I'll never quit you.

I am only using Brokeback Mountain for this single line.  Basically, I have been really busy lately and with the recent power outage I am lucky to have found any time at all to use the internet to make this post. Hopefully, as fall turns into winter I will find the time and drive to post here more often, and I apollogize to y'all for the delay.  I swear cowboy, I am not quitting on this blog, we are just on temporary break...

I was thinking how nothing lasts, and what a shame that is.

They cycle of life is a perplexing concept. At first, you are under the care of your parents, but of course in the end you act as a caretaker for them.  One thing that all people fear, is going backwards and becoming dependant as you were as a small child.  In The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, the title character progresses through life in exactly that way.

As a runner, I fear going backwards as much as anybody.  To be able to go fast at one time and not as fast the next is a scary thought.  One thing people often say about the sport that they like is that it is a race against the clock and your own personal record. What they seldom consider, is what happens if you lose?

As a junior last year, I ran the Catholic Memorial Invitational course in an eye opening 16:27. This is a highly respectable time, especially considering the limited competition since we were mistakenly placed in the small school race that year.  I finish cross country well and had respectable seasons on the track as well. In the meantime, I worked into the best shape of my life this summer, only to have it all go to waste due to a leg injury. I spent quite a bit of time on the shelf, not able to participate in key workouts or push myself to full tilt.  The result is that this weekend I ran an equally as eye opening 17:23 on the same course.  That is the second slowwest I have ever run there, only faster than my first race on the course from my freshman year when I was 14 years old.  Last year's time drew attention for how impressive it is; this year's was alarming to a lot of people.  I am seeing a doctor to try and get it worked out, but for now I am less worried about moving forward as I am about preventing falling further back.

You have always been the caretaker.

I have been completely stumped in regards to this blog for the past few days.  In other words, I ran into a case of writer's block. Sure, I could have found a more appropriate film to demonstrate creative block than Stanley Kubrick's horror masterpiece The Shining, but hey, after all it is almost Halloween.

In the film, adapted from a Stephen King short story, Jack Torrance is hired as the winter caretaker at the Outlook Hotel, and spends the brisk Colorado winter alone with only his family while trying to write a new book.  Going in, he had no idea how much trouble this would lead to with his son acting strange, him losing his mind, and the hotel effectively using Jack to do its evil bidding. Insert line, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

My writer's block has been similar in some respects, but completely different in others. First of all, I am normal, unlike the future psych murderer Jaack, so you can get those notions out of your heads.  We are similar because we both tried.  The other day I spent like twenty minutes trying to think about how I could relate my weekend to a college movie like Animal House. That, needless to say, did not happen. And sure, there are more eloquent examples of this obstacle in the vast expanse of film, but what's wrong with The Shining?

A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself.

 

Perfect weather, and great company? Sounds like an excuse to cut class for a day, as as done in John Hughes's teen classic Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Fortunately, for my classmates and I as well as principles spared the quest for stray students, there was no need. My school, a catholic high school, holds one single fundraiser every year: Walk-a-thon.

Today, as you may have guessed, was this glorious day. Sure, the weeks leading up were just this side of miserable and the class presentations in the morning still seem like a waste of time to me, but when I graduate, walkathon day is one thing I will miss.

This year, during the walk itself  and the homeroom period  beforehand, I carried with me a camera.  Boy was I popular.  Kids love to strut their stuff, and decked out in school spirit attire they were up for the test.  When I say, "decked out" I absolutely mean it. Face paint, high socks, custom shirts, and fun jewelry were everywhere during our walk through the park.  I, the relatively apathetic one, wore a track tshirt with my school's initials printed on, furthering my reputation for lack of school spirit.

The day is designed to be a benefit for my school, but even that seemed insignificant since I will be graduated by the time the funds go to use. What we were able to focus on was friendships. I have been going to school with this group for four years, having met very few during my childhood.  Now, since our term in high school is approaching its end, is our last chance to really bond.

peel out. I just love it when guys peel out.

Sorry about my recent lull in posting, I spent the weekend in North Carolina for a cross country meet. My past few days have been, at least in my mind, what high school is all about: hanging out, competing, relaxing. The perfect stereotypical high school summer's night is detailed in Lucas's flick, American Graffiti. Times have changed since the cruising culture of the late-'60s, but people have not very much. 

No, this weekend's race did not go as well as I had hoped. The trip was truly worth it though. Some of my teammates ran exceptionally well, but it was about more than that.  It was dinner as a team, a group of people that i have grow closer to than my family at times. Seriously, I once got offended and snapped when a firend suggested that I do not understand what it is like to have a tight knit team; that's how much I value these relationships. Then toeing the line with these gentlemen and essentially going into combat with them is an intimate experience, which is why my best friends from school are on this team. 

Post race, I enjoyed a past time that not many others would spectate: cross country. After concluding a cool-down workout, I proceeded to simply watch the later races of the day, showing support for my brothers in arms who are also going in to the same war within their races.

The rest of my day was spent either sitting with my feet dangling into a hotel pool or eating in downtown Raleigh with my parents.  Stating, "When in Rome..." I ordered the pulled pork, a traditional southern meal.

Sunday was filled with homework and movies, which seems to be a weekly thing. Today, spirit week changed the makeup of my school environment, and produced  more of the traditional happy feel than is usually reality in schools. Watching baseball with my dad closed out an uneventful evening, but hey, I could not have asked for more.

You're behind me, so, so is your weather.

Today was a great day. The keyword in that last sentence: "was."  It quickly disolved into a stressful tension filled night, due to a confluence of unrelated factors.  In the same trend, a 1991 group of Massachusetts swordfishermen was stranded in the center of four unique storms all converging at once.  The Perfect Storm is by no means a happy movie.

My day was pretty good; basically your average school day.  No tests, trip to dentist revealed no cavities, perfect track workout to prepare for big race this weekend, and my beloved Red Sox are in good shape. What happened? Well, my sister happens to be practically the average teenage girl. Nothing wrong with this except there is that phase where every girl wants nothing to do with her family - especially a big brother.  Those interactions were less than pleasant, putting a damper on my good day.  Second, I have a lot of homework, which a challenging curriculum at a well respected school will do for you. Lastly, and perhaps most significantly, there was little good food in the refridgerator- hate when that happens.  The primary problem was my family's having to deal with one too many personalities under one roof.  I guess I only have to cope with my only sibling wishing we were not related for a few years when she grows out of it.  Go teen drama!

The men of Gloucester portrayed in The Perfect Storm are not happy that they are being dragged out for one more tour in the swordfishing season. Once out, they have the catches of a lifetime in a remote area, and plan to reurn home through the georgious weather they have seen to make bank selling the fish. This is when freak chance lands four major storm systems meeting directly in their path, and the elect to try to push through it.  I am sure I will make it home through the once in a lifetime storm.

Man, it feels good to just run again.

Every athlete understands that to excell in one particular field you have to approach it professionally. A certain level of routine and time commitment is required. I can not simply be viewed as fun and games. By the same token, to reach elite status in any sport, but especially running, you have to remember why you loved it in the first place.

No one understands this better than olympic gold medalist, and subject of the bio-pic Running Brave, Billy Mills.  Mills was an elite distance running native american who got recruited to enlist and run for the US Army track club. After his tour was complete he went on scholarship to Kansas University, where training rigor picked up, but results suffered. After  racing poorly for long enough, Mills quit the team, dropped out of school, and returned to the plantation. he began running on his own again just for the thrill of it. He ran for the sake of running. It made him feel powereful and it made him feel free. Next thing you know, he pulls off a remarkable upset to earn gold in the 10000m at the Tokyo Olympics. 

Lately, my running has been focused on not pressuring my old injuries and sharpening up for race day. Today was a little different.  I was not to do the workout with my team, but instead just went into the trails for a run by myself.  I had been missing such runs.  I killed an hour at a relatively fast pace through trail systems that remainded me why I love New England in the fall.  I was free to change pace as I saw fit and sort out my  thoughts without distraction. Running gives me a sense of self.  I get some quality time with only me to recover from a long day. It is theraputic in a way, and looking down at a watch the whole time is no way to relax.  I honestly think we could all use one of these every now and again.