Runneth Thee Into the Ground

Watched Chariots of Fire last night, a movie I'd never actually seen all the way through, although its twenty years old and won Best Picture at the Oscars among other things. Wasn't as good as I thought it would be, I think I was mixing it up with that one where the guy breaks the four minute mile, still not sure what that one was called. Reminded me of my days as a track star, sure has been a while.

Back when I was a freshman in high school I was literally in the best shape of my life. I ran thirty to forty miles a week with the Cross Country team, and after school had soccer practice for a few hours two nights a week and games and meets on Saturdays. Some days I'd have a rice bowl or something for lunch, go out sixth period and run down to Manhattan Beach and back (about 8 miles) get back grab my stuff go home rest for a while and then an hour later go run around for two hours at soccer practice, including all the usual sprints and conditioning. Saturdays generally consisted of running a full blown race in the morning, and then coming screaming back from places like like the Ventura Invitational in time to play a full ninety minute soccer game at 1pm without getting subbed. I would be tired sure, but it was a great feeling. To come home fully tired, knowing you'll fall asleep as soon as you hit the pillow, yet feeling life in every single one of your muscles. I won a few races on the Frosh/Soph team in Cross Country, won a lot more running the eight hundred and sixteen hundred meters in track. My strategy was simple. Stick close to the lead pack, always making sure to draft on the backstretch (our high school had a track facing east west, with a strong ocean breeze coming out of the west that made the backstretch a killer). Top of the curve at the far end, make my move, and with the wind behind me and the crowd cheering me on as I'd blast past the bleachers, bringing it on home. My coach used to get pissed off, because he thought I was saving strength for the end and running to beat the guy behind me, not to establish a new PR (personal record) for myself. I don't think it mattered how much strength I had with two hundred meters to go though, if there was catching to be done, I was always game. I'm a really competitive person, I take losses pretty hard, and winning is one thing that always makes me happy, makes it all worthwhile.

That year I came very close to running a sub five minute mile, a pretty impressive time for someone who wasn't built to run. I was a real wimp. I could take my thumb and forefinger and wrap them around my bicep, and they would touch, that's how little muscle I had on my body. When I walked a girl home, it was more for my sake than hers, that's how bad it was. I was in the vicinity of a hundred and thirty pounds, even though I was five ten or so. I used to eat worse than anyone in my family, yet never gained weight, since I would always burn it off.

Alas, times have changed. First race of my junior year I badly sprained my ankle, when I was trying to pass someone in the final stretch and got squeezed onto the curb that separates the track from the infield at most high schools. The problem probably wasn't the initial mistep, but the fact it pissed me off so much I ran twice as hard to catch him at the line after the injury. I never ran competitively again. I think about it a lot, and regretted it for a long time. In life we make choices however, there is only so much time in a day. I decided to join the Academic Decathlon team at my school, and my interest in running left me (AcaDec is a great story, for another time). At times I've tried to get back into it again, but the motivation is lacking, I don't have the will to be tired for an hour every day, pushing myself along the same old routes, step after step, never changing.

I finally "matured" as some have referred to it during senior year and that summer, and gained a lot of weight. I like to think most of it was muscle, but I'm sure my share of fat came along with it. I'm now around one eighty during the school year when me and friends work out regularly, one ninety during the summer, and am basically as close to six feet as you can get without actually being it. Not all of the weight as the bad kind, I developed a pair of shoulders, and basically quadrupled the upper arm strength that I never had before. I'm no longer afraid to arm wrestle people, especially girls. :) I often ponder which body I'd rather have, the lanky, stick figure that could run a five minute mile, or the stocky "manly" figure I've grown into. I guess a "middle ground" is the ultimate goal, being in shape, yet not to the point I have to dedicate hours a day to it. Being able run up the eight flights of stairs to my dorm room without getting winded, yet being able to be the one my friends call to walk them home at night, or "save" them from a guy they're trying to escape. Being able to tell someone to stop smoking in the doorway and move to where the rest of us don't have to inhale it every time we come in, without having to worry about getting tossed in the lagoon.

I'd like to say I'm happy with the way I am. Frankly I don't think anyone is. There's always something a person wants to change about themselves physically. I know I'm not perfect, girls have never flocked to me because I'm gorgeous. Being lost in mediocrity is depressing, but that gives me reason to head for the racquetball courts every day, swim some laps, shoot some hoops, squeeze in some pushups before bed, and most importantly stay healthy. People like to talk about not wanting to conform to society's image of the perfect person, but we all know we think about it, and for those of us who haven't found the one, think it will help them find us.