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.

The Triumph from a Failed Relationship

She was eighteen years old. For both of us, it was our first serious relationship.

We were sure it would last forever. Ten months in, we failed.

How the breakup changed my life for the better:

Certain people fall into long lasting cycles of depression following a breakup. Not me. Mine only lasted a few weeks. Determined to prove my sense of worth and show that I was better without her, my new outlook on handling the breakup provided motivation to improve my own sense of self.

I signed up to join a few groups. APP State Club Shows, Habitat for Humanity, Exercise Science Club, and a bible study group. Each day I would meet new people, form friendships, and improve my social skills. Seven days a week I attended the gym, lifting for ninety minutes per session. My diet improved, incorporating fruits and vegetables into nearly every meal. I began to attend church regularly for the first time in my life. Lastly, I began reading “self-help” books.

I was taking every effort to improve my mental, physical, and spiritual self. I didn’t realize, however, that these efforts for self-improvement were for the wrong reasons. I wanted her jealous.

How dumb, I’d later realize.

I hadn’t yet improved myself because the motivation to improve stemmed from someone other than me. It seemed as if I was on the right track to recovering from the breakup. On the inside, however, I was nervous wreck. These measures were taken to ignore the underlying problem. Why was I struggling to move on? Why did I care so much what she thought?

I soon met progress in my self-improvement, but in a most unusual way. It occurred once I dropped all the clubs I had joined. It occurred when I started scaling back my time at the gym. The reason was simple: I was living life for myself. No longer did I put her, or anyone else, before me. The problems that developed out of our relationship stemmed from my deep-rooted feelings of inadequacy without a girl by my side. I needed to find happiness within myself, without the help of others.

The experience taught me a valuable life lesson. To be in love can be a wonderful experience. However, it’s destined to fail if you can’t first love yourself, by yourself.  

In the Heat of Battle

It had been a disappointing season. I was expecting to run quick, but to this point I was yet to produce a decent performance. It was the night of the Volunteer Track Classic. I was scheduled to run the two-mile.

My mother suggested skipping the race, and I couldn’t blame her suggestion. I hadn’t run the week prior due to a minor injury. My training had suffered, and my inability to run was making me restless.

“Fuck it, I’ll run.” I thought.

Later that night I arrived at the University of Tennessee. The race was known for being one of the fastest on the East-coast for high school men’s distance events. I was anxious.

“Please God; don’t let this be a disaster.” I thought.

Meticulous about my warm-up jog, stretching, and drills, I began my pre-race routine forty-five minutes before the race was scheduled to start. Everything prior to the race had to be perfect.

As I was finishing my warm-up, I was informed the meet had fallen behind schedule by ninety minutes.

“Dammit, I’m screwed,” I thought.

I came to the conclusion that this race wouldn’t end well and prove to be a waste of time. Despite these circumstances, I tried to pull my thoughts together and develop a positive mind set. It was crucial to make the best of the situation. I needed to post a fast time. I needed to reassure myself that running wasn’t a waste of time.

Fifteen of us made it to the starting line. Now was my moment. With the blast of the gun, we all took off. My nerves transformed into excitement as I felt a jolt of energy run through my body. Positioning myself in the pack of the runners, I tried to maintain a relaxed running form.

Approaching the one mile mark, I glanced at the scoreboard. It read 4:53. Normally I’d feel ecstatic seeing a time such as this. The experienced runner knows, however, that there is no room for celebration until the end of the race. It’s often “make or break” in the last half of the race. It’s at this point where the athlete has his boundaries tested and limits pushed. Some rise to the occasion and others simply fail. I was not about to fail.

Feeling light headed, slightly dizzy, and exhausted to no end, I put every last ounce of energy into the remaining laps. Sprinting into the finish, I glanced toward the scoreboard. Upon finishing, it read: Brian Yates – 9:48.

I collapsed. My body was done. Despite all of the unfortunate circumstances, I was successful.

My time might have been insignificant in comparison to others, but to me it was special. I’d say it sure was a good day in Tennessee. 

A Friendly Little Note

I approached my car to find a little surprise. Although vulgar in content, I couldn't stop laughing.

Afterall, it's true - I can't park. I've recieved parking tickets beforehand. To the individual who created this card, thank you. You are awesome.

Man's Best Friend

She had no name, no home, and no one to give her the love she deserved. She had been abandoned, left to die. She needed someone’s care. She needed me.

Sitting in geometry class, I heard about an abandoned and neglected puppy. When classes ended later that day, I knew what I must do. I had the address. I needed to drive.

A few hours after school, I found myself home once again, but this time with a new family member. She was precious. She was Muffie.

For a twenty-one year old, I feel as if I’ve accomplished a great deal in my life to this point. Regardless of the truth to this statement, saving Muffie remains what I’m most proud of.

Happiness Through Despair

My mental breakdown occurred in Arizona, sophomore year of college, running cross country and track for Arizona State University. The reason I chose to join the team was this: they had won the Division I National Title for indoor track two years prior.

I had dreams of becoming a professional runner, regardless of the unlikelihood. Therefore, this school, at the time, seemed like the obvious choice.

Three months into the season, I took a fateful shower. I was soaking wet, as one becomes after taking a shower. My foot slipped on the floor and slammed into the wall, splitting one of the bones at the bottom. For the moment, at least, I knew I was done running.

The injury lasted a little over nine months, but as far as I was concerned I was finished. I grew extremely depressed during this time, as my whole reason for moving across the country had been shattered (just like the bone on the bottom of my foot.) It was then that I realized… I had deserted my friends and family, to pursue a dream that inevitably led nowhere. A dream that led to my downfall. Or so I thought.

Eventually, I would find a way to cope with my failed dream.

Three months later, it hit me. It hit me in a life altering moment, which spanned over a few seconds. Watching the movie Cool Runnings, I found advice that would change my life.

Irv, Derice’s coach, had cheated in the Olympics, and was subsequently stripped of his gold medals. Derice was obsessed with winning a gold medal. He felt incomplete without it. Derice asked his coach why he cheated. That’s when Irv opened my eyes.

"Derice, a gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without one, you'll never be enough with one.”

How could I have been so blind? What I previously couldn’t understand was now clearer than ever. Running would never bring me the happiness I was searching for.

What if I won a national title while in college? Would I have finally found happiness and contentment? Probably not. From there, I would have moved on to another goal. Could I qualify for an Olympic team? Win an Olympic medal? Gold medal? World record? What I was searching for couldn’t come from running. I’d never be satisfied. So what was I to do now?

I was constantly pondering the answer to this question for the next few months. I spent a lot of time thinking, searching, and hoping I’d find my answer. It wasn’t until I moved back home that I found a solution, and then it became so clear and simple.

Happiness, for me, would come from three things:

1. Friends

2. Family

3. Relationships

I took up running for the same reasons most people do. I wanted fame, fortune, men’s admiration, women’s ogling, and the respect of all. To think it possible for me to earn these through a sport now seems ridiculous. Pursuing my running had been for all the wrong reasons.

Real friends are those that enjoy me for my personality, values, and character. Not for my performance on the track. My family, I realized, could provide me with more love and support than any fan ever could. A girl, whoever she may be, would love me for me. Friends would bring about good times, and provide me with the lasting memories in life I so longed for. Those that I sought to impress with my running should have no effect on how I lived my life.

In Arizona, I saw my experience as a burden. Now that I’m home, I see the experience as invaluable. Arizona opened my eyes. I realized that the best things in life are already there for me. Never again would I forget this.

The Troubles of Facebook

For those of you who ask, I just had to do it. The idea formed months ago, but I didn’t take any action until recently. Nearly three weeks ago, I turned over a new leaf. I did something unheard of – I deleted my Facebook.

The thought surfaced at a dinner party, wherein I noticed friends taking a horrendous amount of photos. Why so many? Was one picture of the group not enough for memories sake? It was clear what was on everyone’s mind. They needed to prove one thing: that they had a life. The constant regrouping, clicking of cameras, and posing with fake smiles seemed utterly ridiculous.

More than this staged life, though, I found problems in the conceited nature of certain individuals. Those who felt the site served as a means for them to “open up” and share their entire lives with their friends. How anyone could post more than ten times a day was beyond me. It seemed like a cry for attention.

The next issue revolved around the utter waste of time that is Facebook. How consumed had I become in the lives of others? I can tell you that I checked Facebook from my iPhone at least ten times a day. I started to wonder how much time was lost in productivity through my time on the site. Could I have spent my time better? Probably so, I thought.

I was reluctant to delete my account, however. I wondered if this “unplugging” would make me feel disconnected from the outside world. On the other hand, the curiosity borne from having a Facebook just seemed strange. Most of my “friends” were people I would never see again, and a few I’d never met. Why should I give a hoot to the happenings in their lives?

I was annoyed that Facebook served simply as a tool to prove that I had something going on in my life. My relationship status should not be determined by how it’s represented on my profile page. Joy shouldn’t come from the number of likes and comments on a post. Photos shouldn’t help to serve as proof that I was out and about in the world. Happiness, in no means, should come from the validation of people I hardly know.

Although I might not have found Facebook worthy of my time, I can understand how others enjoy it. My place is not to judge these people. Instead, I’m simply looking out for what’s in my best interest. For myself, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to escape.

Hallucinating in Hollywood

Desperate to travel, but low on funds, I was in need of an adventure. With $85 in the bank, I searched for places to travel via Greyhound bus. After hours of searching, I had found a place. Hollywood. Round trip $80.

From there, I purchased my ticket and proceeded to Walmart. I spent the remaining $5 on twenty-four toasted-cheese crackers (I could buy a dozen for $2.) I threw the crackers in my backpack, along with MapQuest site to site directions once I arrived in California. I would leave from Tempe, Arizona, in two hours - at 3am. I was impatient.

Borrowing my neighbor’s longboard and knife, I set out for the trip of a lifetime. I brought the longboard as my means of transportation, and the knife for protection.

After all, I would be traveling through the notoriously dangerous East LA for three days without shelter or much money. I figured that I would simply drink water from water fountains, and site seeing would naturally be free of cost.

My arrival started off on the wrong foot. Never having used a longboard, I rode it downhill on a street close to Sunset Boulevard. Bad idea. The board began to wobble as I picked up speed, just before it launched me out into LA traffic. Cuts and bruises appeared on my body almost instantly, and never before had I seen such an abundance of middle fingers. From then on, I would travel by foot.

My first night, apart from the longboard incident, was a success. I was able to sit in a heated auditorium and watch an episode of The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, in which he interviewed Bill Maher and Cam Newton. I even appeared on the screen for a brief second and shook Leno’s hand. It was amazing.

The Hollywood sign was something else entirely. Standing at a well-known lookout spot, I was able to view it up close. My friends and family had no idea where I was, and I stood there, in that moment, thinking how interested they might be hearing of my wild adventure. It was truly something special for a boy who had rarely traveled.

Later that night I became lost. I had no idea how to get back to Sunset Boulevard. With three people providing wrong directions, I eventually found myself trying to hitchhike my way through parts of Mulholland Drive, and even worse – the interstate. No rides were offered.

Despite these adversities, I was determined to make it to the strip. Thanks to MapQuest and my Garmin GPS, I later deduced that I walked twenty-five miles that day. I was exhausted.

After spending hours on the strip, I headed into the Roosevelt Hotel where I hoped to sleep in the lobby. At 3am, however, an employee told me I had to leave. A few minutes before then, a girl approached me. She was about 5’6” with short brown hair and a slim figure. She asked if I would like to spend the night with her. She was flirting, and so was I. Upon leaving the hotel, we walked about a mile to her place, hand in hand. At her door she beckoned me inside, but I stopped. Something didn’t feel right. “What would happen when I enter,” I thought. Would this be reminiscent of when Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye hired a prostitute? Would a couple of thugs be inside ready to jump me and take my belongings? I had no idea what awaited behind that door. Thus, I grew scared in the moment and backed out. A night of sleep and sex sounded great, but it wasn’t worth the risk. It was sure difficult to pass up though.

Walking back to the strip, I decided to sleep on the street for the remainder of the night. It was thirty-five degrees, and I had no jacket. It was then that I befriended a cop. After I told him my story, he agreed to keep an eye on me till it was his time off duty. However, I couldn’t sleep with it being so cold, so instead I used the longboard to skate up and down the strip all night weaving in and out of each of the celebrities’ stars on the ground, as if I was slaloming.

Morning would soon come, with McDonalds being the first to open its door nearby. I wanted inside, to simply escape the cold. Once inside, I searched my backpack to find nearly a dollar in change! I ordered a cheeseburger. “Thank God,” I thought. At least it wasn’t another pack of crackers. As I bit into the burger, I had my first ever hallucination. The two old ladies beside me had the same exact voices of Kelso and Eric from That 70’s Show. I was fading in and out of micro-naps, and by body was about to call it quits. Having walked twenty-five miles with no coffee or caffeine supplements, as well as having no sleep over a 48 hour period, I was in a completely different world from those around me.

I decided to leave the McDonald’s quickly after my hallucination, as I knew the comfort of the booths and the heat from being indoors would lead to a nap, where anyone could then mess with me. I was a nervous wreck.

Walking through parts of East LA, I encountered a homeless man whom I had seen the night before. His pants were completely down, and he was shitting on the street. I was nauseated. Running away from the man, I proceeded down the street. It was then a younger man, about thirty years in age, approached me asking for change. I had none, but to keep awake I started small talk. About five minutes into the conversation, a woman walked up to us. I assumed it was his ex-girlfriend who approached both of us. The man started to yell at her. She yelled back. He struck her with a fist. Cops rushed to the scene, and I fled away.

The last part of my trip consisted of sitting in on a live taping of Doctor Phil. To those who question why I chose Doctor Phil, you must know that the taping takes four hours, which meant I could grab a good bit of shut eye. Furthermore, a teenage girl would tell her parents about her recent pregnancy. I was eager to watch the drama unfold! After standing in the line for admittance for over an hour, I finally made it through. I stood waiting as the next person to enter. My time had come. I looked down to see the lady’s watch behind me, for my cell-phone’s battery had died, and it read 8:56. “Is that the right time?!” I exclaimed. “Yes,” she replied. I panicked, for my bus was to leave at 9pm that night. If I missed my bus, then I would be stranded in LA. I darted past security and ran out into the street, towards the bus stop a half mile away. About two minutes into it I stopped, realizing something important. My bus left at 9pm, and it was only 9am. “Damn it!” I exclaimed.

From there I was so mentally beaten, I decided to call my adventure quits and head back to the bus stop, where I waited ten hours before heading back to Tempe.

An Unpleasant Run

It was my last run before heading to college. Five miles into it, I knew I was going to have a problem. Like other runners know, these moments are inevitable. Today would not be my lucky day. It was summertime, so the high school was closed to the public. Despite this, nearly twenty cars remained in the front parking lot of my school. I was in a state of panic, as time was crucial. Looking around for a place to hide, since the school doors were locked, all I had found was a small bush nearby. The bush would essentially prove to be useless, but with it being the only thing around I made it the site where I intended to take care of my business. I had to shit.

The dilemma – If I proceeded to the front of the bush then administrators inside my school may witness. For that I could be in some serious shit, figuratively speaking. If I went on the backside of the bush then all the cars passing by on the street could take witness to my indecency.

Solution – In a state of panic, I did what probably was the worst idea I’ve ever had. Moving to the side of the bush, I proceeded to let this dump take its course. Now I had exposed myself to not only the cars passing by but to the administrators as well. Stupid move of course, but this embarrassment was nothing compared to what happened next….

With knees bent, thighs parallel to the ground, and shorts at my feet, I heard a sound. I looked up in this moment only to find a lady with her little daughter sitting there inside their car watching the event that had transpired. The window to this lady's car was rolled down all the way. They sat no more than five feet away from me. Both of their jaws dropped, and so did mine. In that moment, it was as if time had stood still. I remained in the squatting position for a few seconds before I realized what had just happened.

“Shit, shit, shit! What do I do now?!” I thought to myself.

Pulling up my shorts, I stood straight up to look the lady in her eyes for one last time. From there I grabbed my keys and walked quickly to my car.

My family laughed as later I retold my story. My dad summed up all that had happened in two simple words: "shit happens."