Marathon

Mike could easily be described as a fitness guru. Before arriving to Appalachian State, Mike had already set the national record in the PT challenge for ROTC at LSU. He had competed in Rugby and wrestling, and spent many hours lifting weights at the gym. With a creative mind and an aggressive attitude, it seemed as if there was nothing Mike couldn’t accomplish. Furthermore, he sought to go to extremes all the time. Living a normal, average, and mundane life seemed boring beyond belief.

Mike was like I. The two of us had a need for adventure, and through our year together at Appalachian State we had created some of the best memories and most wild times.

“Marathon” seeks to describe the event that first started it all.

It was three in the morning, on a school night. The two of us had just finished watching the movie “Cool Runnings.” With I having use to run cross country and track on the colligate level, the movie made me want to go run again. Not tomorrow, next week, or even soon, but at that specific moment.

“Bro, I know this is going to sound crazy but you have to hear me out.”

Mike was never the type to dismiss an idea without consideration, but nonetheless I felt obligated to try and persuade him, assuming he may try and back out.

“I want to run a marathon right now, 26.2 miles, and I know you’re the guy to do it with.”

And so he was. Mike never hesitated. He laughed at the idea, but immediately proceeded to change into running attire. I had much respect for his attitude, as he did mine. From there we began what initially seemed much easier in thought than in retrospect. We’d learn why the marathon required such extensive training, but ultimately we’d gain a new sense of worth through this journey we were about to embark upon – The Marathon.

We both chugged our coffee, then chugged some more. Being truthful, we were tired and sleep deprived. Afterall, it was three in the morning. With caffeine in our systems, and layers upon layers of clothing covering our body, we proceeded outside. It was thirty degrees, as we were running at 3,300 feet altitude near the beginning of the winter season.

Although I hadn’t run competitively in a year, which consisted then of running the typical eighty miles each week, I hadn’t completely lost all aerobic fitness in my time off. Mike, having worked out every day that year so far, made me confident we were in fairly decent physical shape. Therefore, the first few miles seemed rather easy. We conversed with each other, and kept the pace slow, as our only goal was to finish the marathon. Time was irrelevant.

The first fifteen miles had seemed as near effortless as we could ever expect. Running near eight minute mile pace, or slightly quicker, our legs had yet to tighten up. The main problem during this time was what was going on inside of Mike. He stopped to take a shit three different times. I told him to lay off the coffee, but he’s known to be a little stubborn at times. Mike had never run more than a handful of miles before, so this run would have to teach him of some unlearned lessons that are vital to running as an endurance sport.

The major change of the night occurred as we approached the completion of fifteen miles. Our calf and thighs ached in pain, and felt so tight and sore I thought I may scream. I, the known ex-runner, wanted out. However, Mike wouldn’t let me quit, and from there we began walking. Again, time was not of the issue.

We would alternate walking and jogging every few minutes. Around mile twenty Mike thought of something brilliant, saving us from the cold temperatures outside. The gym to the student recreation center on campus opened up at 6am. From there the two of us could walk on the track or treadmill (that is whichever of the two would get us to the finish). From there we proceeded indoors. The track was short in length, as a mile equaled nine laps. Circling over the basketball courts, the track seemed ideal for not only escaping the cold, but perfect for diverting our attention from running to those playing the game.

It was six in the morning. Not a single person was playing basketball.

Diverting our minds back to the track, Mike and I were becoming delusional. Both us of couldn’t stop laughing it seemed. No jokes had been made, nor anything funny for that matter, yet we could not control our laughter. Nearly two hours of the slowest walking occurred there before we decided to proceed to the treadmills. At this point we had two and a half miles left to walk. Running was no longer an option. For the duration of these few miles, the two of us threw our bodies over the railing of the treadmills and hung there, while our legs walked at the pace we set on the machine. Two miles per hour may as well have felt like a full sprint near the end of our run. We were asking our bodies to sustain this small amount of energy, from which it seemed as if we had none left.

Through some miracle we eventually finished. It was 9:30am. Six and a half hours after we first started, and as a result we were a mess.

For the next two days we refused to move from our beds. We skipped our classes, had friends bring us our meals, and experienced aching muscles for nearly a week afterwards. The experience had been brutal.

Brutal, but worth it.

Mike and I had run a marathon.

We were officially marathoners.

The Dangers of Flirting

Just last month I met two girls, of whom both I attempted to flirt with.

The first girl thought I was nearly to die for. She kept smiling throughout our conversation, laughing at the majority of everything that I said. She seemed eager to give out her number, shortly thereafter.

I considered the approach a success.

I could tell the second girl thought I came across as creepy. She continued to look away during our interaction, contributing little towards the conversation, and even though she did give out her phone number (of which I knew I shouldn’t have asked for in the first place) she never responded to my text.

I considered this approach to be a failure.

The difference between the two?

Nothing.

The conversations, although somewhat different, remained the same in regards to my intentions. I noticed a pretty girl, and took action in hopes it may lead somewhere better.

I was the same with the first girl as I was the second. The different reactions, however, could have been for a number of reasons.

Does it really matter why?

Afterall, what if one of the girls already had a boyfriend. What if one was having an awful day and the other wasn’t. What if one just recently called it quits to a serious relationship, or claimed she just needed time to herself. What if one had been sexual traumatized in her past, and had issues trusting men in general?

What if…What if…What if…

The possibilities are endless.

Ultimately, who cares what she may have been thinking at the time of our conversation?

Do the “what if” scenarios matter?

No.

The fact of the matter remains that I continue to act true to myself. I know where I stand on certain issues. I know what I want to do with my life, where I’m headed, and I continue to look for what interests me most.

Some girls will find me sincere, flattering, charming, and ultimately give me their time of day. Some girls simply will not.

There’s nothing more to it.

At the end of the day though, one thing remains certain:

I stay true to myself.

Therefore, the message I am trying to deliver is to put yourself first, always. Love who YOU are, and don’t base the thoughts of yourself off of others, because the opinions of you will vary from interaction to interaction.  

To those who find you endearing, kind-hearted, or worthy of their time, these girls are the ones worth sharing your time with (or all people sharing the same outlook for that matter).

To those who dismiss you, or write you off as creepy, those are the ones who you should avoid in general. You’re never going to please everyone, so stop trying to do so. Accept the fact that it’s not meant to be and move on.

However, these girls mentioned as part of the second group should not be seen as a waste of time, but rather seen as the few who simply help you to filter through those unworthy of your time of day, leaving more time to spend with those who in return want to spend it with you too.

Therefore, all these interactions can be seen as essentially helping you out in some way, and that is something I can be thankful for.

Bruises

“These bruises make for better conversation
Loses the vibe that separates
It's good to let you in again
You're not alone in how you've been
Everybody loses, we all got bruises
We all got bruises”

I was in the middle of getting ready for my day, with the radio blaring, when all of a sudden I heard one of Train’s newest songs “Bruises” begin to play.

For a while now, or at least since I went and saw them in concert this past summer (I attended for Gavin Degraw, my favorite artist, but the two were touring together), I began to listen to their songs more frequently. This song in particular, brought back a memory of a revelation I experienced a few months prior…

My first girlfriend had yet to do more than kiss a guy before we ever started dating.

Weird to mention, right? Trust where I'm headed, and continue reading.

The thought of knowing this, I liked. I didn’t want to imagine her with anyone else prior, and for that reason alone it gave me piece of mind knowing I was her first.

For my second girlfriend, it was somewhat different. I was her fourth or fifth boyfriend, I honestly can’t remember. I knew early on I wasn’t going to be that special someone she shared her first time with. I didn’t like the idea of her having have been with other guys beforehand, and this train of thought would soon prove naive on my part around the time of this new revelation.

This “revelation” I keep mentioning, refers to a moment in which I began to look back on my relationship between both these girls and the comparisons I made between them.

I remember noticing how the girl I first dated would crave the attention of guys who so much as gave her a glance. If they came on to her she would get excited, and many times I called her out on it (yes, she would even do this during the relationship, with me beside her at times).

She once told me that in high school she had received little attention, and it wasn’t until the year before that her looks started to receive any attention at all. So what happened?

She met me early on, during her “blossoming phase,” and we settled into a relationship.

Truth is looking back on it I don’t think she was ready for the commitment, yet. The attention was new to her and she needed to experience some of it and get it out of her system before she settled down with me, or anyone else for that matter.

For my second girlfriend, the thought of her with another guy would upset me at times. I couldn’t stand to think that she may have loved another guy at some point in her life. She too would claim to have the same thoughts about me and girls I had been with prior to her at times. Therefore, I felt justified in my reasoning for these negative thoughts.

However, her feeling the same as I served as no means for validating my irrational thoughts on this matter.

It wasn’t until one night, as I lay awake in bed, I remember thinking how odd it was that my second girlfriend (the one with more experience) could be less receptive to the guys who would come on to her during our relationship.

…Then it hit me.

I realized something that should have been so obvious beforehand.

Why would I want a girlfriend who has never experienced love before? Why date a girl who has never shared a kiss with another guy, or sex, or anything similar to the two for that matter? At least that girl could then have gone through those emotions, known how it felt to be in love, and could better process whether or not if I was Mr. Right for her.

My second girlfriend knew what it was like to date guys who treated her poorly, or at least at times that’s how it was described. Therefore, she knew what we had between us had been something special.

Girlfriend number one probably thought what we shared was typical, and nothing special beyond the average relationship.

For myself, I look back to the lyrics of the song “bruises” and it reminds me that these so called bruises help to influence and shape us into better individuals, both inside and outside of relationships. Because as we all know, after a breakup we each take away lessons learned that ultimately make us stronger and better individuals as we move into the next part of our lives.

Afterall, when a bruise forms it often can be associated with pain. We learn from what causes this pain, and do better to avoid it in future instances.

Eventually we become better at finding what we are looking for, in both ourselves and in the opposite sex.

Therefore, I would hope that the next girl I enter into a relationship with would have had some experience beforehand. I want to know, if it were to work out, that it’s because she knows we have a good thing going for the two of us and how it isn’t typical, or the norm, as one might expect for a first time. But on the other hand, don’t misquote me and interpret this experience with other guys as a prerequisite for entering into my next relationship but more so something I’ve learned may be beneficial in helping to create a lasting relationship later on down the road.

Point is we all have bruises (metaphorically speaking) from our past relationships, and all other experiences that are a part of life for that matter. Each experience helps us to grow as a person.

Eventually the bruises will heal, and once so we discover a stronger sense of self.

Lessons from the Tooth Fairy?

Toothless, a Disney Channel movie, I watched back during my years in elementary school, taught me a valuable lesson in how to live my life to the fullest. The impact was so profound, that as of today I feel compelled to share.

The movie revolves around the life of Catherine Lewis, a dentist, who lives an unromantic life. For years Catherine remains single, turning down potential suitors, as she’s afraid of losing any love she may acquire. 

On her way to visit her friend Mindy, one fateful day, Catherine attempts to cross the street unsuccessfully. Stepping out into traffic, she meets head-on with an oncoming car.

She dies instantly.

Upon reawaking, Catherine finds herself trapped in a place referred to as Limbo (a place between Heaven and Hell). Limbo, an alternate reality, serves as a place for second chance, for those who had not yet been deemed worthy of entry into Heaven upon immediate death.

It’s in Limbo that Catherine is required to perform community service. Unknowingly, Catherine signs up to work as the Tooth Fairy. During her first night, Catherine meets a young boy named Bobby. Bobby, who becomes somewhat frightened, can see the Tooth Fairy as she comes to visit him. 

It’s in this moment we learn that children with at least one baby tooth can see the Tooth Fairy, whereas those with none cannot. Losing all baby teeth symbolizes the child’s loss of innocence. 

During her time as the Tooth Fairy, Catherine develops love (not in a romantic way though) for Bobby and his close group of friends. However, part of her job requires her to avoid interaction with anyone else when working (In Limbo disobeying the rules could lead to Catherine being sent to Hell).

However, this disobeying of the rules contradicts the purpose of why Limbo exists. For Catherine, she was sent to Limbo because she had never loved anyone else besides those in her family. Love, the greatest gift of life, had gone unused and therefore Catherine had been deemed to have lived a life unwisely. 

For me, this concept hit home right away. 

I once believed love was the greatest part / experience of life. To this day I still do and I’m sure I always will.

As for Catherine, I believe she eventually saw the truth to this claim, as she continued to break the rules (talking with the kids whom she visited). Her constant rule breaking eventually led to her being sent to Hell. For this reason, and this reason alone, I fell in love with the movie. Weird right?

The reason was simply for how Catherine valued love. She valued it enough to give up her entry into Heaven. 

Oddly enough though, the next scene of the movie flashes to Catherine waking up to on the street at the scene of the accident, that at one time we were lead to believe was the cause of her death. For her, she had been given a second chance at life. 

Bobby, the child she initially met on the first night of the job, later comes into her dentist office for a routine checkup (a few days after the collision). It is in this moment that he recognizes Catherine, as they reunite, but as Catherine pulls out Bobby’s last baby tooth he can no longer remember Catherine or her job as the Tooth Fairy. 

For Catherine, she becomes saddened. However, the movie soon comes to an end on a positive note with Bobby’s dad arriving to pick his son up from his appointment. It is in this moment that we see a spark ignite between the two.

The movie ends with the dad inviting Catherine to join in grabbing a bite to eat with Bobby and him, leading us to believe that Catherine may indeed have found a potential new love. 

Losing Focus

I can only imagine what it must have been like for Josh Davis after his swim at the 2000 Sydney Olympics.

His event: 200 Freestyle

His goal: Win a medal

…I first met Josh when I was no more than 12 years old. His story was touching. Already having won three gold medals as part of relay teams for Team USA, Josh was hungry to win his first individual medal.

Apart from the relays, Josh was only scheduled to swim one event. Therefore, he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. The 200 meter freestyle was his one shot to prove to himself and others he had what was necessary to finish on top of the podium.

To this day, Josh’s description of the race remains etched deep into my memory. Josh recalls the race in full, and in great detail, but for our sake I must skip to the tail end. Josh recounts looking over and noticing a group of guys, all in the mix for a top three finish. It was then, on the last lap that Josh dug deep and mustered out every last ounce of energy his body could give. He touched the wall, finishing the race, unaware of how he had placed. With a glance at the scoreboard, the results read…

Josh Davis – 4^th

His time, 1:46.73, was actually faster than the previous world record! The race was something else! Four guys had swum faster than ever before, a feat rarely seen in the sport of swimming.

Josh’s reaction? He cried.

Josh was disappointed to miss out on winning a medal.

My reaction? I thought the dude was a boss.

To me, the medal was irrelevant. What this guy did in the pool, during that race, was simply incredible. But for himself, he only saw it as failure.

I think at some point Josh lost focus on the good that came from that race, and instead focused on the bad. Truth be told, I can’t see a reason why he shouldn’t have held his head up high. But like most of us, we’ll never be satisfied unless we can have it all.

After all, it’s human nature.

I judged Josh in that moment, in a negative manner; as I told myself I’d never do the same.

I believed, and still currently do, that it’s important to focus on the good things in life, and recognize that even though we may want it all, having it all isn’t necessary in helping to find the happiness we are all so desperately searching for.

However, nearly ten years later I’d make the same mistake.

The situation may have been completely different, but my outlook was the same of Josh’s during his swim in Sydney.

Her name was Lauren. Lauren, my ex-girlfriend, had called it quits to the relationship. To be honest, it was mutual. We both knew it was ending.

Hurtful remarks were made, and the two of us left on a bitter note.

To my friends I vented, claiming the time spent together had been a waste.

I was focusing on the bad.

Dammit. Later, I'd recognize my mistake.

What I should have been doing was nothing. No venting, no reaching out, nor anything else related.

The damage had been done, as the two of us were finished, completely.

Similar to Josh’s experience in losing a medal, I felt I had lost the love of my life. I focused on the bad (in this case the waste of time), rather than seeing the good (the time we shared together).

So… On that note, I feel today I am turning over a new leaf, with this newly found perspective, as I head into another chapter of my life.

Lauren, from this point on will serve only as a past memory, as we (Lauren and I) determined earlier this same day. However, without question, my memory of her will remain a good one.

Nah, make it a great one.

 

I thank God for all the blessings he has bestowed upon my life so far, with Lauren being one of the many.

To Lauren, thank you for all the special memories, as I wish you the best in wherever life may take you.

Learning to Let Go and Move On

A week ago I finished my fourth year of college. In that year, I experienced a break-up, and then later found a new love. These two experiences resulted in not only the formation of new friends, but also the leaving behind of those that were associated with my ex. Through this, I’ve learned to let go and move on from those who I need to move on from.

One of the hardest things in life can be watching those closest to you leave. Regardless as to if it’s a loved one passing on, moving away, or simply a falling out, it’s important to remember how they made you feel at certain times in your life, when they brought you joy. The amount of time spent together should be considered irrelevant.

For me, my “list” of friends changed drastically this year. Although my closest few friends remained intact, most everyone else seemed to change. However, why should this be seen as a negative? Afterall, meeting new people can be fun, exciting, and serve as a potential for making life-long friendships.

Friends come and go. That’s just life. And although we shouldn’t be concerned with how long they last, most of us are. We want to know that when we make a connection, it will remain intact for the long run.

For me, I had a different view at the end of this year than from years before when saying good-bye. For instance, I was fortunate to have a great roommate and two great suite mates this year. When the school year ended, however, I knew that would be the end of us hanging out again as a close group. One of the suite mates was graduating, another was moving off campus, and the other joined a fraternity. We were all living in different places, and for that reason, I knew we wouldn’t hang out again as a group next year, or any other year.

The time had come for us to move on. However, it would no longer be hard to bare as with similar instances of the past, for we had a reason to celebrate. Nine months together had been a blast. The experience became a blessing, and now served as time to experience the next blessing of our lives. On that note, and for that reason, I can honestly claim I'm excited for the road ahead.

Ridin'

I set out for a bike ride in preparation for my first Ironman triathlon race. The race was scheduled next month, and I needed to spend a lot of time pedaling away on the road. I planned to ride fifty miles this day. I wouldn’t finish one.

I had downloaded some new songs onto my iPod, hoping it would make the long ride bearable. Fifty miles would take me around three hours to complete, so having new songs to listen to was a must. Half of these new songs I’d never fully heard before, so I decided to download them and try them out through the ride. One of the songs was “Ridin’,” by Chamillionaire.

“Ridin’” was the first song on the playlist. I’d heard the first part of the song the day before, and loving rap music, I decided it would be first on my new playlist. Turning the volume on high, I started to ride. I was unaware, however, how the song ended.

As I was riding, I heard the horn of what sounded to be an eighteen-wheeler blast loud. The sound was coming from behind me. I panicked. I needed to dodge this truck.

Hugging the side of the road, I ran off into a ditch in a last second effort to escape the truck. Landing in a ditch, my bike hit hard. I had cuts and bruises all over. As I looked up to see the truck, I found that the truck was nowhere, nor was there any other car. I was alone. Suddenly I realized where the blasting horn had come from – the song.

As I lay in the ditch, frustrated to no end, one of the guys in the song says: “Damn! I done spilled my drink.”

I was both frustrated and hurt. However, I couldn't help but laugh.

It had been a horrible ride. Painful, nerve racking, and embarrassing. With my bike and I in a complete mess, I walked back to my house and called it a day.

A Letter to Lopez

During a time in which I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, I received some guidance that helped to put my life in perspective and back on track to help shape These Newfound Perspectives that I have today.

I asked Lopez Lomong the following:

“What would you say was the single most difficult aspect of pursuing your dream that most people might not know about? And if any, what lesson might you have learned from that experience that has helped shape you into the person you are today?”

Brian,

Thank you so much for your message.  Congratulations on achieving your degree of success already and on your athletic achievements as well.  I think running as a professional is an incredible career although there are real challenges involved as well.  It is not a very stable career as each year's performances determine the support you get from your sponsors.  Additionally it can be challenging on your personal life as it requires extensive time out of country or at training camps.  Most professionals struggle to balance the career and personal life although it certainly can be done. 

If you have the opportunity to run professionally to start your career I highly recommend it.  Chasing after the Olympic dream has been one of the most fulfilling journeys I have ever taken in my lifetime. Even if I had never made the Olympic team the journey forever changed me as a person.

Best wishes and keep running hard!!

Lopez Lomong

Sinking the Final Shot

“I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.” – Michael Jordan

Nearly everyone, at one point, will think about the issue of popularity. Through growing up in school, taking on jobs, and through other social outlets, it is clear we all have the desire to be well liked; but at what cost?

It’s simple: for every additional person we become friends with; for every new relationship we try to maintain; and for the social image we all work so desperately hard to improve; with each new person we meet, social interaction becomes more and more limited. After all, time is limited.  

So the question arises: Who are we doing all this for?

This is where we run into a potential problem.

Coming into and maintaining popularity can seem wonderful. Having people around you who want to interact, hang out, and enjoy your company couldn’t be seen as a downside to becoming popular. Or could it?

With so many friends, how well does each person know you? For many, their relationships will only run surface deep. Interaction will remain limited, and contact with these “single serving friends” will be promptly lost. For a few, however, you may develop a close friendship. These close relationships are what will provide your life with meaningful happiness. These people are the ones who will be there for you when you’re in need. They are the ones who work with you through hard times in life. These are the ones who help to see you succeed in your endeavors. They ultimately wish the best for you. These select few will remain a part of your life, as both sides will recognize the importance of maintaining contact no matter what curveballs are thrown your way. From the previous quote, these friends could easily be equated to Jordan’s teammates.

“26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed.”

Twenty-five times Jordan let his team down, yet their trust within him remained the same. Jordan’s team had his back. They trusted that he would put every bit of his effort into sinking the shot, and even after numerous failed attempts they continued to throw him the ball. His teammates were few in number. Jordan’s fans were many. At the end of every missed shot, I can only imagine how disappointed some of his fans might have become. Inevitably, some would remain loyal whereas some would not. Those fans whose loyalty disappeared when Jordan didn’t sink that game-winning shot are just like those shallow relationships we acquire that run only surface deep.

We all let the problems of popularity concern us. I too want to be well liked, envied, and admired by others. But at what cost?

Life isn’t about the number of relationships you acquire, but rather the few. Find those who will help you grow as a person, care for you as an individual, and bring you meaningful happiness. To the relationships that only run surface deep, let them come and go, as that is simply a part of everyday life. However, it’s important for us all to never become fixated on maintaining these shallow relationships. It was Jordan’s teammates who helped lead him to numerous MVP titles. It was his team that helped him become great. For those of us that aren’t pro-basketball stars, we have to focus on the few who can help us achieve greatness in our lives. It’s important to remember who these people are and to never forget who matters most.

Love and Be Loved

“We have this idea that love is supposed to last forever. But love isn't like that. It's a free-flowing energy that comes and goes when it pleases. Sometimes, it stays for life; other times it stays for a second, a day, a month or a year. So don't fear love when it comes simply because it makes you vulnerable. But don't be surprised when it leaves either. Just be glad you had the opportunity to experience it.” – Neil Strauss

I once believed love was supposed to last forever. It seemed simple: love and be loved.

Before, I viewed failed relationships as no more than wasted time. Weeks, months, or years of hard work invested into developing a relationship with a girl, only to see it all thrown away.

“Why couldn’t I maintain our relationship,” I would think. I wasn’t a douchebag. I wasn’t the type of guy only in a relationship for sex. I always gave my best effort to put my girlfriend’s interests first. Despite this, my relationships would always end unfavorably.

It was a few months ago, following a break-up, that I assumed our entire time spent together had been nothing more than a miserable experience. Why did I think these immensely negative thoughts? How could I have overlooked the good that came from our time spent together?

No matter the length of our relationship, the fact remained simple: during our time together, there were wonderful moments that made the relationship worth pursuing. Just because it didn’t work out in the end didn’t mean the relationship was a failure; it just meant that our relationship wasn’t meant to be forever. I’ve spent the past few years with several meaningful girls, each having helped me grow as a person. I don’t regret our time together or our breakup any longer. I regret thinking any of my previous ex’s could have been a mistake.

As the years pass by I’ll hopefully be able to find that special someone. For the moment, I am dating a wonderful girl named Lauren. I can’t imagine it not working out, but for now I have to realize how important it is to simply enjoy each day we have together, for however long that might be.

To Race in Manhattan - Part 1 of 4

There are few moments in life where as you go through an experience you realize at that time it will be life changing. For me this moment is now.  The day is March 15, 2009. I prepare for my toughest track race to date, as part of the indoor high school national meet, located in the heart of Manhattan.

The buildup in preparation for this race had lasted months, with what seemed to be an endless amount of miles run alone during a cold and rainy season. Averaging nearly sixty-five miles a week, my legs had felt their share of pain. Mentally exhausted, I was more than ready to execute my race plan and run fast.

The race was 5000 meters, consisting of twenty-five laps on a 200 meter oval track. The sides of the track were banked, similar to a NASCAR track, making the turns easier to handle when running at a fast pace. That was the first time I had ever seen something like that, of which I had no idea existed until that moment. The venue, “The Armory,” was known to be the world’s fastest indoor track where some of the largest meets were held, bringing in the greatest competitors from around the globe. Today’s race was no different, as I and thirty-eight other boys toed the starting line ready to compete.

To Race in Manhattan - Part 2 of 4

The journey to get to New York City was difficult, and almost never occurred. At the time, my high school didn’t even have an indoor track team on which I could compete, so I had to create one myself. As the first and only member of my school’s indoor track team, practice was far from exciting. Each day I laced up my sneakers and headed out the door to run mile after mile by myself, with an additional three runs a week before school at 4:30am. The dedication to run fast was there, but the coaching was not. I knew early on if I was to run quick I must find someone who could guide me in the right direction. After less than a week of searching I had found a match. His name was Bruce Geltman.

Coach Geltman had run for Duke University many years before, where he excelled on the track at the very same distance I had planned to compete in. Holding the 5000 meter record for his school at the time, he ran an impressive 13:50. News about Bruce came up in conversation at a high school swim meet with a parent of a boy on the swim team I had previously swam for. The parent had no idea how valuable this news was to me. He claimed Bruce lived nearby, as he frequently attended the local YMCA where he would swim and workout in the gym on a regular basis. Too impatient to wait around for Mr. Williams to contact Bruce himself, I went home later that night and “googled” Bruce myself.

Easy to find, the story of Bruce Geltman was indeed no lie. A man of business, Bruce worked as an account director for the St. Jude Medical Center. If he was so willing to lend a hand, his knowledge and experience as part of track and field would be of tremendous help. A number to reach Bruce was found later that night; as I immediately picked up the phone to least of all leave a message. I was weary of how he might react. After all, here was a boy who was going to randomly call someone whom he had never met, to ask for nearly three months of coaching guidance and expertise.

I first called Bruce around 10pm later that night. I was surprised to hear his response on the other end of the line. I told him of my plans for competing at nationals in three months and of how I hoped to break sixteen minutes in the 5000 meter race. Bruce listened, and was quick to jump on board with helping me achieve my goal. As the phone call continued, Bruce said he would like to meet with me and establish training plans for how to accomplish my goal. I was to meet with him later that same week.

Several days passed before the two of us met. Bruce showed up at Lenoir-Rhyne University’s track, where I was at the time in the middle of a workout he had created. As I pressed on through the workout, nearly ten miles in total length, I was exhausted as the majority of my mile splits were coming in at under 5:30 mile pace. Snow began to fall midway though, making practice that much more unbearable. I constantly looked around the track at those who were coming in and out, hoping he would soon arrive. Bruce approached me as I had finished the workout, just before my warm-down mile. With the conversation lasting no more than a few minutes, Bruce was a man whom I could tell was about wasting no time with small talk. After the conversation had ended I quickly began to run my last mile easy, as he returned to his car and left. From then on our discussions would happen only through email and over the phone, as I never met with him in person again. He observed my practice solely to determine if I was serious enough to handle his workouts. It would not occur to me then how hard my training would soon become thereafter.

To Race in Manhattan - Part 3 of 4

 The next three months could then be best described as Hell on Earth. Practice became overly exhausting, as running consumed every part of my life. Apart from school, my daily routine was the same day after day. A short drive to Lenoir-Rhyne afterschool was first, where I dressed out in running apparel. Time spent stretching, warming up, drills, and then the workout, and finally a cool down would last nearly two hours each day. Afterwards, a gym workout to improve my core abdominals was quick to follow. Then home for a shower, meal, and a little homework before going to bed. A life outside of running soon became non-apparent, as almost anything else seemed to detract from the goals I had set out to accomplish at nationals.

Day after day I could feel myself become faster on the track. Local races were won with ease, and my confidence was through the roof. With only days leading up to the big showdown, I now had something to prove to myself and others. I was ready to make a statement, by running a fast time.

Thanks to a gift by my great uncle Henry, my mother was able to afford the cost of the trip to the “Big Apple”. The two of us drove down the night before, and settled into a hotel in New Jersey. We were half an hour outside the city, away from the unbearable traffic. Upon arrival to our destination, we first unpacked our belongings in the hotel before we left to go visit the track. The venue had packet pick-up the day before nationals, for athletes to come practice and get a feel for where they would compete the next day. Heading into the city, I was more than amazed as we drove to the site. Dreaming of New York City my whole life, it was near impossible for me to believe I was finally there. The busy high-paced environment was nothing like I had seen before and I felt as if I could scream with excitement. It was hard to remember in that moment the reason for coming might be anything other than vacation, as my mind had a hard time grasping reality, though seeing the armory itself helped to somewhat put myself back on track.

Entering the venue, I proceeded to walk straight towards the track itself. Athletes were allowed on at any point, and I itched to stand where I would compete the next day. For several minutes I stood in admiration, as I took in the view. The track was like nothing I had ever seen before. For weeks I viewed photos and videos of races held there online, trying to imagine what it might be like to be here myself. The feeling was much different than expected. That day I was only supposed to go out and do a short, easy run, even though I ached to put on my spiked shoes and race a few quick laps.

“Tomorrow you’ll have your shot.” I told myself

The purpose of attending the race site the day before served no purpose other than to help me visualize in my mind how I might play out the race later that night and early the next morning. I began to take a brief jog around the closest banked side, simply to get a feel for it. But I stopped mid-stride. Intuitively, I knew tomorrow was my day to run, and I wasn’t about to waste any effort the day before.

Soon after, my mother met with me and we headed back to the hotel. There would be no site seeing the night before, as the last thing I needed was a pair of tired legs.

That night, trying to sleep was much harder than expected. My mind was intensely focused on one thing: tomorrow’s race. At this point, I was willing to get whatever sleep my body would allow, knowing it wouldn’t be much.

I woke up early to grab some breakfast, being careful of what I ate. Eating several pieces of toast, eggs, and cereal, I was feeling great. About to explode with excitement I had to continuously remind myself to relax, and focus on the small things such as brushing teeth, showering, and packing all race materials needed for the big day.

“Finally,” I remember thinking.

At some points during my training, I felt as if my moment would never come. Stepping out of the hotel van, my mother and I headed into the facility. The meet was already underway. I said goodbye to my mother, as it was time for us to separate. She would head towards the bleachers, and I was to head towards the track.

“Good luck Brian, I’ll be watching!” said my mother.

Excitement was in the air, and I knew my mother was eager to see the race occur.

“Thanks Mom! Keep fingers crossed!” I said.

Noise within the facility continued to grow louder as the meet progressed. As I could not quite hear my mother, I was nearly certain she could not hear me. We both parted, but knew something great was about to happen. I could see her excitement and enthusiasm, and if I hadn’t shown mine throughout the past three months, then I’m certain she noticed that day.

To Race in Manhattan - Part 4 of 4

I knew it was time for business. Just as a gladiator steps into an arena to fight for his life, this was how I pictured myself. Running was my life, and to do anything less than what I had come for would nearly kill me mentally.

Looking around to see where the meet was at, at this certain point in time, I realized I could already begin to unpack my belongings and start my stretching. I felt as if I might explode with excitement. So much hype and energy from the crowd was all around and here I was in the middle of it.

After only a few minutes of stretching, I knew I could safely begin to go warm-up outside with a few easy miles. Two mile warm-up was the plan, as I ran several blocks around the city’s busy streets. Not a thought passed as to where I was, for I was afraid it may take my mind off what was most important, the race. After a quick fifteen minutes, which seemed to fly by much quicker than usual, I headed back indoors to lace up the spikes and do a few strides.

Strides are a short quick burst of faster than race-pace running. These took place the floor below the track with a number of other athletes. As I carried out my strides, I remember feeling on top of the world. My legs felt as if they could carry me a thousand miles, while my breathing remained controlled and relaxed.

Every part of my warm-up routine was passing by in what seemed like no time at all. With my mind being so preoccupied, I headed up the stairs only to stand and wait for my turn to compete.

At the track, there were three heats of the men’s 5000 meter run, of which started out slowest to fastest. The first two heats flew by, as I tried walking or jogging around to keep an edge on my nerves. However, now was my time.

“Gentlemen, as I call out your name, come and stand where I place you.” Said one of the race officials.

I took a look at the fourteen other men in my heat, excluding myself, only to recognize several of these athletes to be the very same ones I had read of in magazines, of which two I had seen race on television. My heart was in panic mode. Truth be told, my best 5000 meter time was 16:24, and I entered the race with a 15:50, so that I may race with the fastest individuals. Every other athlete had run their previously stated time, the pressure building in my mind with each passing minute as I stood with my fellow competitors.

Stepping onto the track, something occurred which I had not expected. The lights within the arena had dimmed down to make the inside track seem as close to pitch dark as possible. A spot light emerged, only to land on the group of fifteen boys, myself included. The official motioned each of us as a group to head to the opposite side of the track, nearly one-hundred meters away from the starting line. Once there, the announcer picked up and gave us quite the introduction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your top seeded section of the fastest distance boys in the United States!” The announcer exclaimed.

  The crowd stood up, and the cheering became overwhelming. Excitement filled the atmosphere, and all attention was on us. One by one the announcer stated our names, as we each separately jogged half a lap towards the starting line with crowds cheering, and our faces on the screen up above the center of the track for all those there to see.

“Brian Yates, of Hickory, North Carolina!” Said the announcer.

I began my slow jog, as I looked up towards the crowd to see them cheering. I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing. Never had I been a part of something so special, for I knew again this would serve as a life changing moment.

            -Track before was just an interest. Now it was a way of life.

            I made it to the starting line, and the names of the other competitors continued to be called. I waited only a few minutes till everyone finally arrived to where I stood, as the lights turned on and the track lit up.

            “Men I will give you two commands. On your mark, and then the gun shot. Be careful, and good luck.” Said the official.

            With the blast of the gun my race was underway. Solomon Haile, the top seeded runner, had started a very quick pace upfront, causing the guys behind him to follow closely in pursuit. I knew I could run fast, but not at the pace he had created. My mind had to remain sharp, and focus on the game plan I had created prior.

            As we reached the first mile I looked up to see the clock read out 4:57. To be honest I was very shocked. At that moment I felt as if I had been running very slowly. The guys in my heat were all ahead by then, and I was nearly ten meters behind. Thoughts were racing through my mind left and right.

Why was I in last with a sub five minute mile? Were these guys all going to run away from me? Would I finish last with a poor time?

            Soon after these thoughts emerged I tried picking up the pace some. Before I knew it guys were coming back, and I was catching up. My time at two miles was 10:03, so I knew I had slowed down some but for the most part had remained constant in speed. With 1.1 miles left in the race, this would be the moment where the pain became most prominent. Sweat began to drip from the top of my forehead down past my eyes, causing me to squint. Blood had rushed to my face early on, and by this point I looked somewhat like a cherry up top. Labored breathing was at its worst, and my legs began to feel weak, as if they would soon give out.

            Just a few minutes had passed by, before Solomon began to pass me on his way to the finish. The announcer claimed he was on his way to breaking the national record, and by this point the crowd had become ecstatic. Fans were jumping up and down, cheering to the top of their lungs, and giving everything they could to help Solomon make history.

            “14:22, a new national record!” Exclaimed the announcer, as Solomon finished.

            At that time, the clock remained fixed on the winning time, making it impossible to see how everyone else might finish. For myself, I just focused on the track that lay ahead, and returned all my thoughts to the last few laps that moment. Knowing I had to meet my goal of 15:50, simply for personal satisfaction, I tried giving one last burst of speed as I sprinted towards the finish. As I crossed the line, I tried to remain calm and regain my breathing back to normal as I stood waiting to see my time on the scoreboard.

            15:49! I did it! Excitement instantly ran across my face, as I had reached my goal. Searching for my mother in the stands I could see she had been thrilled as well. I had finished eleventh in my heat, and thirteenth overall out of the thirty-nine athletes that had compromised all three heats. Three months of dedication had finally paid off, for now was the time to relax and enjoy the reward of my hard work in training.

An Awkward Encounter

She sat between her two friends. The three of them were fixated on continuing their crunches, and were completely unaware of me. Positioned beside them, I couldn’t help but glance over. The girl in the middle was gorgeous. I thought of how to approach her, but I was out of my element. I had never approached a girl in a gym before, much less in front of her friends. I was terrified. Just the thought of talking to her made my heart race, my throat close up, and my forehead sweat. I became too nervous and walked away.

I was filled with frustration towards myself. I was chickening out of a potential opportunity to make something happen between me and a beautiful girl.

“No, not this time,” I thought.

No more than fifty feet away from the group of girls, I turned around. I was determined to get this girl’s number. Once I was near them, I bent down and touched the girl I was after lightly on the shoulder to grab her attention.

“Hey, I’m Brian. What’s your name?”

She responded with her name.

“Well, I don’t know how to do this because it’s so out of my character, but I couldn’t help but notice you. I don’t know if you have a boyfriend, but…”

“No, I don’t,” she interrupted.

“Okay, well I was wondering if I could get your number and call you sometime?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she replied.

“Yes!” I thought. I couldn’t believe it worked. I had never been so forward in my life. As smooth as the conversation might have sounded from my previous description, however, she and her friends could tell I was nervous. I was slightly shaking, and my voice happened to be trembling somewhat. Despite these nerves, I walked away feeling like a whole new man. I had summoned the courage to approach a girl and boldly ask for her number. I was proud.

Honestly, the number never led to anything. We met for coffee a week later at a local coffee shop on campus, but the connection just wasn’t there. Regardless, I still remained proud for putting myself out there. For that reason, I consider the experience a success.