search for a good time is not something I'm ready to relinquish. I love my friends and I love my life, and I don't want to look back and be disappointed with myself, regretting my immature actions. As every day goes by, I realize more clearly than ever that life is short. Slaid Cleaves gets it right when he says, "You'll never see those blue skies through young eyes again." So enough with both dwelling on my past, cursing my regrets, and letting everything ride on my future. Life is not about past or future, it's about the present. Carpe Diem. Enjoy every day!
On a less indoctrinated note, I'm slowly beginning to get in shape. It never ceases to amaze me how much repetition can improve fitness. You can read thousands of books, inquire hundreds of running legends, and develop a multitude of training regiments, and still never succeed. The one true secret of distance running is that there is no secret. To be good at running, you just have to run, plain and simple. Ten miles a day. Every day. So as I continue to pound out the miles, I can feel the transformation from injured fat-ass to high-octane champion. My resting heart rate drops below 45 at night. The low, deep beats have enough power to physically move the bed! Breathing seems less necessary, and once challenging tasks such as ascending the basement stairs no longer cause a baroreceptor reflex to adapt. And instead of transforming all food straight into fat, my body has become an incinerator that requires upwards of 6000 calories a day to operate. I feel good.
(WRITTEN EARLY JUNE)
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