My Running Story (reallly looong)

[DaoCFan]

I had posted this on the Runner's World Forum a while back, but I think it's a good idea if I post it here too as well.

Part One -- Spring 04' to Winter 06'
Although I first did track in the 7th Grade, I didn't really start running until a year later. Both times I had been asked by my Social Worker, who was also the Coach, if I'd be interested in doing it. That first year I barely even jogged; I hated the sport and many of the guys there hated me because of my poor attitude. I didn't even last to the first meet.

The next year, which was a little more noteworthy, at the beginning of the season I could barely even make my way around the 400M course at the High School. But I kept to it, on several occasions I recall breaking down in tears for god knows what reasons. But through it all by the end of the season I ran a 200M time of 32 seconds, and I was awarded "Most Improved Track Athlete" from the Coach.

That summer I spend in idle, though I had my mind set on doing Cross country in the Fall, during my first year at High School. By the time school started I was, according to the BMI, Overweight. I was 6'2" weighing 203lbs. The First Day of Cross country Practice I couldn't even run from the High School to the nearest street corner. Though over the season I improved, it was in small steps. By the end of the season I had a 5K time of 29:50, all other attempts at the 5K ended in 3 letters: D-N-F.

I went and did Winter Track, running a 600M PR of 1:54, as well as earning 3rd Place for our 4X800 Division in the Frosh/Soph Championships, we were Suffolk County Champions.

Afterwards I did Spring Track, and after countless attempts to try and break 2:30 at the 800M, the closest I came was 2:33. But in that time I made a promise to my Cross-Country Coach, I told him that my Sophomore year I would try and break 20:00 at the 5K. He said it was a good goal, but I'm sure he was a little skeptical. Heck, I was. And more good news came, upon visiting the Doctor, I discovered that from the beginning of the year I had lost 25lbs. I now weighed a trip 175lbs.

At the start of the Summer I had gone down to Virginia with some of the family and we stayed at a campsite. I made it a priority of mine to get at-least a half-mile to a mile in everyday. Though at risk of being mauled by bears, I had to limit how far I ran away from the campsite.

Once we came home, I went to the local track and started running according to a schedule our Cross-country Coach had given us. At first I had difficulty running the 2-3 miles he asked us to run, but I knew that was the only way I was going to get better. Sure enough, by the start of August I had broken though a barrier and found myself full of energy. It was then that my progress began to accelerate like never before.

One of my friends of the team asked me to come to the local park and run 3-6 miles with him, hard. I tried my best to come, although on occasions we'd fail to meet up and he'd get frustrated. But I kept to it, certain times with pain etched into my face I ran 23:00-24:00 5Ks. My friend was impressed, and other friends who came along were also impressed.

I then went off to my Grandparent's house for much of August, where like a ray of light through the darkness a long 6 mile road lay, screaming to be run. As often as I could, in heat waves and balmy nights I would run that road. On one notable occasion I was struck down with the urge to use the bathroom 4 miles in, after urging myself on, I found myself in need of actually stopping at a total strangers house and asking to use their bathroom. Now, if a 6'3" 16 year old Italian Stranger ,who's drenched in sweat, came at your door asking to use YOUR bathroom? Would you let him in? Well, thankfully they did.

Finally at the Start of the much awaited 2006 Cross-Country Season, our coach gave a run-down of what he expected from everyone. With me, he put a question-mark. He didn't know what to expect from me; I was either going to be bad or good.

The first meet at the local park, I ran a 22:40. The next meet at Sunken Meadow, 23:40... 23:03. By the end of the season I was running 20:42 at one duel meet, and a 20:50 at the Freshman/Sophomore. But two events came about that would drastically effect my performance in the Winter Track Season: First my Coach ousted me from the Divisionals on account I had ran a non-sanctioned 5K race, and secondly, in response. I went to train on my own.

In that week or 2, I ran further then I had ever run before: 6 miles, 7 miles, 8 miles, and so on. But in exchange for the distances I wasn't running as fast as I should've been (more precisely 10 minute miles), and when I started coming to the Winter Track Practices to see where everyone else was. I found out with dread that everyone else had gotten faster. I had gone astray, I needed to do Winter Track again.

One Appeal Later and I was on the team, though it was a bummer of a season. Despite my attempts to get into the mile, the Head Coach of Winter Track insisted on putting me in the 1000M (my PR turning out to be 3:18) and at times I would put myself in the mile event (PR being 6:00)

But at the Freshman/Sophomore Championships, 365 days after I had ran a 600M PR of 1:54. Our Cross-Country coach made an unexpected visit (he had taken the season off to spent it with his wife and kids) though I was reluctant to really speak with him at first, conversation inevitably ensued. And I told him about how I had gone astray with my running-on-my-own, as well as many other things. He just patted me on the shoulder and told me that the skies were the limits for me, that if anyone had told him in Cross-Country '05 that I, the kid who couldn't even complete a 5K, within a year would be on the verge of break 20 minutes, he would've laughed.

[DaoCFan]

When March began, so did the Spring Track season. Prior to that, I had been in an absolute funk since I wasn't running outside and the gym workouts just weren't cutting it. From the first day of practice I gave 100% of dedication to it, at the conclusion of the first week a colleague of mine whom I normally don't keep in close contact with told me to keep up the good work.

The weeks went by and I kept to my craft. But of course, nothing ever goes to plan: I came down with a serious bout of broncitis and despite my attempts to keep at it, inevitably I wore down. In our first meet, once I had recovered, I ran a 2:42 800M. I wasn't thrilled.

April came, and a much awaited trip into New York City with my Uncle. On the first day we ran around Prospect Park with a 5K split of about 22:00. The next day we did something similar around Central Park, of course I had to stop shortly after hitting the 5K mark at 23 due to ankle woes that I feared would escalate. That same day, we went to a nearby Super Runners Store and got my first ever pair of racing flats (New Balance 240s, the ones with the American Flag Pattern.)

At week's end I was back and feeling ready to take on anything. One week would pass without any meets, and then came Saturday. Listening to my iPod I put on my new flats, through the headphones I heard my friend Corey tell me. "Those colors don't run, John."

That day, I would go and run an 800M PR of 2:29.

The subsequent meets that followed would see victory after victory for both myself and the team. We defeated our bitter rivals and countless other teams. One Saturday however, our team had been barred from going to the Red Raider's Invitational. In response our coaches gave us an easy practice instead followed with pizza.

Though I never said it, I felt something highly 'off' with it all.

That Monday, we lost to our first team in over a year.

That Wednesday, our head coach was suspended from his job.

I never saw a team go so quickly to its knees, and although we had won all but that one meet, and while I was PRing consistently (I later PRed again in the 800 with a 2:27, the mile with 5:45, and the 2 mile with 12:39) I was coming to despise track.

In the second to last duel meet of the season, our new head coach put me in the 400M and the 800M (which follow each other consecutively), I was put in the 2nd heat of the 400 with two freshman. I went up to the official, who told me that I needed to change my racing shorts since they weren't official school ones. Frantically I went over the nearest kid I could find on my team for his pair, he gave me a stupid look and slowly gave me his. My race started and I flung myself forward, at 300M I hit the wall, and I was beat by a Freshman.

I PRed with a time of 59.4, but I was disgusted. And my teammates, rather than congratulate me, ranted and ranted to me (I felt) about how I should have improved my stride. I heard this crap all before, it was the same damn advise I had been trying to follow but it never was enough. Then something went off inside me, something telling me it just wasn't worth it anymore.

I got my things, and for the first time ever walked off a track meet.

When I got home, I told my mom how fed up I was; she and a friend of hers both told me life's too short to get frustrated over little things, and that I should leave. A small part of me however, wanted to give it a second chance.

We had a track workout the very next day.

I left that Friday with no intention of ever looking back.

What happened in the next few days was absolutely miraculous. I would be the first to normally say I'm not that helpful and grateful to my mom. But when I left, with the sheer amounts of time left over, I was able to do things I was not able to do before. I would just start cleaning up the house since I had nothing better to do. I watered the plants, took out the garbage, all upon my own free will. For me, thats something out of the norm (well it was)

Also for the first time in ages, I called my Cross-Country coach again. I told him how I had quit track and asked what I would need to do in order to get good for Cross-Country. He told me that he didn't have a problem with me quitting track, that I should cross-train for the rest of May and maybe run some Road Races. He also gave the usual lauding reminders of the skies being the limits for me, and that next year I was going to be one of the key guys on the team.

I took him for his word, after the Track Runners had cleared out I would go on the field and just kick the ball around with myself. I felt invigorated, I felt empowered, I felt healthy, and most importantly I was happy. I signed up for the 1st Annual Jose Cabrera 5K at Jones Beach (I tried getting my friend Drew to come along, but a lot of things failed to line up and he couldn't come)

That Friday, I was in the mindset to run a 5K. I was free, happy, in control. But then something came up that threated to kill all my liberation and dreams.

Our New Head Track Coach came to the weight room (as he usually does) and he asked me why I hadn't come to the last dual meet. I spilled the beans and told him I had quit, that I just couldn't deal with it anymore. He got up, his face beading with sweat, his huge bulk mere inches away from me, he gazed me straight in the eyes and told me. "You're going to practice next week, no ifs-ands-or buts about it. You're getting a Varsity Letter and you're getting recognition for this."

The rest of the day I spent in bitter dispute with myself. I had left track to escape the machinery, the mathematics, the chains of it all. I was free, I was liberated now, I was footsteps away from the joys of summer training. And now, my track coach had unwillingly wedged a massive spear in its side.

I had (still have, always will have) unlimited respect for the man. My mom teaches his kids in her school, and even she says he likes us very much. I didn't wish to offend him, but in my heart I knew what would come of me returning. If I were to return I would face mundane track-workouts day and night. A distance coach (a different coach, some new guy) who I found to be a disgrace to distance coaches the world over. I talked to my counselor at the end of the day for assistance, he told me simply to sleep on it and think it over, he also said it was my own choice (as did pretty much everyone else I told, including people and friends on the team)

The night rolled in as I waited for my dad to come take me to a friends house so the next morning we could go off to the race. He came late due to an incident in school which had left him utterly pissed, but he told me that it wasn't going to get to him and us going to the races. (Throughout Saturday he would talk candidly about the whole fiasco).

It wasn't long after we left our house that we rolled into his friend's apartment complex, and I was perplexed as to what would happen to me in the events to follow.

[DaoCFan]

The next morning I woke up early in the morning, having dreamed of all things; missing the race. I had a breakfast of cashews, raisins, and a few pieces of dark chocolate, in addition to frequent drinks of water. Though I didn't realize it at the time, I had never been so focused about a race. I breathed running, I walked running, I ate as a runner would. We arrived around 8am, an hour and a half before the race would actually begin. In my mind the words of Micheal Johnson rang true to me "Pressure is nothing more than the shadow of opportunity."

An hour and a half later, I stood behind a crowd of 50 some-odd people. The official rode up to us all on a bike, saying "The race begins in 60 seconds."

I looked around, getting some final stretches in.

"50 seconds."

"Wow they really build up the suspense here." someone next to me said.

"40 seconds."

I laughed.

"30 seconds."

I realized with dread I had forgot to yawn, since apparently it allows your lungs to carry more air.

"20 seconds."

"WRRAAGHHHH----"

"10 seconds"

"---AHHHHHGHHHHH---"

An air horn went off, and with my mouth still wide like an imbecile I sped ahead. Within the first 100 meters I had emerged in 3rd place out of 138.

For the first mile I was in 3rd place, as I passed the mark someone yelled my split; I did not hear. My calves ached and my mind began to wander and wane. Two people passed me and I was left in 5th place. I passed a water station and dunked myself in the water, though now my throat was parched I was fearful of drinking for some unknown reason. We reached the 1.5 mark and turned back. Now the 4th man was far ahead of me; passing the station again I tossed the water into my mouth and tossed the cup aside into the sand beside the boardwalk. At the 2 mile mark I heard my 2 mile split called.

"12:31!"

I had just PRed in the 2 mile.

I kept going, my heart ached but a building up ahead made me believe I was near the end. With dread I realized this was not the building I was looking for, furthermore I heard the footsteps of the 6th man come up behind me. I mouthed "Oh crap" (In reality I used another word, but for the sake of the children I shall abstain from such language).

My heart relled, and I could barely see, I clenched my clothing and I tried to keep myself alert. The 6th man came upon me, and some crude thought must have went through my mind that could've be translated as "Oh no!" but I was so out of it I couldn't even tell.

But then something happened, which another friend would later say was probably fate. He said "Come on! Finish strong! Don't give up! Keep going!"

I felt awake then, a second wind rushed upon me and I shouted weakly to him. "Thanks- I needed that!" and I pushed myself foward, the true end in near sight. I turned along the path, I could hear the crowd of people, the announcer among the band. I could see them, I went under a bridge and could see the people looking on, the announcer calling my number. The watch above the finish line reading 19:50.

I went like a mad-man through that final stretch.

19:50
19:51
19:52

I called every last bit of strength to keep going.

19:53
19:54
19:55

I passed through the bushes, my dad and his friend taking pictures.

19:56
19:57
19:58

I passed through the finish line, my arms flailing.

19:59.

I had broken 20 minutes by .6 seconds. I had reached a legendary milestone for any novice High-School runner. I fell back upon the ground, right into a mound of goose-poo. My dad informed me of this, but I was so out of breath I didn't give a damn.

I had come in 5th place, best in my age group. I looked around for the 6th man and indeed I did find him. He asked me if I had broken 20 minutes , I told him yes, and that I owed him one big time. He seemed glad at this, and said "You're under 40 right."

"Yep."

"Good! As long as I haven't been beaten by a 40 year old I'm happy."

I laughed and said. "I'm under 18!"

He turned around and smiled, he then looked away. I didn't see him again.

I came home that day after my father insisted I help him remove a 1958 Pontiac Engine from a rusty car. Fiddling with my medal I picked up the phone and once again called my Cross-Country Coach. I informed him of the good news; he was absolutely delighted. "5th Overall! Best in your age group! Sub 20! John that's fantastic!" the conversation was truncated however, since he had to drop his kids off at a day-care.

That night, I told my friend "Foon" about it online. He was thrilled about the news, (he was the one who said #6 must have been fate) and just before I logged off he told me:

"Once you go Sub-20 5K, you can never go back, nor look back. Welcome to the club."

And there in it's entirety is my running story to date, although it's not even close to completion and hopefully never will be.

[SlowTurtle]

I know this is a late posting but just wanted to say wow John, congratulations on the sub 20 5k. I'm in the same page as you pretty much first started. I can't get to the sub 20 5k yet. but that is my main goal =)