I still remember the morning. That third period we walked up from the back of the school to the track that had been completed a few years prior. It was a brisk morning in either late April or early May. We lined up on the starting grid. He set a stopwatch to the side, and gave us a count down. Three. I can feel the anticipation racing down my spine. Two. Here will be my chance to stun everyone. One. It will be amazing. Go. I take off in front of everyone else. I am in a full on sprint. I make it less than halfway around the oval before it feels like my lungs are going to explode.
I can't remember if I even walked a mile, my mind has sorta repressed the aftermath. I do however remember puking between classes, and feeling lightheaded for a while. I had tried sprinting in a marathon, hoping some innate talent would save me. My hopes ran thin.
Senior year, 2005. It's November, and I've recently spent the last two weeks in a frenzy of activity. Nights filled with play practice, weekends consisting of working on set pieces, time between classes spent learning a dance for senior night at the football game as well as learning a new song. I decided that the added activity was great, and started going to the after school weight lifting sessions, mostly populated by football players and the track team preparing for the upcoming season. I told myself, you'll join track. Get the months of practice in now. And for that winter, I did.
A few times a week, I'd head across the parking lot to the elementary school, with a change of clothes packed in my book bag. My lifting partner was a female friend, it made things easy because we lifted roughly the same amount, however it does become slightly awkward. We would do the lifting routine, and then do a few laps around the school in the halls. Usually with wrestlers who were bundled up in multiple jackets, trying to sweat off some pounds before weight - in. When there was no snow outside, we would head up to the track and jog there. The wind was the worst. A clearing on top a hill isn't exactly the best place for a track. In fact, one night that December a friend and I decided we would go running. It was probably 8, and the lights were on. I hadn't taken gloves or a hat, but we ran. When I got home, my grandmother was convinced I was going to catch pneumonia. The rest of the night I coughed, wheezed, and generally looked like a zombie.
My dad saw an ad for a family membership at a gym in town. He applied and I turned my attention in the nights towards that. That spring rolled around, and I was chosen for a part in the musical. There was a meeting for the track and field team, I skipped it. The coach stopped me in the hallway and asked me why I hadn't attended. "Oh, well, with the play and everything, I won't have much time, and so I thought I'd save you the trouble." He looked slightly confused, but accepted this and walked away. The time commitment wouldn't have been that big of a deal though, I think it was an excuse to give myself an easy way out. I continued working out at the gym until summer rolled around and I simply stopped.
It is now the first year of college. A friend and I have convinced ourselves that we will restart the routine of weightlifting from high school. We made our way across campus to the sports center. We went in, and decided it was going to be leg day. I went to the leg press machine. That was always my favorite. When you start lifting weights, and are doing bench press with only the bar, being able to load upwards of 300 lbs on the leg press machine and actually do it, makes you feel like you can accomplish something. We loaded it up. I was going to go first. I delocked the safety, lowered the weight and . . . got stuck. I couldn't muster the energy to get one single rep. He grabbed the weight, and helped me push it up, I locked it into place. And we laughed it off. Well, I guess that's what happens when you don't like for almost an entire year. We went to the treadmills for a bit and finished the session. I never went back to that gym.
Summer of 2008. This is the year I tell myself. You have an awesome phone that you use to track your progress and do double duty as a music player. I spend the initial part of the summer building on what I learned a few years ago. My two best friends and I decide we will jog nightly. We go one night. It is a beautiful night. The stars are putting on a grand display, and from the lofty Portage track we can see all the twinkling lights on the surrounding hills, as if some of the stars decided to take a terrestrial vacation. We finish the first lap, I can feel it building. The second lap, I really want to stop. The third lap: "Guys, I can't make it, Keep going, I'm just going to walk." I start jogging by myself a bit in the mornings, trying to catch up to what they can do. As it gets close to school, the high school football team starts their morning practices on the field. It becomes odd jogging by them, I quit.
Okay, they're in school now, you'll have the track to yourself. You got your dream schedule, you don't start until 10 any day, you can wake up early do you routine, and then get ready for class. I start researching exercise plans and decide to start HIIT. This seems like it will be an efficient way to get in shape quickly. The first week goes as expected. The second week, this is becoming tedious. I don't think I finished the third week. Around this same time, I start using various dumbbells in the garage. I make a makeshift bench by using some garden kneelers on a patio bench. My father takes note of this and decides he also will start lifting, he sees a bowflex-type machine at a local pawn shop, and purchases it, placing it in our grandmothers basement.
While I stopped the HIIT, I start lifting. For Christmas I get a proper dumbell set, and I manage to stay on plan for almost half a year. I have a dedicated schedule. Five nights a week. At 8 or 9, I walk across the street, descend the stairs to the basement, and do the day's activities. During this time, I'm cast in a show where I end up only wearing a hospital gown over a pair of underwear on stage. Thankfully for all involved I have been working out. I feel much better about my body than I have in a long time. Then summer arrives, and the structure falls apart.
January 2010. I'm cast in Jesus Christ Superstar. I find out the costuming direction: more motivation. I begin my plan again. I've tweaked it with new knowledge. Things are going good. I start out at 20 minute jogs, two months later, I've doubled that to 40 minutes. Summer arrives, I manage to stay on schedule. I go on vacation, and come back to a new job and more intense play rehearsals. Priorities change. Law school is approaching. I'll put it off until then.
It is 7:00A.M. November 15, 2010. The alarm goes off. Snooze. The alarm goes off. Snooze. The alarm goes off. Snooze. It is now 9 in the morning. Not only do you not have the time to do your morning routine, but you'll have to go into rush mode to get to class on time. You remember an article you have recently reread. Humans being are outclassed physically in every regard by other animals besides one: distance running. The human body doesn't cool itself through panting, but rather through sweating. The largest muscle in the human body, the gluteus maximus, is primarily only used in running. Narrow hips, strong knees, big Achilles tendons, all point to the same conclusion. Our body is designed for distance.
There is a principle in architecture: form follows functions. So all that's missing is a way to implement that function. Balance the key needs of meeting goals but not over exertion. Pacing. Could I hunt down a antelope on the hot African savannah? No, but I can go for more than a sixteenth of a mile without the need to vomit. In the focus on the big picture, I frequently miss the little goals that I've crossed and get frustrated. I come to a wall and quit, without realizing I've blasted through multiple ones already. Look back to 2002 and see where you come. Look forward to 2018 and imagine where you can be. Don't focus on the goal and lose sight of the journey, because you'll miss the sights, and more importantly the mile markers. It may not be an innate talent, but it's a latent skill. When it comes to matters of the mind and body, man is both the sculptor and the clay, and the sculpting process is not easy nor painless. However it is not without merit. The journey of a thousand miles, begins with a single step, and while every step seems small the all contribute to the goal. The key is patience and persistence, as Pheidippides knew well.
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Further reading: (for those interested)
Born To Run - The main article
Marathon Injuries - refers to the main article, in application to modern Marathon runners
Running and Toe Size - supplemental information about the main article
Humans designed as slow movers - A Rebuttal argument to the "Born to Run" article
