John Paul Jones - in response to a British taunt in the midst of a naval battle "I have not yet begun to fight."
That is how I felt today. I realized that anything worth attaining is all uphill. I was running in City Creek Canyon - and if you have run in there before I will tell you how it goes. Mile 1 from the state capital to the ranger station is mostly flat - and at times uphill. Mile 2 is uphill. You wind through the trees and wonder when the marker is coming along. I think at times the rangers move it and hide in the bushes laughing at me. Mile 2.5 is up a roller coaster of hills. Mile 3 is up a steady incline. Then more climbing, twisting, garbled running and then you think that you might be going downhill a bit and then BAM more uphill and then you reach mile 4. Luckily God decided to have some of the return trip on a downhill instead of changing the topography randomly to torture those of His Running Sons.
So - to revisit the point. Nothing that is worth anything is ever given to you without a fight. If something is given to you then you don't appreciate it. Think of my dogs. If they fight over breakfast they like it better. When I am running up a hill that bugger is making me work for every foot. I have not yet found an escalator to take me to the top. All personal effort. I also have not run into anyone that is going to operate a rope tow to get you to the top. All you, all your power, all of it fed right from the brain to the bottom of your shoes.
Giving up makes you slower. Stopping is not an option. Guts, dredging around in your desire every day to make up the difference in distance between where you are and what you want to be. How deep is the well of your desire? How hard do you grip the ropes on your ship of life and yell out to your opponent no matter the situation and if you are winning or losing: "I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO FIGHT!"
Showing posts with label more running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label more running. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
When the Drips Return....
So this weekend I had a long run in St. George, Utah. Some would question the sanity of the whole thing. But, when the run beckons all with shoes, socks, and adequate water must answer the bell.
Thursday night I was wondering which way I would go for 16 miles. I thought that I would just run up to Cedar City and back but that was too far. So I looked at www.mapmyrun.com and plotted my destiny.
The run began at my in-Laws home in St. George - and went out Sunset - then through Santa Clara, then past all of the old Pioneer homes, Jacob Hamblin (who I might add should have bartered harder with the Indians) and then it went up this hill, past Ivins, and then continued on for another three miles into the desert.
I think that the drips returned sometime between mile 5 and 8. And then they continued till the very drawn out, up hill battle to the finish line.
I think the drips, which originated in my head - and then traveled out my visor, and then splatted on me, the concrete, or sand were my past fat visiting me. You see every time you eat something that your body really craves - like a jelly doughnut. It is stored as fat. Which is then lurking there, clinging to your bones, waiting to clog your heart. The only way to get rid of this is through the sometimes painful dripping process.
Some drips get pried off with a crowbar, and others fight to the bitter end. At mile 12 I think I shed a doughnut that had been lurking in my posterior for several years. Something like that gum I ate in 3rd grade. I will call the doughnut Doug. Doug and I have been friends for some time. But now Doug had to go. He was not needed anymore. The fat man needed Doug. But this time it was for the furnace of affliction that happens sometime between death and dripping to death. Doug was sacrificed to the furnace. Doug was my friend. Doug will not be missed.
Thursday night I was wondering which way I would go for 16 miles. I thought that I would just run up to Cedar City and back but that was too far. So I looked at www.mapmyrun.com and plotted my destiny.
The run began at my in-Laws home in St. George - and went out Sunset - then through Santa Clara, then past all of the old Pioneer homes, Jacob Hamblin (who I might add should have bartered harder with the Indians) and then it went up this hill, past Ivins, and then continued on for another three miles into the desert.
I think that the drips returned sometime between mile 5 and 8. And then they continued till the very drawn out, up hill battle to the finish line.
I think the drips, which originated in my head - and then traveled out my visor, and then splatted on me, the concrete, or sand were my past fat visiting me. You see every time you eat something that your body really craves - like a jelly doughnut. It is stored as fat. Which is then lurking there, clinging to your bones, waiting to clog your heart. The only way to get rid of this is through the sometimes painful dripping process.
Some drips get pried off with a crowbar, and others fight to the bitter end. At mile 12 I think I shed a doughnut that had been lurking in my posterior for several years. Something like that gum I ate in 3rd grade. I will call the doughnut Doug. Doug and I have been friends for some time. But now Doug had to go. He was not needed anymore. The fat man needed Doug. But this time it was for the furnace of affliction that happens sometime between death and dripping to death. Doug was sacrificed to the furnace. Doug was my friend. Doug will not be missed.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Things You Might Not Think I Think About
Today was a 7 mile day. 1 hour 11 Minutes.
You might be wondering what would get you to the seven mile mark without thoughts of suicide or worse, Oprah episodes while strapped into a chair and unable to leave. Which I might add is a violation of the Geneva Convention, and the Man Code. But I digress.
My friend Sally told me of a way to distract yourself while running. It was to count things. You can pick the thing that you count. There is not a guide book "How to Count things to distract yourself from the pain shooting up through the bottom of your feet and ending in your brain stem." So since there is no guide she began by counting dogs. Sally is a dog person, loves dogs, thinks dogs are good and holy things that help you. I tend to agree with all of that. So she counts dogs.
Vikings count other things like: Towns that they have been to, but not plundered. Pretty low count and thus it would not distract you from the possible breach in your lungs. Second one to focus in on is Stink Bugs. You may not think that there are many Stink Bugs on the run up to 12 miles, but I will witness to the fact that without a magnifying glass I was able to count 110 Stink Bugs on one run. That is a lot of Stink Bugs. I did not count them on the way down for fear of ruining my very accurate statistical count. Some of them were squished so I counted them too. Some were mating - but I counted them as two because it was a two-for-one Stink Bug day.
So a few days ago during a mild-long run I began to count pill bugs, or rolly-polly bugs or little oblong bugs or whatever you call them. I got to 55 of those. Some were squished too but I counted them. None were mating. And I did not count the bugs on my way out because that might have resulted in double counting of bugs. Not good.
So today on my seven mile run I was thinking of things to count. Did the pill bugs. Stink bugs have all gone into hibernation for the year. Bicyclists make me mad and I scream at them. I did see three cross country skier people. One male and two females. I thought - "how bout you count the blue flowers on the side of the road. Bad idea. I started to count and had three - and then came across a least a billion of them so that was trashed. So I guess that was good and distracting to figure out that I could not count anything today. I could have counted how many guys are old, should not be cylcing with their shirt undone, and look to be about 80 years old. But that would have been only one.
As in my previous posts you find that no matter if you count things or listen to your ipod - dwell on world peace - it is all just you. The other guy on the trail can't run for you and you have to do it yourself. It is an individual effort with the trimmings of personal sacrifice and pushing it until you beat the black numerals for your personal best effort.
You might be wondering what would get you to the seven mile mark without thoughts of suicide or worse, Oprah episodes while strapped into a chair and unable to leave. Which I might add is a violation of the Geneva Convention, and the Man Code. But I digress.
My friend Sally told me of a way to distract yourself while running. It was to count things. You can pick the thing that you count. There is not a guide book "How to Count things to distract yourself from the pain shooting up through the bottom of your feet and ending in your brain stem." So since there is no guide she began by counting dogs. Sally is a dog person, loves dogs, thinks dogs are good and holy things that help you. I tend to agree with all of that. So she counts dogs.
Vikings count other things like: Towns that they have been to, but not plundered. Pretty low count and thus it would not distract you from the possible breach in your lungs. Second one to focus in on is Stink Bugs. You may not think that there are many Stink Bugs on the run up to 12 miles, but I will witness to the fact that without a magnifying glass I was able to count 110 Stink Bugs on one run. That is a lot of Stink Bugs. I did not count them on the way down for fear of ruining my very accurate statistical count. Some of them were squished so I counted them too. Some were mating - but I counted them as two because it was a two-for-one Stink Bug day.
So a few days ago during a mild-long run I began to count pill bugs, or rolly-polly bugs or little oblong bugs or whatever you call them. I got to 55 of those. Some were squished too but I counted them. None were mating. And I did not count the bugs on my way out because that might have resulted in double counting of bugs. Not good.
So today on my seven mile run I was thinking of things to count. Did the pill bugs. Stink bugs have all gone into hibernation for the year. Bicyclists make me mad and I scream at them. I did see three cross country skier people. One male and two females. I thought - "how bout you count the blue flowers on the side of the road. Bad idea. I started to count and had three - and then came across a least a billion of them so that was trashed. So I guess that was good and distracting to figure out that I could not count anything today. I could have counted how many guys are old, should not be cylcing with their shirt undone, and look to be about 80 years old. But that would have been only one.
As in my previous posts you find that no matter if you count things or listen to your ipod - dwell on world peace - it is all just you. The other guy on the trail can't run for you and you have to do it yourself. It is an individual effort with the trimmings of personal sacrifice and pushing it until you beat the black numerals for your personal best effort.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Two Drips on The Visor of Life
I was out running on Saturday. Earlier would have been better. Sans Dog because where I was going would not have worked for the four-legged friends. Something about city ordinances and the fact that nobody likes an outdoor peeing mammal.
I decided to go up the canyon. I needed 14 miles to get my limit of the "Airborne Shuffle" for the day. Going up the canyon is a bit tricky for fat men. Some of the skinny runners I know just plow up and over the hills and up and over into some far off nirvana that only skinny people know of.
The Fat Man does not know such nirvana. I hearken back to the quote from Gladiator "If you find yourself riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled because you are in Elysium and you are already dead!" I have figured out step by step that things don't kill you.
When I played high school football I figured out that I was not going to die out there on the practice field. I may have wanted to after doing several dozen wind sprints. But I was not going to die. Humid, 98%, with 100 degree heat. Does not kill you. So 14 miles in the 80-100 degree range would not kill you either.
So back to my two drips. About 3/4 of the way up the canyon I had sweat through my little visor and it began to drip on me. First the left side, then the right side, or both at the same time. I got all the way up to where the Sidewalk Ends (omage to Shel Silverstien) and discovered that I was beyond where normal runners go. Normal runners run past the same garden gnomes that they always go past. This was an Undiscovered Country (not as bad as the same movie by Star Trek) and I was about to go beyond it. Rattlesnakes, bears, moose, and something else that was unsavory waited beyond.
Drip Drip I went up the trail and into the unknown. Across a few bridges and then my watch told me to turn around. It was a long way back home from there. Drip, Drip, Drip Drip Drip.
I don't know if the drips had names - for they came unbidden from the deep dark wells of fat and moisture. Maybe the fat cells screamed out "OH NO THERE GOES BETTY!" as they were dragged into the furnace of my affliction. Betty Deserved it.
I decided to go up the canyon. I needed 14 miles to get my limit of the "Airborne Shuffle" for the day. Going up the canyon is a bit tricky for fat men. Some of the skinny runners I know just plow up and over the hills and up and over into some far off nirvana that only skinny people know of.
The Fat Man does not know such nirvana. I hearken back to the quote from Gladiator "If you find yourself riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled because you are in Elysium and you are already dead!" I have figured out step by step that things don't kill you.
When I played high school football I figured out that I was not going to die out there on the practice field. I may have wanted to after doing several dozen wind sprints. But I was not going to die. Humid, 98%, with 100 degree heat. Does not kill you. So 14 miles in the 80-100 degree range would not kill you either.
So back to my two drips. About 3/4 of the way up the canyon I had sweat through my little visor and it began to drip on me. First the left side, then the right side, or both at the same time. I got all the way up to where the Sidewalk Ends (omage to Shel Silverstien) and discovered that I was beyond where normal runners go. Normal runners run past the same garden gnomes that they always go past. This was an Undiscovered Country (not as bad as the same movie by Star Trek) and I was about to go beyond it. Rattlesnakes, bears, moose, and something else that was unsavory waited beyond.
Drip Drip I went up the trail and into the unknown. Across a few bridges and then my watch told me to turn around. It was a long way back home from there. Drip, Drip, Drip Drip Drip.
I don't know if the drips had names - for they came unbidden from the deep dark wells of fat and moisture. Maybe the fat cells screamed out "OH NO THERE GOES BETTY!" as they were dragged into the furnace of my affliction. Betty Deserved it.
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