Brick by brick

Over in my Purgatory I have a post that outlined my goals for the year. One major goal was to complete a half-Ironman. Another major goal was to slice my marathon time in half. I accomplished the first. A few weeks from the marathon, I came to the grim realization that accomplishing the second was nowhere within the realm of probability. Possible? Yes. In the furthest realms of theory and imagination, I could run the NYC marathon in under 4, but I had no legitimate reason to believe I would actually do so. At that point, I dropped the idea of a sub-4 marathon as anything but the realm of the supernatural and aimed at a sub-5 marathon. It injured my pride to do so but I thought that was more reasonable. The night before the marathon, I changed my expectations to "I just want to run the whole way this time.", an obvious thrust at the injured Aloha walk I did in Hawaii.

I made none of those goals.

But I took an enormous step forward and can't wait to get back to running. I don't feel the least bit of sadness for not making my goals for a few reasons. First, neither my ilio-tibial band nor my posterior tibialis barked at me the whole race. The calf, hamstring and groin on the other hand, firmly lodged their complaints. Cats and dogs. Big muscles are like dogs. They gripe and whine but if you master them, if you make the situation plain to them, "This is the task I have set for you. I will only expect more from here on out. I will care for you and feed you. Obey me." then they will comply and be your best friend. The tendons and ligaments on the other hand hiss at you and will simply have none of your bossy-ness. Tendons, catty to the extreme, must be coddled and coaxed, and even then, will only come along when the mood comes upon them.

They came along yesterday. And I felt as if they were on my side now. That's huge.

And I finally came to grips that I cannot run marathons much longer with a powerlifter's training regimen and physique. 220 lbs. is just too much to carry that distance. That weight about doubles most pro men. Doubles. I knew this of course, but I played chicken with the truth. I lost. I acknowledge my defeat. Next year, my goal is to drop 40 lbs. or to 5% bodyfat.  I'm going to respect running now. I love the activity too much not to.

And that's something else. The love. I'm a man high on love. With what? I can't quite articulate the affect at the moment. The euphoria swells and flows too strongly. I loved yesterday for sure. I remember running... no, flying, I can't recall the footfalls, the strides, I recall the surge of the crowd, the surge in my heart, the strength in my arms pumping powering me down 5th Avenue, I remember flying down the street thinking "I love this." I remember the muscles fibers fraying, tearing, shredding. I remember a cable, taut and angry, pull in my groin, I remember my mind's eye seeing myself collapse to the ground in an elephantine heap a thousand times and I remember a thousand times shouting back at myself "NEVER." I remember thinking that this is not the Half-Ironman. This is a marathon. This is New York City. Respect the moment for what that moment is. I am pushing myself to my very limits. Limit break.

I am in love with overcoming. I lifted my chin higher than I usually do after the race. I had every reason to do so. I conquered myself. And yet, vast tracts of myself remain unbowed to myself. They too will soon become vassal states. I unified spirit and body to a greater extent than I ever had before, yesterday. My ability to visualize and mentally prepare took a massive step forward. And most importantly, I came to a visceral understanding of a theological truth that gave me fits the past few years. God is most glorified when we are most joyous. And what was my run, my ecstasy, my euphoria, my agony and pain, my aufhebung and victory than worship?

I am in love with New York City. This city, this amazing city, this city I love and have always loved, will always love, came out to support me. I saw several signs that day "Hey, I don't know you but I'm so proud of you." "I am cheering for you even though I don't know you!" and many others of a similar type. Bay Ridge, Fort Greene, Park Slope, Williamsburg, God, I love Brooklyn, son or daughter, I want to name my first child Brooklyn, Queens, 1st Avenue, you were wonderful, I hope I made your day just as wonderful, Bronx, Harlem, Central Park, New York, I love you. Your spirit, your energy made this more than a personal benchmark. I brought my iPod, but I never used my earphones once the gun started. I wanted you, your energy, your passion to fill me completely. I sprinted to give out high-fives and receive pats on the head, shoulders, arms, back, and somewhat awkwardly the butt, way too often but I regret none of it. New York, I love you.

So tell me brethren, should I be disappointed that I fail to achieve some benchmark based on an arbitrary hour marking? I feel no disappointment, no regrets. Instead, I know what my final goal is: Ironman World Championships. Am I impossibly far at the moment such that my goal may as well be a dim star on the horizon? Yes. But at the same time, aren't marathons testaments to achievements that have to be earned by putting one foot in front of another? No. In fact, I think getting a sub-4 marathon time this year would be disappointing. I wouldn't deserve it. I haven't earned it. That might make me hate marathons. I'll get that time when I earn it. That's how it should be. I'll realize my dream when I've earned it. That's how that should be.

Now, back to building this dream brick by steady brick.

A Neglected Organ

It's obvious why most people should train their arms. Boxers need to punch, football players need to push and everyone needs to lift something at one point or another. However, runners don't need to train their arms so much. Is there a body part that everyone should train?

Yes.

The eyes. It doesn't matter if you're legally blind, have only one eye or compete in some sport yet unknown to me that requires you to compete in the dark or blind-folded because of course I mean "the eyes" abstractly.

Let me illustrate the point with a concrete example. Running never came easy for me. I started at over 300 lbs. as a walker. I was so embarrassed by the jiggling mountain of flesh rolling down the street that I didn't really run at first. I pretended I had somewhere to go so I just walked quickly and purposefully in jeans and shoes because the fear of appearing to try was still too prohibitive at that stage. Eventually I felt bored so I started to jog a little bit. A few seconds, a few minutes. What stopped me from jogging for extended periods wasn't the shame. I forfeited any dignity I might've preserved by donning sweatpants. I simply couldn't get over how far away my goals looked. I looked up at where I was going and the end didn't seem to get closer. So I got bored and I started looking to my left, to my right, at cars and women passing by me. And I got nowhere. And I got tired getting to nowhere.

But soon I stopped looking at the end point. 3 paces in front. Let's see how that works. I didn't adopt this technique because of any special philosophical bent. The route I ran went over some broken pavement and shattered glass. I usually walked that section. This time I decided to go over that section as fast as I could. I'd trip and shred my skin if I wasn't conscious so I looked down and charged hard. And before I knew it, I made my goal. And I wasn't any more out of breath than I usually felt.

I experienced a revolution in my running, Copernican in scale.

Look down. Keep your eyes on your immediate goal and soon enough you'll stomp over your reach goal.

I've been relearning this lesson in the past few weeks.

What are you look at when you train? Where is your attention? Where is your focus? Lots of studies are out telling you that high-reps are good or high-reps are bad or that ICT or HIIT is best for weight loss. Miasma and distraction. I want to see a study that shows the difference between focused and aware athletes vs. undisciplined, distracted weekend warriors who go to the gym and ogle the cardio bunnies reading their magazines. Forget talent, forget technique for one brief moment. They're important, critically so, but not as much as you. Whether you're training for an Ironman, mountain climbing, weight loss, muscle gain, martial arts or the military, you should be in training for your life. Your life should have passion, desire, direction. Do you bring your awareness to your goals, to your life or does it seem just too far away? Are you now distracted and looking here and there, eyes glassy, glazed?

Everyone needs to train their eyes. Unfortunately, I'm young and inexperienced so forgive me. The only training I know is by doing. Set goals. Adjust goals. Sometimes I set them too low. Earlier this year, I set out with the goal of writing 1,000 pages. I handled that task easily. I've been averaging up to 35 pages a week compared with the 20 I aimed for. Next year, I think I'll aim to write 2,000 pages. Sometimes I'm too ambitious. I also aimed to finish a Half-Ironman and halve my marathon time and get under the 4 hour mark. I feel confident in finishing under 5 but a 4 hour marathon seems impossibly far beyond my reach as I write a day and a quarter before the race. Actually, I don't even expect to beat my Oprah's time. Adjust and come at it again. Learn by doing.

And soon, before I know it, the far away goal that I've been aiming for will be long past.