For a time during my sophomore year of college I had obsessed over running. This came after a short stint with triathlon, then cycling, after which I'd decided I didn't have time to ride my bike for 6 hours a day (if I wanted to have any measure of success in any other area of my life, including a regular job). Anyway, during this time of running obsession I was still disillusioned into thinking I was a decent runner in his "base-building" phase, where going slow was mantra. I did perform several "faster" pace runs (9-10:00/mile), if only to further convince myself that I could pipeline myself into a faster runner, given the right training.
It was during this time that I had heard about the local high school cross-country race course. The course meandered around the perimeter of the elementary school property, making roughly two laps around the hilly fields surrounding the school. I had yet to really run with anyone, and although the people around me viewed me as a great runner (mostly due to my obsessive discussion about the sport and my pursuit of it), no one had really ever witnessed my performance. At the time, I was also doing what everyone does when they are excited about a pursuit, that is, I was expounding the virtues of running and insisting that if only everyone ran, we could solve the world's problems (not literally, but that must have been what it seemed like for those around me). My father, at the time, had been looking to start getting back into exercising, having been getting out the door for long walks around our development. He had been out of the gym for several years, mostly due to his never-ending pursuit of his job and his relentless work-ethic. He worked endless hours at all times of the day, just so he could provide a wonderful life for our family. After a 16-hour day and a week of on-call wake-ups at 2AM, there wasn't much time for exercise. He was never absent as a father and sacrificed so much of himself to make sure that his family never wanted for anything. A real man, a real hero. Despite the jam-packed workweeks, my father did find some spare time and insisted that he was going to pursue an activity regimen. I was extremely excited that he was going to do so, mainly due to the health benefits resulting from said routine, but also because I might be able to share in my pursuit of running.
The day finally came when I convinced my father to come for a run with me. The course would be none other than the local cross country course. For, me at the time, it was a shorter run (3.1 miles), but for my father, it would be a milestone. The day was an October afternoon, temperature in the 50's, overcast, dry. We drove down to the course and took a lap in the car around the parking lots to view our prospective route. He was agreeable to the run, although hesitant, as this would be his first foray into the jogging world. He explained that he might need to walk some and slow down a bit, which I told him was OK, as I would probably be in the same boat. He insisted that I not wait for him, and to just run the course however I wanted. This hadn't been my plan because I truly wanted to enjoy this outing with my father. I felt that this run was like riding the razor's edge for hime. That little tipping point where you either love what just happened to you and keep at it, or you hate it, thus beginning the demise of any interest you might have had. I so badly wanted him to enjoy running. I was already seeing the possibilities of his pursuit...
The course starts at the bottom of a 400m hill that then rolls over into a flat circumnavigation of the school before taking a dive back down a long hill on the opposite side of the property, only to connect back with the starting area of the course. We were going to complete two laps of the route. We parked at the top, in a parking area, walked/jogged down to the bottom for a warmup, then proceeded to line up at the 'start' after a short break.
My plan had been to jog slowly with my father (who was I kidding, I was going to go slowly regardless). The first hill was pretty steep, but I figured with all my training, I could muster the power to get up it and continue running. We started to run, and no sooner had we taken off that I accelerated into a full sprint, starting up the hill more rapidly than my father could keep up. What. An. ASSHOLE. I was doing the exact opposite of what I set out to do, and I knew it. I was pushing harder and harder, leaving my father in the dust. I was well aware that he was behind me, suffering up this terrible hill. Instead of remaining at his side, supportive, I showed him my back. I turned on him when he may have need me most. How discouraging for him. I kept at my pace, fueled by an ego-driven, demonic obsession to never be the weak one. I had such a Napoleon complex about my endurance running that I couldn't even let my own father see me as a weak link in the game of athletics. I was so self-centered that I would sacrifice my own father's emotions to build my ego. I don't know what I was hoping to prove by running so fast. I am certain that it wasn't about "winning" or finishing before him. I'm sure it wasn't about "hitting a pace" for my workout. I just couldn't let myself be viewed as a lesser being. Maybe I figured that if I got far enough ahead of him, he wouldn't notice when I slowed down. I don't know. Whatever the reason, the action is EMBARRASSING. I am truly ashamed of my actions. I was ashamed at the time, but too proud to admit it. I don't even remember the rest of the run. I knew what I had done. In the back of my mind, that action was so powerful, clouding all other thought from entering my mind. EGO. Pure EGO.
I have struggled with the events from this particular day for years now. I occasionally remember the ACTION, feeling remorseful each time. I didn't have the HUMILITY to help my father appreciate his first foray into speedy locomotion. I lacked the GRACE to allow myself to remain at his side and encourage him through the hard times. My father hasn't run since that day. I don't know if it was because of my actions. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was. He has gotten back to the gym and ensued healthy habits for himself, of which I am extremely proud. But he hasn't RUN. Now, I don't care if he runs, rides, lifts, picks, eats, farts, whatever. As long as he is healthy and happy. I love my father, and it doesn't make a difference to me what he does, as long as he will be around for a long time to come. Its not about the running itself. Its the contingency that my actions may have been the push he needed, in the wrong direction of the razor's edge.
I ran with Samantha yesterday. One of the first times we have run together without agreeing to "meet at the end" due to our different paces. She ran WITH me, showing HUMILITY and GRACE during the times when I needed to slow down. I am ashamed that I did not previously have this innate capacity to be loving and gracious to others, despite how it might make me look in the moment. We are all here together, to support each other when needed most. Don't let SELF get in the way of OTHERS.
I've never spoken to my father about that day, and he has never made mention of my speedy takeoff, so I don't know the true implications. This passage was very difficult to write. It has taken me years to recognize what my actions signify about me. While cathartic, the expression of these events brings me to tears because I am so contrite of my conduct during that run. I've learned from that day lessons that I wish didn't have to be learned. In the end, I am better for it. My father and I have an excellent relationship, and he has never made me feel any negative emotion regarding the takeoff. I love you, Dad. Thanks for the run.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Humility. Grace. Love.
For a time during my sophomore year of college I had obsessed over running. This came after a short stint with triathlon, then cycling, after which I'd decided I didn't have time to ride my bike for 6 hours a day (if I wanted to have any measure of success in any other area of my life, including a regular job). Anyway, during this time of running obsession I was still disillusioned into thinking I was a decent runner in his "base-building" phase, where going slow was mantra. I did perform several "faster" pace runs (9-10:00/mile), if only to further convince myself that I could pipeline myself into a faster runner, given the right training.
It was during this time that I had heard about the local high school cross-country race course. The course meandered around the perimeter of the elementary school property, making roughly two laps around the hilly fields surrounding the school. I had yet to really run with anyone, and although the people around me viewed me as a great runner (mostly due to my obsessive discussion about the sport and my pursuit of it), no one had really ever witnessed my performance. At the time, I was also doing what everyone does when they are excited about a pursuit, that is, I was expounding the virtues of running and insisting that if only everyone ran, we could solve the world's problems (not literally, but that must have been what it seemed like for those around me). My father, at the time, had been looking to start getting back into exercising, having been getting out the door for long walks around our development. He had been out of the gym for several years, mostly due to his never-ending pursuit of his job and his relentless work-ethic. He worked endless hours at all times of the day, just so he could provide a wonderful life for our family. After a 16-hour day and a week of on-call wake-ups at 2AM, there wasn't much time for exercise. He was never absent as a father and sacrificed so much of himself to make sure that his family never wanted for anything. A real man, a real hero. Despite the jam-packed workweeks, my father did find some spare time and insisted that he was going to pursue an activity regimen. I was extremely excited that he was going to do so, mainly due to the health benefits resulting from said routine, but also because I might be able to share in my pursuit of running.
The day finally came when I convinced my father to come for a run with me. The course would be none other than the local cross country course. For, me at the time, it was a shorter run (3.1 miles), but for my father, it would be a milestone. The day was an October afternoon, temperature in the 50's, overcast, dry. We drove down to the course and took a lap in the car around the parking lots to view our prospective route. He was agreeable to the run, although hesitant, as this would be his first foray into the jogging world. He explained that he might need to walk some and slow down a bit, which I told him was OK, as I would probably be in the same boat. He insisted that I not wait for him, and to just run the course however I wanted. This hadn't been my plan because I truly wanted to enjoy this outing with my father. I felt that this run was like riding the razor's edge for hime. That little tipping point where you either love what just happened to you and keep at it, or you hate it, thus beginning the demise of any interest you might have had. I so badly wanted him to enjoy running. I was already seeing the possibilities of his pursuit...
The course starts at the bottom of a 400m hill that then rolls over into a flat circumnavigation of the school before taking a dive back down a long hill on the opposite side of the property, only to connect back with the starting area of the course. We were going to complete two laps of the route. We parked at the top, in a parking area, walked/jogged down to the bottom for a warmup, then proceeded to line up at the 'start' after a short break.
My plan had been to jog slowly with my father (who was I kidding, I was going to go slowly regardless). The first hill was pretty steep, but I figured with all my training, I could muster the power to get up it and continue running. We started to run, and no sooner had we taken off that I accelerated into a full sprint, starting up the hill more rapidly than my father could keep up. What. An. ASSHOLE. I was doing the exact opposite of what I set out to do, and I knew it. I was pushing harder and harder, leaving my father in the dust. I was well aware that he was behind me, suffering up this terrible hill. Instead of remaining at his side, supportive, I showed him my back. I turned on him when he may have need me most. How discouraging for him. I kept at my pace, fueled by an ego-driven, demonic obsession to never be the weak one. I had such a Napoleon complex about my endurance running that I couldn't even let my own father see me as a weak link in the game of athletics. I was so self-centered that I would sacrifice my own father's emotions to build my ego. I don't know what I was hoping to prove by running so fast. I am certain that it wasn't about "winning" or finishing before him. I'm sure it wasn't about "hitting a pace" for my workout. I just couldn't let myself be viewed as a lesser being. Maybe I figured that if I got far enough ahead of him, he wouldn't notice when I slowed down. I don't know. Whatever the reason, the action is EMBARRASSING. I am truly ashamed of my actions. I was ashamed at the time, but too proud to admit it. I don't even remember the rest of the run. I knew what I had done. In the back of my mind, that action was so powerful, clouding all other thought from entering my mind. EGO. Pure EGO.
I have struggled with the events from this particular day for years now. I occasionally remember the ACTION, feeling remorseful each time. I didn't have the HUMILITY to help my father appreciate his first foray into speedy locomotion. I lacked the GRACE to allow myself to remain at his side and encourage him through the hard times. My father hasn't run since that day. I don't know if it was because of my actions. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was. He has gotten back to the gym and ensued healthy habits for himself, of which I am extremely proud. But he hasn't RUN. Now, I don't care if he runs, rides, lifts, picks, eats, farts, whatever. As long as he is healthy and happy. I love my father, and it doesn't make a difference to me what he does, as long as he will be around for a long time to come. Its not about the running itself. Its the contingency that my actions may have been the push he needed, in the wrong direction of the razor's edge.
I ran with Samantha yesterday. One of the first times we have run together without agreeing to "meet at the end" due to our different paces. She ran WITH me, showing HUMILITY and GRACE during the times when I needed to slow down. I am ashamed that I did not previously have this innate capacity to be loving and gracious to others, despite how it might make me look in the moment. We are all here together, to support each other when needed most. Don't let SELF get in the way of OTHERS.
I've never spoken to my father about that day, and he has never made mention of my speedy takeoff, so I don't know the true implications. This passage was very difficult to write. It has taken me years to recognize what my actions signify about me. While cathartic, the expression of these events brings me to tears because I am so contrite of my conduct during that run. I've learned from that day lessons that I wish didn't have to be learned. In the end, I am better for it. My father and I have an excellent relationship, and he has never made me feel any negative emotion regarding the takeoff. I love you, Dad. Thanks for the run.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Mountain Training
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ln-D-56bqfAThis is a short video from my training today. This was a 60 minute sustained Power Hike @ 80-85% Max Heart Rate, followed by an easy descent. I increased the pace on flats and downhills to keep the heart rate where I needed it. You can view all of my training info on STRAVA, which is linked to the right of this post. Today's training was on the Appalachian Trail out of the Delaware Water Gap, on the New Jersey side. The distance totaled 5.6 miles. It was raining, slippery, and muddy. It was also humid, approximately 65 degrees. I used trekking poles for the uphills, holding them in one hand on all the short running sections during the climb. I packed them away in my Ultimate Direction "Peter Bakwin Adventure Vest" on the way down. I tested some fueling options today, since the effort was going to take me over an hour. I tried the Clif Bar "Kids Bar" about 35 minutes in. I only ate half the bar because I wanted to keep moving. I will have to try more of these as I do longer efforts later in the season. Clif Bars in general have sat well with me during longer duration stuff in the past, so we will see what this summer holds. I drank about 1 bottle total from the vest, which worked very well for transporting hydration, rain shell, and other essentials. The theme in my iPod today was Trail Runner Podcast on the climb, and music on the way down, to include "Mountain Men" by Erik the Red and "Welcome Home" by Radical Face. Enjoy the video. It got cut off at the end, but I was just about to say "Overall a good day".
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