Fear of Commitment

I have done it. I am committed. I ran 10 miles today and promptly registered for the 2010 Riverbank Run 25K. I will see you at the finish line!

Runner's Run

Men! May the road rise to meet you and the wind always be at your back. I have heard sad tales of setbacks and roadblocks, but few of inspirational runs! Lo, though I be in the hills of Virginia I am still your brother and such a silence on the airwaves troubles me. Run men, and you shall be free!

I am running, though not extremely far. Usually 3-5 miles 3-5 times a week, with a goal to increase distance this weekend. This is neither here nor there but just a status update to my fellow travelers on the road to happiness. My real story is what some like to call a “runner’s run”.

Yesterday I set out on my five mile route without much of the fanfare, hoopla and the like that my Olympic colleagues have been receiving. No, I was just one man on a lonesome road with the rumblings of a bigger deal to come. My legs felt a little tight, my inspiration low, yet after a mile or two the birds and the air lightened my mood and I was having a jolly good way with it. At mile three the aforementioned rumblings took a more serious turn and let me know that I was going to be lucky to get back in my currently sanitary state. Yes, a true runner’s run with the not too unrealistic fear of soiling both my shorts and my stellar record of making this sort of visit on time and on my own terms. Oh shit! My body tensed and pace quickened… how absolutely horrible this is, especially to be surrounded by houses and the nearly sacred earthworks built during the civil war to protect Richmond from the Union Army. No, my only choice was to run like hell and hope for the best.

Lest you worry your poor little hearts any longer I made it, but barely, and the streak (if you will) is still alive. Please my friends hear this warning; Run! But prepare yourself before you run into a potentially horrendous shituation.

Back in the saddle. Where the hell are the reins ?

Some apologizing on my end, I'm sure, is due. That's not uncommon.

Thank you Bag for your run defying cars. Without it I might be driving.

Thank you Peter for breathing life into something I thought might die. Me. I'll be your cadaver any day.

I've thought a lot about what this post should say. There are a lot of comical stories to tell since I last posted. I'll get to those.

I almost quit. It was close. People talk about those moments when their world takes a turn for the worst. Or when life is tumbling out of control. Maybe that's what happened. Here's what I know took place...

My place of employment shutdown. Consequently supplying me large quantities of things I don't need: oars, stress, lures, unemployed friends, thermoses, free time, bottles of alcohol (a large variety), questions from my peers, wife and parental guidance figures, life savers, guilt, and a general disposition of gloom and doom. It was unpleasant.

My wife was absent. She didn't leave me. She was just asleep. She had gotten really sick and was on a lot of prescription meds. They drained her of all her energy to the point where she would come home from work and sleep for four hours wake up for two and then go to bed. Needless to say she needed support and I gave her all I had. Probably not as much as she deserves.

I decided to look left and drive straight...into another car. I don't know why. I tried to just accept it and move on, but human nature will not let you do such a thing. At least mine will not. I have to think what if...I had a couple beers after work, at work where it was free at the time and left an hour and half later...or I had gone up to Meijer on the E. Beltline instead of planning to go to the one close to home....or I had left work early...or I had called my friend back who wanted to hang out...or I had taken the truck back to the rental store instead of letting my boss do it...it's painstakingly tedious. So much so you don't sleep.

The insurance people misunderstood me. More or less. I said I didn't have any information for the other driver I hit. They thought I meant we didn't exchange any information. So we filed a claim as a hit and run (I didn't really take time to clarify). Then the other driver filed a claim with her insurance gave my name and number. My insurance company was...displeased...

I started a job at a new store. Still Famous Dave's, just a different location. New building, new people, new problems, new stress. For example the floors, silly I know, but just wait. I'm accustomed to level, diamond pattern non-slip, plain gray tiles. Nothing too special. The new floor, is still gray but its un-even, thick rubber plastic material, with no non-slip texture in fact it's smooth, loose at the drains, and retains dirty water in places water shouldn't be. Every step I take I feel dirty especially when water shoots up from under the floor after I take a step.

I did set my own personal distance record during all this. I ran a street race, The Resolution Run. I haven't followed the schedule as ardently as I was before, but I think that has been good for me because my shins were "tore up."

I mean let's be serious with one another how much am I suppose to be able to handle. In truth I almost gave up on it all. I wasn't running regularly. I wasn't eating well. All I wanted to do was sleep and I couldn't. Then things started to get better. I've started to get more comfortable in the new store and I finally got my car back with the help of my insurance.

Now these stressors are beginning to subside or at least dull in the passing of time. Surely, new ones will crop up. I only hope they consist of things like maintaining my blog and running regimen.

This wasn't meant to be an explanatory apology. For those of you who actually missed the posts, I am sorry and rest assured there are some good ones ahead.

Rush Hour Run Rush - My glorious return to running

With Ruth as my witness I declared that “upon returning from Florida I will launch into Riverbank training.” Well, Bag’s back! I have fully embraced training; running with a little core workout and weightlifting thrown in so I can be the strongest man in the world!

Yesterday, January 19, 2010, found me mulling over how far I should run. With recent motivating testimonials regarding distances 8 miles and over, I was feeling a little pressure to get with it. Now, I realized I had been training for less than a week, but I was feeling incredibly motivated so I decided to set my sites on seven miles. Living roughly seven miles from the downtown YMCA a plan was formed; I would run to the Y and meet Ruth after she was done with her yoga class at 6:30pm.

Not wanting to risk getting there late (if I needed to walk the last few miles or something) and hoping to get in an extra workout after arrival, I decided to leave at 4:45pm. This departure time pitted Bag versus rush hour traffic, including most significantly east bound Fulton drivers. Glossing over the reality of reduced to non-existent shoulders and sidewalks due to snowplowed snow I set out with high hopes. Upon reaching Fulton I immediately realized the stupidity of the thing I was about to undertake. Still in high hopes and with a few mental tricks I convinced myself that it would be fine and I would get through the worst of it quickly.

Well, it takes a lot longer to run a distance than it does to drive it. There truly is no shoulder and the sidewalks are completely overtaken by piles of snow. When I saw a semi-truck in the right lane barreling towards me at 60 mph I decided the best thing to do was to get the heck off the road and into the snow. I did this numerous times to avoid oncoming traffic, including a couple cuss-holes who thought it was incredibly entertaining to swerve towards me and flick me off. I took to high stepping in the snow unless no cars were in site, at which point I would hop back on the road and run for dear life.

The Bridge over the expressway was the worst obstacle; two narrow lanes with a small pile of snow and a 20ft drop a few feet away onto 70 mph traffic. I waited for traffic to clear and started to sprint, hoping beyond hope that no one would come. Successful but winded, I returned to my snow bank on the other side of the bridge. It was an incredibly taxing beginning to my longest run yet, but I recovered and braved a few more incredibly ridiculous stretches of rush hour traffic before finding better cleared roads with wider shoulders and cleared sidewalks.

Eventually I settled into my pace and experienced the runners high that I have been looking for. I am now completely addicted to running. By the time I got to the Y I felt like I could keep going and going. Life is great. Running is fun. Rush hour traffic is crazy. Choose a safer route. I am Bag and I am back!

Rigor Mortis

There's nothing that can inspire you to run like a room full of dead bodies. I spent four hours today with my hands immersed in bowel and bile-- probing pancreas, massaging mesocolon, and oggling omentum. After standing in one spot over a semi-rotting body for so long, one feels the urge to move-- not only to flee the scene of decomposition, but also to exercise the right to exercise; a right that my donor no longer possesses. In a way, my run today was an homage to my benevolent instructor (the donor), who inspired me to "shake it while i got it."

However, for those of you who have not had the pleasure of jamming your appendages into the deepest darkest recesses of the human body...(I just realized that that introductory phrase could be misinterpreted as a euphemism for coitus. I am not referring to coitus, grow up)...as I was saying- for those of you who can not fathom the mystery of mesentery, you must understand that dead people, regardless of the preservation process, stink. The stench varies from body to body, and my donor emits (thankfully) a relatively tolerable odor. Relatively is the keyword. The scent is indescribable, but I imagine an elderly recluse-- you know that musty "old person" smell?-- now leave that recluse unbathed for a solid ten years, add some fetid bacteria-infested sewer water, and you may begin to understand the complexity of this odor. Now, you must also understand that the smell of cadaver is remarkably clingy. It grabs your clothes, your hair, your skin, and sometimes it seems like it doesn't leave unless you scrub til you bleed.

That being said, I decided not to shower between my dissection and heading to the gym. Hence, I stanked. I stanked bad. I also have not washed my running clothes this week (and I have already put in a solid fifteen miles). So as I hopped on the treadmill next to a cute Middle-Eastern girl I became self-conscious of my stank. Would she notice the smell of death oozing out my pores with every stride? She mistake this nasty DBO (dead body odor) for regular BO? Luckily, I didn't care what this girl thought. However, there was a cute girl a few treadmills down that I saw the night before at the gym. She runs like a gazelle, and (though I've yet to be close enough) I presume she smells like cinnamon and sunshine. So the question soon begged itself: how far did my stench of death reach? What was my range? Would the gazelle be forced to suffer the DBO instead of my usual enticing musk? Would my passion for human anatomy and my overzealous approach to the peritoneum undermine my passion for beautiful women and my underzealous approach to flirtation?? My question was soon answered as the gazelle leapt from her treadmill and fled to an elliptical a few rows down. She had smelled me.

But who needs her? I have my education.

...

Famous Dave's closed for good.

I don't know...

an unexpected hiatus

I had swine flu. Sorry. I'll run soon.

confession

It has been absurdly cold. I like the cold for the most part. I'd rather shiver than sweat and with that realization running as much as I have been seems like a silly mistake. I'd rather sit in a freezer wearing a T-shirt and shorts. This is all off point.

On my way to the gym I notice I forgot to bring my nalgene. This means I don't have any water to drink. After, during or before my run for today. I would use the drinking fountain at the gym, but there's always a line and next to no water pressure. Meaning the chance of your thirst actually being quenched is nil. That's why I bring a nalgene full of water every time. Fortunately, I see a water bottle rolling around on the floor of my car. It must have been half full of water because there's a block of ice roughly half the size and shape of the bottle in it. It's solid. The only thing is...it's not my water bottle. It's navy blue, holds 750ml, has a top you could clip to a carabiner. But the most notable characteristic, a little spout placed in the top to help drink from it without spilling on yourself in the design of a smiley face. I know it's not mine because I know who it belongs to. A relation of mine. One who took part in the Gobble Wobble around Reed's Lake with me on Thanksgiving. Despite this, I choose to use it and bring it in with me, fill it with water from the fountain and place it in the cup holder attached to the treadmill. This sparks my thoughts....

While I'm running I start to think. I've acquired several items that don't belong to me. Additionally, I use them with some frequency. I'm strategic in using them so the items I like the most I only use when their true owners are not around. Thus eliminating the possibility of being caught and having to return them. This is true primarily for clothes. Going all the way back to an extremely soft cross country shirt from high school I once "borrowed" form a friend. It remains true for other articles of clothing as well: a pair of University of Michigan basketball shorts, a blue long sleeved shirt from structure (also extremely soft). Anyway running looking at this water bottle I came to this realization. I may not have intended to steal these things, I may not have even tried to acquire them (for example this water bottle), but ultimately I've turned into a thief. At some fundamental level I have taken, used and failed to return what's not mine. Thief. Running, looking at this water bottle, the manifestation of my guilt, I try to figure out what to do. Contact those who I owe? Over the top. Too much... Take comfort in the thought that to some extent everyone must do this. We are all thieves...right? Justification. This will only postpone the real issue.... Then it hits me a middle ground....blog about it.

This is my confession. I have your things. If you want them I'll return them. Just know I never intended to keep them this long.


Anti-climatic, I know...

Midnight and all's well

Dashing through foreign woods at one in the morning evokes an eery sensation in this novice jogger. I started this run in a familiar neighborhood, but found myself enticed by the dark forest hugging the river. My eyes grew wide as I adjusted to the lack of streetlamps and felt for footing on roots and rocks. What is perfectly normal and harmless in the light of day takes on a suspicious and ominous tone under cover of darkness. The sounds of scurrying squirrels are ubiquitous and joyful under the sun's loving gaze, but an cracking twig or shifting shadow below the mystical moon terrifies me at this hour; raccoons? skunks? possums? werewolf? drug dealer? indigent with nothing to lose? The possibilities are endless, and thus I pick up my pace. I run hard, not sure if the thumping in my chest is from my stellar workout or merely the powerful palpitations of fear. Yes, it seems I am still afraid of the dark. I should qualify that statement though; I am not afraid of the dark per se-- I am simply afraid of the evil and scary things that lurk in the dark: monsters, goblins, small town gang members, owls, insomniacs, and other people stupid enough to sprint through the woods at one in the morning. To up the ante a bit, I ended out the run by evacuating the woods and jogging by an abandoned industrial park, the railroad tracks, and some sketchy overpasses. I decided to find all the most dangerous places in Ann Arbor in one go of it-- it was like I was hunting for deviants in a winded and weakened state, just to see if I could survive an adverse encounter should one occur. No deviants were found. And I survived.

cramp!

Anyone who runs knows what it is to get a leg/foot cramp. In fact, many people whether they run or not have had this unpleasant experience. When you run regularly and do not drink enough water (say if you drink beer instead) you start getting leg cramps. Additionally, the more dehydrated you are the more frequently they occur and the worse they feel. What follows is my experience with cramping.

I'm rushing home. I really want to meet up with a friend I haven't had a chance to hang out with in awhile. First, I need to run and I had to work late unexpectedly. There's little time. Rush home, get changed, rush to the gym. Just 2 miles tonight. Today is supposed to be a recovery day an easy distance at an easy pace. I don't have time for recovery. I need to leave so I can drink beer. Alright fast 2 miles complete. Rush home. Again. Call my friend to finalize plans, take a shower and hit the road to meet up at the bar. So far so good.

It's a new bar for me. The layout is exactly what you picture a bar to be. There's the rail with the odd assortment of regulars, some tables, of various heights and sizes, spread throughout the floor and all in one room which also has a Jukebox and pool table. It is not crowded, but there are other people there. It is always more comfortable in a bar when there are multiple other groups present. This way it's not just your group and the bartender. There are no worries about eavesdropping, no having to deal with a bartender who is over eager to join the conversation, no feelings of "no one else is drinking should we be?" (not that I've ever had these feelings I just imagine most people would if the situation were to arise). Anyway back to the bar...

I find my friend and proceed to order a beer and gratefully munch on a few cheese fries he has already ordered. It was a good time. The atmosphere in the bar is pretty relaxed and there's no blaring music making it easy to talk and catch up. We talk for awhile have a couple beers and then it comes. Out of no where, as always, my right leg cramps. This is no ignorable point your foot up, then down and it will go away, cramp. This is a totally locked up, you are forced to stand because your leg has to be straightened, cramp. In other words this is intense. If I had been in the privacy of my home I would have cried out, cringing in pain and limped about the room mumbling inaudible profanities. Instead I'm at the bar. I have to attempt social compliance. Meanwhile my body forces me to stand when it is definitely more acceptable to be sitting. My friend is comfortably seated like a normal person eyes glancing around as we try to talk. I've already explained why I have to stand, but he wants to see if the other bar supporters have noticed. Fortunately, I don't see anyone looking. I try to sit, the pain has subsided a little. I sit down. Like a bomb went off underneath me I stand right back up. It's worse I probably yelped when I stood. Now people are looking. If I had been at the gym this could have been excused as normal behavior. But I'm at the bar. After trying to bear the pain I realize I have to walk it out. The only place to walk in this small bar is the bathroom which I just visited. As I'm hobbling to the bathroom I realize instead of looking more normal by going to the bathroom I look like something else is wrong with me. Now that I've stood abruptly twice and groaned in pain I'm going back to the bathroom and if that were not enough I am now walking oddly...like my bladder blew up or I've lost control of my bowels. This is bad. Once again I am not normal and I have subjected another friend to my deviance. Another failed attempt at social interaction. One day I'll get it right.

Running my bane. Running my existence.

-D

Masseuse

Dear friends,
I am not a runner. I am a lazy excuse of a man, in fact. But this past week I ran five out of six days- a feat never before achieved by yours truly. So why the turning of this proverbial "new leaf" you may ask? Chicks man. Just chicks. And I must share with you, my brethren, the benefits of dedicating oneself to a task as demanding as the one to which we have now found ourselves recently dedicated to such a demand as this task to which we are driven (cabernet sauvignon anyone?) Last night, at a local Ann Arbor establishment where I was partaking of some fermented bevies with my medical comrades, I was approached by a woman of the utmost maturity. And by maturity I mean age. If I were thirty five, I may have found her attractive. But I am not thirty five my friends. I am twenty three. Anyway, this courageous cougar approached me and handed me her business card, with her cell number scribbled on the back. She encouraged me to phone her at my leisure if the interest was mutual. She was a masseuse.
The moral of this failed intergenerational pickup attempt, my dear friends, pertains to my attire that evening. I was wearing my brown sexy pants, you know the ones Luke-- they accentuate my shapely posterior region-- you know the region Bag. But my avocado shaped gluts must have been exceptionally toned from my week of unrivaled strenuous cardio activity, instead of their usual bulging and overbearing state. As such, my elder admirer obviously took note and could not resist herself (or myself?). This is the only plausible explanation I can conjure for why this bold masseuse took note of a lowly dirtbag med student like myself on such a magical night. And so I will continue to run. Not for the admiring masseuse, but for the potential of younger masseuses who may take note of my soon-to-be-stunning lower limbs and buns. Luke, as my only single companion in the endeavor, I think we should take a moment to revel in the amount of chicks that we will undoubtedly attract through this grueling training process. May it serve as constant motivation for us both. Dan and brent- you have wives, but I'm sure you've noticed the ladies looking your way lately as well. Run on my friend. Run on.

wake up, a team is formed

Day 3

My eyes open everything is blurry and my brain starts to fire up. Then come the daily questions followed by my own answers: Where am I? Home. Bed. Do I work today? No. Where's Ashley? Work. What time is it? It's light out, morning. Reach for the cell phone to check the time. Missed call. Who dares disturb my slumber!?! Luke. Now the confusion clears and the flood of memories construct my day. I jump out of bed and look again at my phone 9:27am there's still time Luke and Brent are coming over so we can all run together today. I'm off work. There's voices outside. I call Luke he answers as I open the door. They are outside.

Luke, Bag and I are together to run. We are only going to run 2.5 miles at a steady pace. I clocked the distance in my car after I trained yesterday because I was excited, fueled by my victory. Luke and Bag seem excited also so we suit up and head out. It's not a difficult run a couple hills, a few mounds and all in one big circle around my apartment complex. We get to the starting line and we're off setting a good pace and sticking together. All of us feeling good. We are chatting as we run, catching up. You can sense the camaraderie between us. We've been friends for a long time. Lived together, studied together, drank together, vacationed together and now we are running together. All of us one goal, one purpose, run the riverbank. We are a team. Unofficially Luke is our captain. It was his idea. He is one of the reasons we are all doing this. We are only missing Peter. He is on the other side of the state, but he will come home for Christmas and we will all run together, complete.

We finish together just as we started together all in good stride no one over-exerted. Six months and one week from this point we will finish together again. All in good stride no one over-exerted. Today, a team is formed.

redemption

Day 2:

I entered the gym with my head a little lower. My knee looks nasty. Today I am running alone. My wife is at school. I am running 3 miles. I feel good, not tired from yesterday and I know this is my race. I've been running 5ks(3.1 mi) around three times a week for the last few months. Even though I know the likelihood of anyone remembering the events of yesterday I can't shake the feeling all eyes are on me thinking..."there's the guy that fell on the treadmill....twice." Paranoia. I know, it's in my head. Fortunately, this is my race.

I take a look around, typical crowd mostly exercise crazed elliptical junkies, a few people on treadmills and a lot of "juiced" guys lifting. I decided to assume a fairly prominent position in the middle of a long line of treadmills in front of several ellipticals and next to one of those guys who just got done lifting and is walk/jogging a steep incline with a hoodie trying to sweat as much weight off as possible. I pick him because he is struggling. Going slow. His slowness will make me look faster. Calculated. I start a warm up walk on the belt set a playlist and I'm off. It is supposed to be a moderate paced 3 mi, but that won't do. Today I have something to prove. I kick it up I'm going to run my first mile in 6:58 (for me that's fast). I glance around looking for that casual glance from the other runners checking my foot pace to get a sense of my ability. I find one. This feels good, now I just need to maintain, finish, impress. After 1.2mi I know I can't keep this pace for the entirety of the run. I turn it down I'll finish at 7:30 pace. Respectable. The other runner is looking again then he looks down. He's checking his display, he wants to know how fast I'm going wondering: how long has he been running? who will run longer? is he really going that fast? (It's all in my head. I know this but, I have something to prove). I'm sweating a lot. Definitely need to wipe the treadmill down after this run. I look next to me at the guy in the hoodie. He's looking at me, also sweaty. He gives a casual head nod (the kind guys give each other when they don't know each other well). Acceptance. Last mile now, just need to maintain, no problem. Focus on the music in my ears, watch the commercials count how many there are until the program comes back on. Quick look at the display. Stay centered don't drift. The other runner stopped, starts doing some core workouts (aww what's wrong are your legs tired?? Couldn't keep up with me???). Home stretch, here we go. 22:27. Redemption.

Time to stretch out. No shame today. The other runner is gone. I am victorious.

Am I in my own head? Oh yeah. Do I need to be to finish this? Definitely. Would I have it any other way? No way. I was a runner once. I am again.

a rough start

Day 1:

Looking over my work and training schedule, I decided I would start my training with one of the long runs for the week. 3.5 miles. After successfully completing the Gobble Wobble around Reed's Lake (4.3 mi) with family and friends, I knew this would be no problem and was confident I'd be ready for it. Little did I know I was about to experience something I have feared since my first time on a treadmill even though I have never seen it happen to anyone else.

I went to the gym, hopped on the treadmill, and started running as always. I felt good. I was excited to be starting my training and the energy was pushing me to go faster than initially planned. Everything was great until I stopped paying attention and started watching TV. As I ran I must have slowly drifted from the center. My right foot came down on part of the treadmill that was not moving then my left foot came down and shot behind me on the belt while I attempted to maintain my balance. My body twisted as I found my self falling toward the moving belt and the back of the treadmill at the same time. Humiliated and overly aware of the people working out behind me on the ellipticals, I tried to remain somewhat in control and managed to get off with out actually hitting the belt. However, with blood pumping through my veins, my eyes darting around for people chuckling at my expense and a sense that I needed to get back on as quickly as possible I proceeded to jump on from the back right away. Mistake. My center of gravity shot back with my feet as the top half of my body flung forward and my feet came right off the back of the treadmill. My knee ending up sitting on the end of the belt and it quickly rubbed away the first few layers of skin. Now mortified I came to the quick realization that if I was going to get back on I needed to go in from the side and hold onto the rail in the front...little late. Clearly at this point all patrons of the gym have spotted me and identified me as the weakest link. Not only did I fall on the treadmill, but I fell twice. Fortunately for me you don't have to run Riverbank in a straight 2 feet wide strip because I would fail.

...back on I shot a glance at my wife who seemed pleased she wasn't next to me and didn't have to be associated with my antics (typical). I finished out the run with out any other problems. Just a warm sensation on my right knee which has developed into sore.

I wouldn't have asked to start my training any other way. It was in a sense, quintessential Dan.