My last post was August 18th,... needless to say a lot has happened since then to get me to where I am. But rather than try to sum it up in a quickly written paragraph or two, I'll just let you experience my NOW.

It took me four and a half long years to fully comprehend the meaning of "Live in your present." Coach McGuire reiterated that saying over and over, but it had eluded my comprehension until recently. So here is my present:

I just saw Quigley's ass. More importantly, I am chilling in a hotel room in Dekalb, IL waiting for the start of my first 10k ever in my first regional race. And yet I'm not terrified; I'm ecstatic. It's time to go out and explain via footsteps and seconds the ungodly amount of work that my teammates and I have logged this fall.

That's all for now. Look for a novella of a catch-up post to follow shortly. I want to get my season on paper as much as I want to see the results of this race. We're ready to turn some heads. Let's go TIGERS!!!!

I'm finally ready to toe the line...

Crank it to Eleven

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.

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.

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)

Moving ever forward...

The heat of early June on a mid-Missouri morning never dissipates; a fact that is clearly evident while tracing the bike-worn indent, sole after sole, down the MKT trail at 6 AM. The drops of sweat barely have time to bead, as the pounding footsteps create a river of saline, burning the eyes and soaking what little clothing droops over our fragile frames. Pure thoroughbreds in an elegant stride, our pack of tigers round the corner pushing 10 miles per hour. Toned muscles bulge and powerful hearts pound as our army of footsteps resound off the gravel in a beautiful harmony. The true meaning of both extreme power and utter exhaustion mix in a gray haze as the miles add up and the conversation stales. We are machines that run on routine, vociferously wearing down our shoes to become invincible. The sweat and pain mix with mental fortitude to create immensely powerful bodies hidden in our meager, war-torn figures. And as the sun beats down through the thicket of trees above, we press on.

The tantalizing allure of the summer grind has a very limited audience, yet it holds great rewards for those who submit to the calling and obey its strict regiment. There's just something very primitively enjoyable in the callousing of both body and mind. Call it masochistic, but chiseling an athlete from the unfit mold of early summer is downright a carnal pleasure. The willingness to submit to a goal of sweet success demands each runner to conquer the mind's unwillingness to continue. Powerful thoughts of giving up, slowing down, taking short-cuts, and slacking-off must become synonymous with the utmost perversion. The very thought of leaving a day on the holy calendar of training unmarked should send shivers of anger and self-loathing down the spine. Seemingly harmless habits such as drinking or staying out late must be vanquished, and the cravings for that triple cheeseburger must only be satiated after the toll of the Saturday long run, where 16 miles can be fairly traded for a greasy delight.

Hell on earth, some might think, as college students are supposed to be frivolous and irresponsible. "You only go to college once," is the trademark expression handed down from every graduate as a justification for overindulging. However, I've had the chance to be a pure college student. I got to experience partying on a Tuesday, taking Jaeger bombs and playing video games all night, and squandering both athletics and academics to fully immerse myself in all that is "frat-tastic." But none of those quick-fix, immediate gratification antics hold a candle to the pure euphoria extruded from the summer grind. What I "miss out on" while opting to take a nap to heal my tattered body means nothing in comparison to what I would discard by giving up running. Through injuries, depression, and countless reasons to quit, I remain steadfast to my goals. If there is one thing I've truly learned in my whirlwind of a life, is that the most basic and necessary form of happiness comes from becoming who you set out to be. I am a runner, and with the summer that brings a glorious break from workouts, school, and extra stress, my essence will finally be realized. Footstep by footstep. Mile by mile. Morning by morning. The mighty walls built between me and my Jericho will eventually fall.

"Be resolutely and faithfully what you are; be humbly what you aspire to be." -Henry David Thoreau

Changing Planes

     Gazing out the portside window of the multi-ton leviathan jetting at over 500mph across the continent, I’ve come to realize just how quickly time is passing by. The endless minutes between two delayed flights after a week long vacation in California have opened my eyes and allowed me to contemplate my life with an introspective lens. Just what memories accumulated in the past Olympiad do I truly cherish? How much time have I spent on the wrong road, or perhaps in the wrong lane? A sad feeling washed over me as I gazed down upon the city of Boulder, where a few short years ago I ran in my first Big XII Outdoor Track meet. I realized that city marked the beginning of my demise, and as I continue to scrutinize the details packed in the three years that have passed since that moment, I struggle to find justification for all the pain and hardship I’ve endured. Sure, the path I chose was my calling, and I believe wholeheartedly that if placed in the same predicament I would no doubt repeat my former escapades, yet it all seems so fruitless. I can’t help feeling that it was all a blur of disappointment atop a mountain of unnecessary work and mental anguish. The path I have chosen was far from the easy road, and I can take solace in the fact that it has made me a greater person. But as I grow older, what once seemed integral to my existence has begun to fade away; the flames of my desire smoldering to embers.
     Never has this feeling been more evident than on vacation, where days of sun and sand slow my frantic pace, melting the feeling of persistence, and replacing it with one of well-deserved laziness. I yearn for the day where running is no longer a chore, but a necessity on a whole new level. My once daily routine will, in a short year, no longer be mandatory, and that fact is unbelievably hard to grasp. There’s so much left undone, and only three seasons left to achieve my life-long dream. Therein lies the root of my insomnia.
     Apart from the feeling of remorse for the physical ailments and mental woes bestowed upon me by years of pushing my body past its limits is an overwhelming feeling to be great. In times of epic laziness, usually a few beers deep, the disciplined runner rears his ugly head to set me on a crash course to fitness. An overwhelming sense of desire morphs my mood from pessimist to masochist, as I long to train my body into the ground and emerge from the dust a chiseled athlete fit to set the track ablaze. This feeling is hard to corral, but summer grants the unique property of hitting the reset button. Monstrous attitude changes require routine, and endless summer days supply the ample amount of sacred time with which to mold myself from couch potato to division 1 athlete.
     As my 747 approaches St. Louis, the memories of my great vacation are mirroring my former life. The past few months my life has been up in the air, but when the rubber finally hits the tarmac and my G rolls back into Columbia I am a changed man. Greatness requires drastic sacrifice, and I have given way too many years of my life drowning in a pool of half-assed monotony. No longer will school or social life spread me too thin. However, I’m making this post as my mantra, putting down in writing what I need to see to carry on with my emotionally and physically draining task.

I am a runner. Nothing can stand in my way.

     In the million steps I will take from now until next year at this time, my only hope is to have no regrets. This is my last go around, and in 12 months, the previous statement no longer applies to me. For too long have I said that running is my life, while failing to live as a runner. No longer. Watch out, it’s almost my time to shine.

Not just a finish line...

Here I sit, one final away from the culminating experience of my entire scholarly life, with graduation on Sunday seeming like a finish line. An entire life's worth of persistence, hard work, homework, studying, and attrition meshed with my choices have woven a tapestry of experience to lead me to where and who I am at this moment. So the question is, who and where am I?

The questions, although seemingly simple, have taken all of my twenty-two years to answer. Yet after all those years, I still believe I have uncovered my true self much sooner than most: I am what I've chosen to be.

I am a perfectionist to the point of self-deprication.
I am a hopeless romantic, with dreams and goals outlandish to most.
I am on an endless pursuit for both completeness and the missing piece.
I want to prove people wrong.
Regret is not an option.

I am a runner.

Though I could fill pages of "I am"s, the message stays the same: I'm focused. And right now, in the midst of finals week, graduation, and the scintillating heat of my AC-less house, I know exactly how I want to live this summer: with a dream.

As a good friend once said, "It always starts with a goal, but without a plan and the will to press on, the finish line is hard to find." I have my goal. I have my plan. I have the will to press on.

Bring on the summer grind...