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.

I'm in pretty deep doodoo here.

Yes, it is a little melodramatic to compare life to Aron Ralston's struggle in 127 Hours. Yes, I am going to do it anyway.

Stripping it down to its most basic elements, this is literally a film about being trapped. We follow Aron as he gets himself pinned "Between a Rock and a Hardplace." For the generation of us still having to deal with the limitations of life in high school this is a very real feeling. Of course the adults  will argue that working life is much worse despite greater income, independence, autonomy, and influence: "Poor Us."

A student 30 hours a week pinned down at school, dozens more on assignments, more on extracurriculars, not to mention real life obligations which are more often than not forced upon us by our elders.  I missed the better part of the Red Sox game and had to take my dinner on the run in order to keep pace with the rigorous lifestyle that my school and parents hold me to. Remember though, 127 Hours is also a film about adversity. 

I managed myself well enough to complete all of my duties in a relatively timely manner, and have the opportunity to whine about how tired I am now via the outlet of social media.  The world is beginning to favor youth, and we did not even have to cut our own arms off.

Wild thing, you make my heart sing.

Lives, summers, seasons are all defined by ups and downs. No one understands this better than the Boston Red Sox and their fan base: Red Sox Nation. After an abismal April, there was virtually no hope for the season in the eyes of  most of the country. In the fun baseball comedy Major League, not even Cleveland's local fans thought the Tribe had a playoff shot.

Then along came an all new cast of characters. Many of them crazy, all of them unheard of, none of them talented, this odd group of ball players lead the city of Cleveland through a rollercoaster unimagineable in reality. They got off to the expectedly poor start, showed promise, seemed out of it, and stormed back to clich a chance to play in october.

Now to my boys of summer, the Boston Red Sox. Brutal start masked by a solid followup left many puzzled by the franchise. A short slump ensued, but the greatest three month stretch in team history skyrocketed the Sox to the top of the baseball world. I was ecstatic. Recently, they habve returned to the embarassing ways of the spring, but are still hanging around.

The reason this is being posted so late- into the morning in fact- is that it took no fewer than fourteen innings for the second bill for a double header at Yankee Stadium to find a conclusion. Again, it was the odd cast of characters, highlighted by a power hitting leadoff man.

I had quite the up and down day. Slept in, but then had to go out for brunch. Got work done, but felt bad on run. Sox triumphed, but I am not going to get to bed until almost one. If only Jake Taylor could bunt me home a snow day for tomorrow.

I can handle more pain than anyone you've ever met.

Without Limits is not a film about failure, despite the fact we are forced to suffer through the demise of the beloved protagonist. All of the hard work and struggles of distance running legend Steve Prefontaine are explored as we build up to his collapse at the Munich Olympics.

The big stage. The world's eye. These were simply too much for Pre, despite the fact he may have been the most talented athlete on the planet.  This is reflective of the day my team and I had at the New Balance Manchester Invitational this morning. 

While many teams run quite a few races in september, our cross country program held out and made this the first true competetion of the long season. It pitted us, the undervalued dynasty of New Hampshire athletics, against ten of the best teams in New England. From this eleven team field, we placed ninth. It was an embarassment. If it could have gone wrong, it did. I was hurt leading up to race day, much like Perfontaine having to deal with a well rested Lasse Viren instead of a tired one he had expected to race. Another runner got sick and did not show up at all. Prefontaine was boxed in when he wanted to make an early move to the lead. One of our top guys felt bad and began walking, running a slower time as a junior than he had as a freshman. Pre got stuck in the outside lane in a four way fight on the last lap, finishing last in that group and being denied a medal. 

Individually, I should have been in the top ten today, but was forced to settle for fourteenth. Worse was our favorited team sliding near the bottom.

The first time we see Steve Prefontaine race after the olympiad is at his home track of Hayward Field in Eugene, OR. He is not optimistic going in, predicting a poor showing. Despite this lack of confidence, he utilizes the group running with a close friend and roar of the crowd to puch him through to an easy win and new american record in the 5000m run. Next week, we race on an even bigger stage in North Carolina. Hopefully matching Pre's turnaround.

You Listen to Me, Buster!

My day very narrowly resembled one of the most fun weekends in pop culture history: Joel Goodsen's parent-free extravaganza we know as Risky Business. No, I did not get chased by a hostile pimp, drive a porsche into the water, or lose any priceless decoration. I did listen to a little Seger in the car, but mostly I was on my own.

That is not a joke, hyperbole, or self-pity statement.  From the final bell at two o'clock until roughly seven-thirty, I was to tend to myself. This does not bother me as much as I find it odd. It is a school night. My dad's work must end sometime. My sister has homework to do. My mom said it might be just me few a little bit but there was no way she would know how late I might get home from school and I was still isolated for quite some time. 

So, what did I do with this newfound resource of free time. It's an alien concept to me so I opted to take full advantage.  In the film, Joel begins by simply sitting down to dinner before entertaining himself in peculiar ways (we won't discuss what happens when he finally pushes it too far). I first went and took some initiative into gaining the work experience necessary to making it in the world, asking about internship opportunities at the local paper. At home, I, by myself now, cleaned my car. I know, weird. Vacuuming, trash pick up, and tire pressure checks filled a substantial amount of that time. The rest was doing your basic lazy activities of eating from the fridge and watching old movies. I guess the highlight of my day was that it had no highlight, just like the conclusion of Risky Business inferring that nothing had changed over the course of a few radical days.

What would you do if you knew there would be no tomorrow?

Bill Murray's character poses this existential question in the classic comedy Groundhog Day. Despite the sense of freedom and eliminated risk, Phil is litterally trapped in his own life, reliving February 2nd time and time again. 
Don't we all feel like this every now and again? Stuck in the same routine seemingly without liberation?
My life, for better or for worse, is built on repatition. Today was much like any other. I woke up, twenty minutes late of course. I sat through six hours of my catholic school education. I led cross country practice. Yesterday, I did very much the same thing. I feel like the anti-hero Phil Collins, but then again there is a tomorrow. This is the real world and as much as it seems like it this is not a film fantasy world. We are not granted the opportunity to relive our days without consequence, but we are better for it.
So, instead of driving on the tracks and throwing punches in the streetsembrace tomorrow; even if it is exactly like today.