Okay, so ya, I believe the title speaks for itself. Now, one may wonder... "Why?"
I've always been a tough-natured kid. Whether it be running a ridiculous workout (I was going to post about one workout in particular, but I decided to go with this one. I'll get to the other one in the near future), putting in 140 mile weeks, and at times, much more. Hell... I've even eaten broccoli... once.
As I've discussed in my previous post, I've been injured. Call it bad luck, or perhaps a fate to which will make me stronger in the long run... "I do not know."
So, I've been trying 'things' to get healthy as quick as possible and decrease my prescription of, "Two months totally off," says the Doc. I've been to two physicians, a couple chiropractors... I have tried everything!
Just recently, out of the blue... A 'nice' friend of mine knows 'a place'. He suggested I give it a try... (with a 'sly' smile), a physical therapy place. This place has also used by the runners Ryan Hall (2008 Olympic Marathon Trials champ), Meb Keflezighi (Olympic 2004 Marathon silver medalist). I've been through a little physical therapy in my life, "No sweat." A little stretching, throwing around a ball, and perhaps, a few jokes about what happened in our daily lives.
Me: "So at work today, a bunch of squirrels took my cookies."
Former therapist: "Dude, I'm having a hard time believeing that."
Me: "I'm telling you, THEY DID!"
Former therapist: "Says the kid who believes squirrels are on top of the food chain."
ME: "THEY ARE." Proof- www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFWeldHtJgI&feature=related (viewer discretion advised)
Back to the matter at hand:
As I make my call to schedule my appointment,
Me: "Hey, I hear you guys are good, can I get an appointment?"
--"Haha... Yes sir, you can. What time works for you?"
Me: "When's your earliest opening?"
--"Ive got an opening tomorrow at 5?"
Me: "Great, I'll see you then!"
As the next day comes about, with a slight hitch in my stride (thank you busted hip flexor and now IT band problems), I made the drive over to my appointment. Which is in the great city of Boulder... Yes, I gave you my location, live it up, this will be the only time.
Once I found the place, to my surprise, it didn't have flashing signs, people sprinting in and out. It just was a simple little office on the 2nd floor on top of a running store. "Huh."
As I walk up the stairs, opening the office door and greeted with a smile and the words, "Hi! You must be Clay."
My thoughts, "Wow, that's impressive! They know my name!"
My physical therapist was a very nice girl, who was also a runner herself, a good one too!
So, after some joking around, and describing the injury. I'm good to get my injury worked on.
I get stretched out for several minutes.... "Hey, this isn't too bad!"
(This part of the appointment spans over the next 45 minutes)
"Okay Clay this is giong to be 'uncomfortable'. So just let me know if you need a break when I'm working on your leg. The muscles that are damaged are beneath other muscles. So, it's going to be a deep tissue massage. It can be a sensitive area for whoever's being worked on, just letting you know."
With a smile, I say "Ya, no problem at all" (Pfff, like 'I' would need a break)
Keep in my mind, my hip and IT BAND area were damaged and sore at this time. That being said, with all her force and weight... 'digging' in... I 'INSTANTLY', went into a unbelievable shock of pain. "BABY JESUS, HELP ME".
Within seconds, I start breaking out in a sweat. Barely able to breathe....
Therapist: "Are you okay, Clay?"
At the time, having trouble to muster words, "Ye...ah"... 'I wasn't.'
As the laws of physics are being defied by the appointment, in which, time is standing still. I swear at one point I saw the clock go backwards! I SWEAR!
As the treatment goes on, and the continued digging into my hip area proceeds, which by the way is being ripped apart... I begin to remember all the good things in life. That did NOT include 'this'.
As the almost insurmountable pain goes on, drenched in sweat, fists clinched, "Clay, do you need a drink of water?"
Me: "I... I... I'm good." (There goes my ego talking again...Man.. I hate that guy!)
Perhaps trying to make me feel better, perhaps b/c it looked like I was dying... My therapist says, "They say with this type of therapy and how sensitive it is, it's worse than child birth."
On a side note: "Thank God, I don't have child bearing hips, WHEW!"
After what seemed like forever, the appointment is done. I'm laying there, all self-respect lost, soaked in my own sweat... "Oh, ya, I can breathe now."
Me: "Wow, that was... to put it simply, miserably painful."
Therapist: "Ya, we are completely different from most physical therapy places. We're very hands on. Okay, treatment two."
Me: "Ugh... Treatment... TWO!?"
Therapist: "Clay, how do you feel about needles?"
Me: "Nee... nee... Needles?!"
Therapist: "Okay, what we're going to do next is acupuncture."
With no time at all, needles are being inserted 3 plus inches deep. My body is beginning to rebel perhaps because it's 'literally' being stabbed. As my therapist continues to open another pack of needles, one after another... and another... Sticking each needle in with ease, to which my muscles pull and contract in anger, as if my muscles were saying, "What did we do to you!? Why Clay, WHY!?"
After being 'stabbed' numerous times, my therapist leaves them in and says, "I'll be right back, they need to stay in there for just a bit."
My thoughts: "A BIT?!"
As I lay there, looking to the side to witness the damage, "Wow, I can count over 20 needles jabbed in my right leg."
A little later, she takes them out and of course, my legs/muscles start to contract and pull in a painful motion... "GREAT!"
Then, as I'm lying there, a few patches that are hooked up to wires are then placed on my leg. A machine is then turned on sending strong electrical currents throughtout the whole leg. This is known as Stem therapy (I think), as my leg experiences an overwhelmingly powerful tingling feeling, to which, travels through my body for the next 20 minutes...
AND THEN...
I am finished. This... 'This' is where I almost cried, "I was happy."
As everything is being wrapped up, "So, when would you like to have your follow-up appointment?"
My thoughts, "Pssshhh... Like I'm going through this again!"
Then these words come out of my mouth, "Next wednesday at 5 works for me." My thoughts upon saying that, "Who is that guy! I certainly would not have said it... after all that!"
Therapist: "Wednesday it is."
My thoughts: " :( "
That being said, as I headed out... "Wow, I got some mobility back in my leg... did that really work?!"
I may be jumping the gun, and perhaps, it's hard to say, because I've been out almost two weeks and have not come close to being able to run... "I think I can run tomorrow." This would have been unbelievable just a few hours ago...
Stay tuned to see if this crazy therapy worked!
Also: Some people have been requesting my training to be a little more 'specific'. So...
The last 6 days have consisted of 2 plus hours of aqua jogging and biking (last two days have been all aqua jogging in which, I do hard intervals in aqua jogging... getting my heart rate even past 180 in the workout on intervals). "All Day, Every Day"
Through and through keep in mind, my primary goal is to get a Marathon Trials qualifier out of the way by next March. (Trials marathon is held January 2012 in Houston)... Another Day, Another (Aqua) Mile
Also: www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cCFn55Zxkc&feature=related < click
-clay j mayes the 3rd
Friday, July 30, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Aqua Jogging, My Low Point
At any point in an athlete's career, one is sure to have a low point. Currently, I have a torn hip flexor, and it's been borderline hell dealing with and now 'just' cross training to stay somewhat fit.
Obviously, a low point can be classified in many ways, but in my way, it's 'different'.
As I write this next entry, please be sure to take into account 'my humor'. First off, even in bad times, I can usually joke around and keep a somewhat upbeat attitude about the current situation.... That being said:
After checking my options, the best thing I can do is aqua jog. What is aqua jogging you may ask? Agua jogging is also known as hell among injured athletes, in which, one puts on a floatable foam belt (typically, in a 'pretty' baby blue color), to which, a person is then easily able to stay upright in a simming pool. "Then what?" Then you proceed to run in the water. Typically the head and part of the shoulders are above water and one must stay thoroughly focused to move your arms and legs in a runinng-like motion. And it 'can' get the heart rate up and to some degree, stimulate running. Personally, I am able to get my heartrate up to over 200 beats a minute while on hard runs, and during agua jogging, about 160-180 beats per minute... "So, this will have to do".
As I make my way down to the local pool with a fellow friend in the area, which sits at 6000 feet elevation, I begin to wonder what workout I'll do. I decide on 10 minutes warmup (like 70% running effort in the pool), then 1 minute hard, 2 minutes hard, 3 minutes hard and then repeat 5 times (80-95% effort). And in-between hard sets, 1 minute easy at 70% effort.
Upon arrival, I see it's a country club pool with a lot of... "kids", 'Great'. As we enter the pool area, this is what I see: Kids running around and yelling, lauging, mingling from all directions, moms chit chatting about local gossip, dads saying nothing, as if to say, "this... this is what my life has become?!". There's also an overabundance of lifeguards... like 15. And "No", that's not an exaggeration. As I take a deeper look, I begin to see the kids appear to have their own coalitions. The cool kids, the nerds, the rich kids, and of course, evil little 'Timmy'.
As I fully take this all in, within a matter of moments, I turn to my friend and non-chalantly say,
"This is my low point".
As my friend is used to such a setting, living in the neighborhood, he responds with, "What?"
(With half a smile) "This is my low point in my career. It can't get any worse."
As I threw on my belt, which probably looked like a heavy weight boxing belt to the kids that looked on in wonderment, wondering what the 'big' kid in bright yellow running shorts was doing.
THIS IS THE TIME IN THE BLOG WHERE YOU TURN UP THE VOLUME ALl THE WAY UP ON YOUR COMPUTER AND SPEAKERS, AND RIGHT CLICK THIS LINK AND USE IT FOR BACKGROUND MUSIC. YOUR READING EXPERIENCE WILL BE BENEFICIAL IF DONE CORRECTLY. www.youtube.com/watch?v=uY3LAFJbKyY
I proceeded to hop in the pool with one thought, "Let's go". As I start my workout (also, when one aqua jogs, they move about 1 mph forward, serious) , focusing to the best of my abilities, "SPLASH!" as a young kid jumps in front of me and I get a small wave of water splashed in my face (also known as a "bitch slap" amongst the kids in the pool). With a smile, I think, "It happens, he's just a kid."
Now, It's time to start doing my hard timed intervals, as my legs quicken, arms cutting through the water with ease, "SPLASH!", as the 'same' kid jumps right in front of me, 'again'... with a smug look, but still in my mind, "Hey, remember... he's just a kid."
As I'm now starting to become more and more used to this, "aqua jogging" thing. No longer feeling 'too' awkward. At 20 minutes, in the corner of my eye, I notice a couple little girls pointing and whispering about me... as if they've never seen an agau jogger?!
"SPLASH!"... as the same kid, jumps right out in front of me... "IS HE DOING THAT ON PURPOSE?!"... "No, no, surely, he's not... again... he's 'just' a kid."
As I come through the halfway point in my 75 minute pool workout, I can feel my heart beat increasing, my breathing is starting to quicken, "Hey this isn't such a bad workout!"... My shoulders are starting to burn, hamstrings are tightening, quads feeling like they've been put through a hard hill run... and at that moment, I notice in the corner of my eye, the 'same' kid looks at me very quickly and jumps right out in front of me, "SPLASH!", "DAMN IT, HE IS DOING IT ON PURPOSE!!!" "COME-ON MAN!!!" I can't take these kids anymore! Why do people have kids!...
5 minutes later....
"Hey, Clay, this is your conscious... just remember, he's just a kid... Okay, I'm cool... It's all good"
"SPLASH"...
"I'LL KILL HIM!"
5 minutes later, I hear the kid's mom chime in,
"Hey Timmy, it's time to go".
I think, "So, Timmy is the name of the spawn of satan."
Timmy: "But I don't won't to leave my new friends!!!"
My thoughts: "FRIENDS?!!?! THIS KID IS TRULY A MASTER OF TORTURING SOMEONE PHYSCIALLY AND 'NOW' MENTALLY!!!"... Impressive.
As Timmy is escorted out of the pool area, with his mom forcefully pulling him away, I can't lie, "It was the 4th most happiest moment of my life". As for the other 3 moments, 'Another Day, Another Story."
That being said, as I'm chopping away at my pool workout, I still notice those same girls looking at me, and whispering. My thoughts, "Whatever."
As I hear the lovely sounds of the diving board throwing kid after kid into the air, into the water, kids running, yelling, screaming in a sense of ecstasy... "3/4ths done with this workout, then I'm free... FREE!"
And then one of the girls gets the courage to come to the poolside as I passed by, at my ferocious speed of 1'point'3 miles per hour. The little girl pipes up, "Whatcha dooooiin?".
Me: "Aqua jogging."
Kid: "Why"
Me: "It's a good workout, since I can't run."
Kid: "Why?"
Me: "B/c I can't run currently."
KId: "Why?"
Me: "I injured my leg a few days ago and can't run."
Kid: "OKAAAY"
The kid runs off to her friend, to reveal all the information she just learned... "Kids."
As the workout goes on, even the lifeguard begins to wonder what I'm doing. Getting curiously questioned, "What I'm up to"... and oddly, "What I'm doing later" gets brought up.
Questions are answered accordingly.
'Again', the same young girl comes up to me, and throws me one heck of a curveball... Perhaps, THE most random question I've ever received.
Without hesistion she asks, "My friend wants to know if you want to get married?"
As witty as those little kids are, and in the midst of trying to finish a workout... I pipe back, "YA, of course I want to get married! *pause* at least a few times."
The girl doesn't say anything.... for several seconds... "A few times?"
Me: "Yep, at least a few times, it looks like fun!"
She then gives a half nod and runs back over to her friend...
My thoughts: "That should keep them confused for a while."
As I finish up the last several minutes of the pool run and get out of the pool, "I'm glad that's over!"
I quickly dry off, and head out... "What, no funny ending?", "What happened with the lifeguard?" "Did the two little girls track me down as I was leaving?"
The world is left with many unasnwered questions.
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
Obviously, a low point can be classified in many ways, but in my way, it's 'different'.
As I write this next entry, please be sure to take into account 'my humor'. First off, even in bad times, I can usually joke around and keep a somewhat upbeat attitude about the current situation.... That being said:
After checking my options, the best thing I can do is aqua jog. What is aqua jogging you may ask? Agua jogging is also known as hell among injured athletes, in which, one puts on a floatable foam belt (typically, in a 'pretty' baby blue color), to which, a person is then easily able to stay upright in a simming pool. "Then what?" Then you proceed to run in the water. Typically the head and part of the shoulders are above water and one must stay thoroughly focused to move your arms and legs in a runinng-like motion. And it 'can' get the heart rate up and to some degree, stimulate running. Personally, I am able to get my heartrate up to over 200 beats a minute while on hard runs, and during agua jogging, about 160-180 beats per minute... "So, this will have to do".
As I make my way down to the local pool with a fellow friend in the area, which sits at 6000 feet elevation, I begin to wonder what workout I'll do. I decide on 10 minutes warmup (like 70% running effort in the pool), then 1 minute hard, 2 minutes hard, 3 minutes hard and then repeat 5 times (80-95% effort). And in-between hard sets, 1 minute easy at 70% effort.
Upon arrival, I see it's a country club pool with a lot of... "kids", 'Great'. As we enter the pool area, this is what I see: Kids running around and yelling, lauging, mingling from all directions, moms chit chatting about local gossip, dads saying nothing, as if to say, "this... this is what my life has become?!". There's also an overabundance of lifeguards... like 15. And "No", that's not an exaggeration. As I take a deeper look, I begin to see the kids appear to have their own coalitions. The cool kids, the nerds, the rich kids, and of course, evil little 'Timmy'.
As I fully take this all in, within a matter of moments, I turn to my friend and non-chalantly say,
"This is my low point".
As my friend is used to such a setting, living in the neighborhood, he responds with, "What?"
(With half a smile) "This is my low point in my career. It can't get any worse."
As I threw on my belt, which probably looked like a heavy weight boxing belt to the kids that looked on in wonderment, wondering what the 'big' kid in bright yellow running shorts was doing.
THIS IS THE TIME IN THE BLOG WHERE YOU TURN UP THE VOLUME ALl THE WAY UP ON YOUR COMPUTER AND SPEAKERS, AND RIGHT CLICK THIS LINK AND USE IT FOR BACKGROUND MUSIC. YOUR READING EXPERIENCE WILL BE BENEFICIAL IF DONE CORRECTLY. www.youtube.com/watch?v=uY3LAFJbKyY
I proceeded to hop in the pool with one thought, "Let's go". As I start my workout (also, when one aqua jogs, they move about 1 mph forward, serious) , focusing to the best of my abilities, "SPLASH!" as a young kid jumps in front of me and I get a small wave of water splashed in my face (also known as a "bitch slap" amongst the kids in the pool). With a smile, I think, "It happens, he's just a kid."
Now, It's time to start doing my hard timed intervals, as my legs quicken, arms cutting through the water with ease, "SPLASH!", as the 'same' kid jumps right in front of me, 'again'... with a smug look, but still in my mind, "Hey, remember... he's just a kid."
As I'm now starting to become more and more used to this, "aqua jogging" thing. No longer feeling 'too' awkward. At 20 minutes, in the corner of my eye, I notice a couple little girls pointing and whispering about me... as if they've never seen an agau jogger?!
"SPLASH!"... as the same kid, jumps right out in front of me... "IS HE DOING THAT ON PURPOSE?!"... "No, no, surely, he's not... again... he's 'just' a kid."
As I come through the halfway point in my 75 minute pool workout, I can feel my heart beat increasing, my breathing is starting to quicken, "Hey this isn't such a bad workout!"... My shoulders are starting to burn, hamstrings are tightening, quads feeling like they've been put through a hard hill run... and at that moment, I notice in the corner of my eye, the 'same' kid looks at me very quickly and jumps right out in front of me, "SPLASH!", "DAMN IT, HE IS DOING IT ON PURPOSE!!!" "COME-ON MAN!!!" I can't take these kids anymore! Why do people have kids!...
5 minutes later....
"Hey, Clay, this is your conscious... just remember, he's just a kid... Okay, I'm cool... It's all good"
"SPLASH"...
"I'LL KILL HIM!"
5 minutes later, I hear the kid's mom chime in,
"Hey Timmy, it's time to go".
I think, "So, Timmy is the name of the spawn of satan."
Timmy: "But I don't won't to leave my new friends!!!"
My thoughts: "FRIENDS?!!?! THIS KID IS TRULY A MASTER OF TORTURING SOMEONE PHYSCIALLY AND 'NOW' MENTALLY!!!"... Impressive.
As Timmy is escorted out of the pool area, with his mom forcefully pulling him away, I can't lie, "It was the 4th most happiest moment of my life". As for the other 3 moments, 'Another Day, Another Story."
That being said, as I'm chopping away at my pool workout, I still notice those same girls looking at me, and whispering. My thoughts, "Whatever."
As I hear the lovely sounds of the diving board throwing kid after kid into the air, into the water, kids running, yelling, screaming in a sense of ecstasy... "3/4ths done with this workout, then I'm free... FREE!"
And then one of the girls gets the courage to come to the poolside as I passed by, at my ferocious speed of 1'point'3 miles per hour. The little girl pipes up, "Whatcha dooooiin?".
Me: "Aqua jogging."
Kid: "Why"
Me: "It's a good workout, since I can't run."
Kid: "Why?"
Me: "B/c I can't run currently."
KId: "Why?"
Me: "I injured my leg a few days ago and can't run."
Kid: "OKAAAY"
The kid runs off to her friend, to reveal all the information she just learned... "Kids."
As the workout goes on, even the lifeguard begins to wonder what I'm doing. Getting curiously questioned, "What I'm up to"... and oddly, "What I'm doing later" gets brought up.
Questions are answered accordingly.
'Again', the same young girl comes up to me, and throws me one heck of a curveball... Perhaps, THE most random question I've ever received.
Without hesistion she asks, "My friend wants to know if you want to get married?"
As witty as those little kids are, and in the midst of trying to finish a workout... I pipe back, "YA, of course I want to get married! *pause* at least a few times."
The girl doesn't say anything.... for several seconds... "A few times?"
Me: "Yep, at least a few times, it looks like fun!"
She then gives a half nod and runs back over to her friend...
My thoughts: "That should keep them confused for a while."
As I finish up the last several minutes of the pool run and get out of the pool, "I'm glad that's over!"
I quickly dry off, and head out... "What, no funny ending?", "What happened with the lifeguard?" "Did the two little girls track me down as I was leaving?"
The world is left with many unasnwered questions.
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
My First Distance Race, Ever
I am having a few physical mechanical errors as of now. In the meantime, I will share past running stories:
I get asked these questions a lot, "So, when did you start running?"--"What was your first race ever?"--"What brought you into running?"--"1-10.... What are you?"--"Who is your celeb look-a-like?"-- And "To which gang do you belong to?"
And "Yes", I have answers to all of them:
I started seriously competing the last half of my 7th grade year.
"5th grade"
"All results are self earned"
"14"
"Brad Pitt"
"Thug street 12". To get into the gang, one must first tell me the secet to life, then proceed to beat a rubix cube (without cheating), and 'then' give a full thought out essay on what qualifies you to be a part of our gang.
"If" you meet all critieria you will be awarded a gang jacket, a swiss army knife (now, those things are just 'handy'!), and you will be instructed to meet up each gang meeting, to which, will be held at my mom's house every second Saturday of the month... THERE'S FREE COOKIES THERE TOO! YA!" We will discuss serious issues like, "How far east can you go before you're heading west?"--"Is there a limit on fortune cookie predictions?"--"If laughter is the best medicine... WHO'S the IDIOT that said they 'DIED...laughing?' AND last but not least, "Why do they tell you to smile when you get your license... When you are stopped by a cop you are NOT smiling!?"
What was I talking about?! Did I tell you I had ADHD? ... What!.. you already knew? I'm not ugly, YOU'RE UGLY!... If my dog was as ugly as yours, I would shave it's butt and have him walk balkwards!
Back to the point of this blog... One of the biggest questions I get asked is about my first distance race. I will 'expound' the story here and only here for the 'first' time... EVER!
It was a sunny afternoon in the great month of September. We were at the school known as Holland hall, a private school that is located in a little forest like area/atmosphere. I was a dorky little 5th grade... weighing in at a ferocious 72 lbs, at the staggering height of 5 feet...flat... OKAY... I was a couple inches shorter than that. That did NOT mean, I wasn't a true G from day one.
That day I did not know I was going to Holland Hall to run. I was going to watch a race. Little did I know of the cruelty of distance running at that time... I was primarily a soccer player that was soon to be drafted by team U.S.A. I was also a wrestler, and baseball player, but not a 'runner'.
My mom took to me to the meet b/c one of my older silblings was running in the high school division. Upon arrival, I heard they were having a 'kids division". Kids division = ALL kids 6th grade and under. Well, I was a cocky little punk and as soon as I heard this, "OOOO... OOOO... OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I WANT IN!!!... ME ME ME ME, I WANT IN!!!"
As the race drew closer, I 'prepared'. Tucked in large-t (yes, waaay to big for me, but let's be honest, ballers always wear ridiculously oversized clothes, THAT'S ME), looking around at my comp... I saw a swarm of them... chit chatting away with their so called poor excuses for 'moms'... laughing, eating popcorn, playing with their retarded undersized poodle dog that was called Mr. Jackson, picking noses (one kid ate 'it'), and to what I thought was an unfair advantage, loading up on NOT carbs, but sugar... chowing down on candy... twix, suckers, snickers, laffy taffy... "Damn"... all that good stuff. I did have something my mom gave me, "strawberry gatorade"... And "Yes", I chugged it like no tomorrow.
We were called to the line, to what I estimate 12,000 kids jacked and ready. In reality, "probably" only a couple hundred kids. As we lined up on the practice football field, the course would start out going across the field, swinging around a baseball and softball fields, looping out to several other practices fields, and then coming back to finish the last 100 yards of the race 'sprinting' down the practice field we started on, finishing under the field goal post.
Just for the record, I was NOT one of those kids. By what I mean, "NOT one of those kids", I was not one of those kids that took out sprinting, forgetting that a mile was a hell of a long ways for us young tikes... I knew about pacing myself and had the mentality... a.k.a. 'smarts' not to take off like there's no tomorrow.
Right before the race, the race director stood out in front of the over hyper active kids... "kicking and screaming"... and announced.. "Yes... we will have a rabbit for you young men!"-"Come forth Antonio!" As the director announces this, a young and fit as can be looking man walks up beside the director. "This will be your rabbit, Antonio... he will run right in front of (I estimate at this time, he was roughly 28 years old) the leader of this race and will lead you through the course to make sure you kids know where you're going... he is good and can manage whatever pace". And then the director says something that will legally make my smarts pull a 180 degree turn, going light speed into the land of retardedness.... "Oops", I meant, "Intellectually disabledness". The director says, "Any of you are welcome to even pass Antonio, beat him if you can!" (followed by a cheezy 60 year old man laugh).
"How dare he taunt me! I WILL beat him!"
You know the drill... turn up your speakers... ALL THE WAY... right click this link and put it into another tab... it will be your background music. JUST DO IT!- www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEjgPh4SEmU
BANG! Gun goes off, Antonio is quick out to the front as he cuts forth to the middle, casually running out in front... "You're mine!". As my little legs stride out across the field, I was determined. Shoes chopping into the fresh cut grass, steady, but adreline powered breathing, I ran. Evenutally making Antonio my bitch. As I passed him, he smiled, and even had the nerve to say, "Go get it, buddy". Oh, "I WIL!". I continued to run and put more and more distance on Antonio, was he worried?... 'Probably'. I was one determined kid.
And then it hit. Lactic acid.
As my legs filled up with the body's mechanism for going out to fast, because the body can only hold a sustained pace, to which, the one I was holding, for roughly... 30 seconds.
If you were wondering, "Yes", I was only 30 seconds into the race at this time. Okay, I was more like 45 seconds to be honest.
Legs heavy as can be, like concrete with each stride that I brought forth, stomach churning in pain, lactic acid continuing to build, we made our first loop and were starting the loop around the other practice fields. At this time, I was still out in front. And it HURT, regardless of my true feelings at this time, which included, the urge to run off course into a parked car to stop the pain, I pusheded forward in first. To what I was told, "YOU GOT 30 YARDS on him!!!". A huge line of kids followed. The crowds gathered, people gathered to the extent, that you knew the course, as they filled each side, cheering on the runners. It was like a long dark tunnel, people on your right, people on your left... factored in with how bad I hurt, this had to be hell.
As we charged up a very small hill, Antonio passed me. Half way into the race, he began to put distance on me. The nerve of that guy! No matter, I gritted my teeth and tried to hang on. "Man, never again, THIS HURTS!". As my arms began to fill with lactic acid, I began to taste death. For your infomation, death taste like blood, pennies....and a weird tasting chicken... just to let you know. I began going numb, losing more and more mobility, but still hurting... HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! Starting to become 'dazed and confused', I did what was only nautural at this time, 'run'. Regardless of not knowing what to really think or do, it was only natural. We all have a talent and an ability given by God (Everyone has some talent they are given in life, EVERYONE). At this time, my stock of how good of a runner I naturally was, was dropping. Although, I was blessed with one thing, and that was being a tough little booger. That was my talent. "Lucky me"...
As we were reaching the 100 yards to go mark, a short and choppy stride, coming onto the field/last straight-a-way, to which, was welcomed with the same crazy crowd that was encounted at the end of the first loop. Then, my excitement grew. Antonio... was slowing up... Coming back to life, my young peppy ballin' 5th grader self, thought of one thing, "BRING IT BITCH!" As we came across the 50 yard line... the 40, the 30, the 20... ('He could go all the way!!!')... I tried to close the gap. As he was within arms reach, I dug. Eyes closed, arms swinging side to side... spit... "everywhere". As the giant clock flashes 6.18 as we came through the line...
This will not be a good feeling story, as Antonio had sealed the Victory. Me, the defeated. Antonio casually walked over, no signs of pain, and said, "Good job little guy", rubbed the top of my head and trotted off. I fell to the ground and was grimacing in pain. As time ticked away, one kid came in, and then another and another. All casually walking away to their moms when they finished. I, on the other hand, lay there, breathing in an exaggerated manner, rolling side to side on the ground... "NEVER AGAIN.... NEVER!" I was finally able to get up, only to hurl every bit of that strawberry gatorade I chugged before hand, to which, I also hurled up things that I didn't even know existed... that is ANOTHER story.
Spit still on my face, well past the race, I got up. My mom just smiled and said, "You did really good!" I evenutally headed home and resumed my day to day activities of being a kid.
My running after that race... well there wasn't much of it to tell the truth. I did run a few other mile races come track (that is ANOTHER story), but never seriously got into running for another 2 and a half years... And then it was time. I started to train, and train. Mile after mile, I started to get 'fit'. My reasoning for training so hard at a young age was... "to beat Antonio"... "I want a rematch!!!"
To this very day, everytime I line up in my races, I look around. I look for 'him', where is he?!
There is only so long he can continue to duck me, and until he comes forth, I will continue to train 'balls to the wall', and look forward to the day... the day that I crush him!
One day... ONE DAY!!!
Till then, Another Day, Another Mile
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
I get asked these questions a lot, "So, when did you start running?"--"What was your first race ever?"--"What brought you into running?"--"1-10.... What are you?"--"Who is your celeb look-a-like?"-- And "To which gang do you belong to?"
And "Yes", I have answers to all of them:
I started seriously competing the last half of my 7th grade year.
"5th grade"
"All results are self earned"
"14"
"Brad Pitt"
"Thug street 12". To get into the gang, one must first tell me the secet to life, then proceed to beat a rubix cube (without cheating), and 'then' give a full thought out essay on what qualifies you to be a part of our gang.
"If" you meet all critieria you will be awarded a gang jacket, a swiss army knife (now, those things are just 'handy'!), and you will be instructed to meet up each gang meeting, to which, will be held at my mom's house every second Saturday of the month... THERE'S FREE COOKIES THERE TOO! YA!" We will discuss serious issues like, "How far east can you go before you're heading west?"--"Is there a limit on fortune cookie predictions?"--"If laughter is the best medicine... WHO'S the IDIOT that said they 'DIED...laughing?' AND last but not least, "Why do they tell you to smile when you get your license... When you are stopped by a cop you are NOT smiling!?"
What was I talking about?! Did I tell you I had ADHD? ... What!.. you already knew? I'm not ugly, YOU'RE UGLY!... If my dog was as ugly as yours, I would shave it's butt and have him walk balkwards!
Back to the point of this blog... One of the biggest questions I get asked is about my first distance race. I will 'expound' the story here and only here for the 'first' time... EVER!
It was a sunny afternoon in the great month of September. We were at the school known as Holland hall, a private school that is located in a little forest like area/atmosphere. I was a dorky little 5th grade... weighing in at a ferocious 72 lbs, at the staggering height of 5 feet...flat... OKAY... I was a couple inches shorter than that. That did NOT mean, I wasn't a true G from day one.
That day I did not know I was going to Holland Hall to run. I was going to watch a race. Little did I know of the cruelty of distance running at that time... I was primarily a soccer player that was soon to be drafted by team U.S.A. I was also a wrestler, and baseball player, but not a 'runner'.
My mom took to me to the meet b/c one of my older silblings was running in the high school division. Upon arrival, I heard they were having a 'kids division". Kids division = ALL kids 6th grade and under. Well, I was a cocky little punk and as soon as I heard this, "OOOO... OOOO... OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I WANT IN!!!... ME ME ME ME, I WANT IN!!!"
As the race drew closer, I 'prepared'. Tucked in large-t (yes, waaay to big for me, but let's be honest, ballers always wear ridiculously oversized clothes, THAT'S ME), looking around at my comp... I saw a swarm of them... chit chatting away with their so called poor excuses for 'moms'... laughing, eating popcorn, playing with their retarded undersized poodle dog that was called Mr. Jackson, picking noses (one kid ate 'it'), and to what I thought was an unfair advantage, loading up on NOT carbs, but sugar... chowing down on candy... twix, suckers, snickers, laffy taffy... "Damn"... all that good stuff. I did have something my mom gave me, "strawberry gatorade"... And "Yes", I chugged it like no tomorrow.
We were called to the line, to what I estimate 12,000 kids jacked and ready. In reality, "probably" only a couple hundred kids. As we lined up on the practice football field, the course would start out going across the field, swinging around a baseball and softball fields, looping out to several other practices fields, and then coming back to finish the last 100 yards of the race 'sprinting' down the practice field we started on, finishing under the field goal post.
Just for the record, I was NOT one of those kids. By what I mean, "NOT one of those kids", I was not one of those kids that took out sprinting, forgetting that a mile was a hell of a long ways for us young tikes... I knew about pacing myself and had the mentality... a.k.a. 'smarts' not to take off like there's no tomorrow.
Right before the race, the race director stood out in front of the over hyper active kids... "kicking and screaming"... and announced.. "Yes... we will have a rabbit for you young men!"-"Come forth Antonio!" As the director announces this, a young and fit as can be looking man walks up beside the director. "This will be your rabbit, Antonio... he will run right in front of (I estimate at this time, he was roughly 28 years old) the leader of this race and will lead you through the course to make sure you kids know where you're going... he is good and can manage whatever pace". And then the director says something that will legally make my smarts pull a 180 degree turn, going light speed into the land of retardedness.... "Oops", I meant, "Intellectually disabledness". The director says, "Any of you are welcome to even pass Antonio, beat him if you can!" (followed by a cheezy 60 year old man laugh).
"How dare he taunt me! I WILL beat him!"
You know the drill... turn up your speakers... ALL THE WAY... right click this link and put it into another tab... it will be your background music. JUST DO IT!- www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEjgPh4SEmU
BANG! Gun goes off, Antonio is quick out to the front as he cuts forth to the middle, casually running out in front... "You're mine!". As my little legs stride out across the field, I was determined. Shoes chopping into the fresh cut grass, steady, but adreline powered breathing, I ran. Evenutally making Antonio my bitch. As I passed him, he smiled, and even had the nerve to say, "Go get it, buddy". Oh, "I WIL!". I continued to run and put more and more distance on Antonio, was he worried?... 'Probably'. I was one determined kid.
And then it hit. Lactic acid.
As my legs filled up with the body's mechanism for going out to fast, because the body can only hold a sustained pace, to which, the one I was holding, for roughly... 30 seconds.
If you were wondering, "Yes", I was only 30 seconds into the race at this time. Okay, I was more like 45 seconds to be honest.
Legs heavy as can be, like concrete with each stride that I brought forth, stomach churning in pain, lactic acid continuing to build, we made our first loop and were starting the loop around the other practice fields. At this time, I was still out in front. And it HURT, regardless of my true feelings at this time, which included, the urge to run off course into a parked car to stop the pain, I pusheded forward in first. To what I was told, "YOU GOT 30 YARDS on him!!!". A huge line of kids followed. The crowds gathered, people gathered to the extent, that you knew the course, as they filled each side, cheering on the runners. It was like a long dark tunnel, people on your right, people on your left... factored in with how bad I hurt, this had to be hell.
As we charged up a very small hill, Antonio passed me. Half way into the race, he began to put distance on me. The nerve of that guy! No matter, I gritted my teeth and tried to hang on. "Man, never again, THIS HURTS!". As my arms began to fill with lactic acid, I began to taste death. For your infomation, death taste like blood, pennies....and a weird tasting chicken... just to let you know. I began going numb, losing more and more mobility, but still hurting... HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! Starting to become 'dazed and confused', I did what was only nautural at this time, 'run'. Regardless of not knowing what to really think or do, it was only natural. We all have a talent and an ability given by God (Everyone has some talent they are given in life, EVERYONE). At this time, my stock of how good of a runner I naturally was, was dropping. Although, I was blessed with one thing, and that was being a tough little booger. That was my talent. "Lucky me"...
As we were reaching the 100 yards to go mark, a short and choppy stride, coming onto the field/last straight-a-way, to which, was welcomed with the same crazy crowd that was encounted at the end of the first loop. Then, my excitement grew. Antonio... was slowing up... Coming back to life, my young peppy ballin' 5th grader self, thought of one thing, "BRING IT BITCH!" As we came across the 50 yard line... the 40, the 30, the 20... ('He could go all the way!!!')... I tried to close the gap. As he was within arms reach, I dug. Eyes closed, arms swinging side to side... spit... "everywhere". As the giant clock flashes 6.18 as we came through the line...
This will not be a good feeling story, as Antonio had sealed the Victory. Me, the defeated. Antonio casually walked over, no signs of pain, and said, "Good job little guy", rubbed the top of my head and trotted off. I fell to the ground and was grimacing in pain. As time ticked away, one kid came in, and then another and another. All casually walking away to their moms when they finished. I, on the other hand, lay there, breathing in an exaggerated manner, rolling side to side on the ground... "NEVER AGAIN.... NEVER!" I was finally able to get up, only to hurl every bit of that strawberry gatorade I chugged before hand, to which, I also hurled up things that I didn't even know existed... that is ANOTHER story.
Spit still on my face, well past the race, I got up. My mom just smiled and said, "You did really good!" I evenutally headed home and resumed my day to day activities of being a kid.
My running after that race... well there wasn't much of it to tell the truth. I did run a few other mile races come track (that is ANOTHER story), but never seriously got into running for another 2 and a half years... And then it was time. I started to train, and train. Mile after mile, I started to get 'fit'. My reasoning for training so hard at a young age was... "to beat Antonio"... "I want a rematch!!!"
To this very day, everytime I line up in my races, I look around. I look for 'him', where is he?!
There is only so long he can continue to duck me, and until he comes forth, I will continue to train 'balls to the wall', and look forward to the day... the day that I crush him!
One day... ONE DAY!!!
Till then, Another Day, Another Mile
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
BUSY
So, I'm halfway through my 3rd post, and it's late. I will have it up by tomorrow (technically today) evening... And I will make sure to make it 'enjoyable.'
In the meantime watch my favorite running related youtube vid (well worth the watch):
www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9f38gME1kw
EDIT: POST IS UP AND RIGHT BELOW THIS ONE: "THUNDER".
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
In the meantime watch my favorite running related youtube vid (well worth the watch):
www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9f38gME1kw
EDIT: POST IS UP AND RIGHT BELOW THIS ONE: "THUNDER".
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
THUNDER!
"Yet again" at a new location, and new elevation of 5000 feet. I am not exactly in the rough and tumble mountains that I was previously in. Rather, a ridiculously hilly area that rises in all directions, in which, these hills will raise above 6500 feet in all directions.... Do you know where I am? These hills are also covered in 'dark' evergreen trees... now do you know?
My stay would only be for a few days, as me and a fellow teammate stayed with a 'runner' friend of his, cool kid btw.
As I ran in the new area that had a 100+ mile long trail within walking distance, "I liked it". Today was just like any other sunday, "long run day". My run was relatively simple today, 1 hour out on the trail, one hour back... 2 hours. As I scooted, strided, and trotted along at an easy 7 minute mile clip, crisp air, clear blue skies, a cabin here and there to my right, to my left, and of course, the standard chipmunk out and about.... "Yes", his name was Rodney, he had a family of 9. "Why 9?", I asked young peppy Rodney. Without hesistation, Rodney piped back, "To have a baseball team!... And a 10th is on the way for a pinch hitter!"
Back to the run, as I was closing in on 40 minutes out, I had a couple cyclists pass me saying, "FIND SHELTER, A STORM IS COMING!" Obviously, I did the right thing... I responded with, "Why thank you good sir, I will promptly find shelter."
Okay, that did NOT happen, in actuality, I said, "Cool man" (with a sarcastic thumbs up). "Yes", borderline douche, but I don't like to be bothered on a run. Personally, I just saw the cyclists as "tourists"... one of them had a "fanny pack". It's the 21st century... AND WE STILL HAVE FANNY PACKS!? "Yes", I will continue to rant here... Who still buys fanny packs?! Like seriously... how does it go when people buy these ornaments of... 'intellectually disable'ness'.... "Hey honey, do you think I should get the vibrant pink fanny pack, or just go ahead and put myself on suicide watch now?"
The answer: "MAN UP!"
My stay would only be for a few days, as me and a fellow teammate stayed with a 'runner' friend of his, cool kid btw.
As I ran in the new area that had a 100+ mile long trail within walking distance, "I liked it". Today was just like any other sunday, "long run day". My run was relatively simple today, 1 hour out on the trail, one hour back... 2 hours. As I scooted, strided, and trotted along at an easy 7 minute mile clip, crisp air, clear blue skies, a cabin here and there to my right, to my left, and of course, the standard chipmunk out and about.... "Yes", his name was Rodney, he had a family of 9. "Why 9?", I asked young peppy Rodney. Without hesistation, Rodney piped back, "To have a baseball team!... And a 10th is on the way for a pinch hitter!"
Back to the run, as I was closing in on 40 minutes out, I had a couple cyclists pass me saying, "FIND SHELTER, A STORM IS COMING!" Obviously, I did the right thing... I responded with, "Why thank you good sir, I will promptly find shelter."
Okay, that did NOT happen, in actuality, I said, "Cool man" (with a sarcastic thumbs up). "Yes", borderline douche, but I don't like to be bothered on a run. Personally, I just saw the cyclists as "tourists"... one of them had a "fanny pack". It's the 21st century... AND WE STILL HAVE FANNY PACKS!? "Yes", I will continue to rant here... Who still buys fanny packs?! Like seriously... how does it go when people buy these ornaments of... 'intellectually disable'ness'.... "Hey honey, do you think I should get the vibrant pink fanny pack, or just go ahead and put myself on suicide watch now?"
The answer: "MAN UP!"
Anyways, I charged forward and thought nothing of the warning given to me by "fanny pack wearing cyclists." A couple minutes before I hit 50 minutes, currently beep bopping to music on my 'new' ipod, I feel a cool crisp breeze come about. The kind you feel when the weather is getting ready to change... "huh."
As I come over a knarly hill, I see why I was warned to take shelter. A dense dark blue/black cloud, that appears to be coming in my direction... "huh..."
"Okay, this doesn't feel right, I'm heading back."
As the pace quickened, I 'tried' to outrun the on-coming storm. Did I believe I would? "Of course!" No longer trotting along, but throwing in surges, 1 minute hard, 1 easy, 2 hard, 1 minute easy, 3 hard, 1 easy, repeat again and again... trying to make a workout as I attempt to outrun a storm....
BEFORE YOU READ ANY FURTHER, PLEASE 'FULLY' TURN UP THE VOLUME ON YOUR COMPUTER.... "Did you do that yet?"... "You still haven't... have you!?"... "DO IT!" 'ONCE' YOU HAVE DONE SO, PLEASE 'RIGHT' CLICK AND ADD THIS LINK I GIVE YOU AS AN EXTRA TAB AND LEAVE AS YOUR BACKGROUND MUSIC FOR THE REST OF THE READING.... THANK YOU, AND HAVE A NICE DAY... LINK > www.youtube.com/watch?v=8d7OBluielc
7 miles from home, it began to pour. When I say pour, I mean, "POUR"....as the Gods of rain showed no mercy. No longer being able to see anymore than a few feet in front of me, yet rain or no rain, I charged forward... unphased.
Then a new curve ball was thrown at me, lightning. Streaks of lightning came from all directions, striking the earth with an intense flash of energy, followed by a loud, "BOOM".
As the urban legend goes, or what I've heard, once you see a flash of lightning, every second you can count following it, is how many thousands of feet the lightning bolt is away (1 second = 1 thousand feet).
As I wondered how far the lighting was behind me. *Flash of lightning*- "One mississipi, two mississipi... seven mississpi... BOOM!" "Well, I am a 'whole' 7 thousand feet away from a bolt of energy that is 11-13 times hotter than the sun, GREAT!
5 MILES LEFT, *Flash of lightning"- One mississipi, two mississipi... 5 mississipi, "BOOM!" "FAAAANTASTIC, I have 5 thousand feet on the storm. "
And "YES", in case you were wondering, I said all of this out loud on my run... ALL of it.
3 miles left, GPS beeping, "5.02 last mile", "LET'S GO!!!" In case you were wondering... "Roughly 2000-3000 feet in front of the 'brilliant' streaks of bright energy that 'kindly' striked the earth behind me."
With 2 miles left, still having trouble seeing much in front of me, I subconsciously bring my hand up to my eyes to wipe away rain. As I do so, comes forth such a bright flash of lightning, "BOOM!" (So bright, that I can see the light through my hand). Well...hmm... judging by the burnt hairs on my right arm, I'd say, "50 feet", maybe "60"... yep.
As adrenline coursed through my body, soaked completely, I continue to move forward. At this point, that's all you can do. "You move forward". Whether this be another day to day life, work, or in my case, out on a run, you do the best thing you can do, make progress, cover ground, do work... basically... you "Move forward."
As I come upon my last few steps, flying inside the house, I storm in. Soaked head to toe, breathing hard, half covered in mud from the trail... my teammate sitting there on the couch, looks over non-chanlantly as I come in, "Hey man... I think it's sotrming outside...*pause*... just a guess."
Me: "It's perfect."
Also: www.youtube.com/watch?v=muLIPWjks_M
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
Friday, July 9, 2010
Everyone has a story
After getting in a strong workout, consisting of 24 times 65 seconds up-tempo/fast, 55 seconds jog (with warmup and cooldown-11 miles), I decide to join a fellow teammate of mine on a progression run the following day.
After I got off an 8 hour shift at work (12 for him), we planned on doing a 3 mile warmup, 4 mile progression run being cut down each mile at a comfortable and steady pace. It's early in the season, so it was just something to get the heartrate up. Following that, would be a 3 mile cooldown and a lot of plyometric drills, etc.
Momentarily in a new city, and a new elevation of 'only' 5500 feet... We set out to "do work". As we trotted along, shaking out the kinks from work, and chatting away:
Me: "Yes, I really do believe squirrels are the most fierce (and greatest) animals in the animal kindom"--"Did you know there is now a squirrel that can ski... they can do ANYTHING!
teammate: "Sounds far fetched".
Me: WHAT YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME?!... I WILL SHOW YOU THE YOUTUBE CLIP WHEN WE GET BACK!
teammate: "Why are you yellling?"
Me: "I AM NOT YELLLING! *momentarily pause* YOUR MOM IS A CHEAP WHORE!!!" (...I was yelling)
teammate: *long death stare*....
Me: "I was just kidding.....*long pause*.... she's relatively pricey!"
3 mile warm-up over and done with, it's now time to line up and roll out this 4 mile progession run. A "comfortable hard" run.
And the tempo-like run begins! Wind howling from our left side, a.k.a. where the moutains lay in this busy body city. These mountains had such a shear magnitude, that if you didn't know any better, you would think they were storm clouds at night. As we ran parallel to them, we were just a hop, skip, and a jump away from them.
As we were comfortably rolling along, you can't help but think what draws people together, as friends, co-workers, or in this case, teammates. My teammate being called, "Monte". As he comfortably stided along, a demanding and agressive form, yet with a sense of fluency that can only be accomplished with thousands of miles "in the bank".
In today's world and time, so many people have a sense of "genericnesscy" ("Yes", I just made that word up), people have a stereotypically boring/conforming background in their life, "their story", as you will. It's pretty easy to tell if someone's 'story' catches my eye, because I'll either frankly tell them, or it's just easy to tell. Obviously, only a few people have a great enough life story to catch my interests. Regardless, "Monte's story" starts in a farm in South Dakota, to which, "Yes", everyone in South Dakota owns a farm, it's one of the few stereotypes that holds a lot of truth.
As we came through the first mile in a comfortable 5.30, neither of us laboring by any means, we continued to strive forward. Coming upon a rather large wooden bridge, hearing a loud clanking sound as each foot strike hit the boards, we were unphased and continued to maintain pace as we headed into the second mile.
When Monte was a young sophomore, just coming off a big underdog victory at his state xc meet, he did what he did every other morning that winter at home, "Chores". Now, doing chores on a farm is not the usual chores 'most' people do that don't live on a farm.... it's tough, and hard work, "Man's work". As Monte was doing routine chores, he lost his footing and as he went down, got his foot stuck in farming equipment. This equipment being used to 'grind' up and churn the soil. If you're starting to get where I'm going with this, "Yes", this would not be a 'pleasant' experience.
As the GPS watch starts beeping at two miles into a 4 mile progression run, I take a casual glance at the watch, "5.27 for that last mile". Taking a sharp right turn, continuing onward on an asphalt trail, no one out on the trail to speak of, crossing several intersections, pace quickening, a playground to the left, a canal to the right, we continued to move forward. The pace started to demand more and more energy being put forth as we covered more distance.
As Monte was laying on and facing the ground, his foot and thousands of miles of work was being lost in the matter of seconds. Monte began yelling for help at the top of his lungs. His shoe being ripped apart as if it was paper just being put through a shredder, Monte continued to yell. His family on the other side of his several square mile size farm, his shouts for help would not be heard, except by some nearby cattle. With this shouting, the cattle proceeded to just cause chaos and run off in various directions.
Coming through 3 miles and slightly surprised by the quickening of the pace, "Hey 5.06 on that last mile, Monte". We continued to keep it as a controlled tempo run and make sure to maintain pace. Darting over a road, as the path was connected on the other side, a car coming from the right... "Ya, we're good." As to say, we can run out across the road (without stopping) and they won't hit us. Free and clear as we easily beat the car, we rolled onto the fouth mile.
As Monte continued to yell for help, he did happen to notice a shovel that was within grasp. As he was able to stretch out and latch onto it, desperately trying to hit the lever from behind and turn off the machinery. Without any sight of the lever (talk about being clutch on trying to hit it) as he lay face down on the ground, he would not have many opportunities to try and hit the lever in hopes of stopping the device that was currently grinding his foot into a pulp. As he was going into shock, breathening quickening, heart pounding, blood pumping to the tips of his fingers, and yet, a sense of composure, in effort, to save his foot... leg for that matter and perhaps his own life, he swung back the shovel, again and again, and started getting closer to his desired means....
Just a short straight-away from being done with the progession run, we stayed true to pace and came through the last mile in 5.05. Lightly slowing down to a stop, a short, yet, instinctive handshake following quickly... "Good run"... "Ya, it was... felt really comfortable"... We proceeded to start our 3 mile cooldown run promptly to continue our warmup talk that we were previously having not much more than 20 minutes ago.
Monte continued to swing back, and just as his career in sports was about to be lost forever... and as fate would have it, he connects straight on with the lever and stops the machine from causing any continuing damage to his foot. As Monte lay there, realizing this was not the end of it, his foot would be intertwined into this equipment and there was nowhere that he could go as he lay there losing vital blood.
Monte's yelling was not in total vain. Even though it was only heard by his cattle, it was the cattle that perhaps saved his life. As the cattle made their way to the other side of the farm, it was their comotion that caught the attention of Monte's brothers, so much so, that they quickly made their way over to where Monte was stationed. Monte laying there, half conscious, they proceeded to dig his foot out of the equipment with... "shovels".
The end results being the loss of his big toe, and in the process, having to remend his skin and months and months of physical therapy. It would take over a solid year of strenuous work to get back into solid running form, as well as, specially made orthotics.
A mile or so into the warmup, wind continuing to howl as it hit us staright in the face at this time:
"Dude, I'm telling you, it's my life long goal to become a world champion dog sledder."
Monte: "You do realize they hold that race up in Alaska."
Me: "Alaska... smaska.
pause
"Anything's possible if you want it bad enough, anything."
Monte went on to run 1.51 in the 800m as a senior in high school and currently will be entering his sophomore year in college..
AND "No", I did not forget:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=37fDXX9stJY&feature=related
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
After I got off an 8 hour shift at work (12 for him), we planned on doing a 3 mile warmup, 4 mile progression run being cut down each mile at a comfortable and steady pace. It's early in the season, so it was just something to get the heartrate up. Following that, would be a 3 mile cooldown and a lot of plyometric drills, etc.
Momentarily in a new city, and a new elevation of 'only' 5500 feet... We set out to "do work". As we trotted along, shaking out the kinks from work, and chatting away:
Me: "Yes, I really do believe squirrels are the most fierce (and greatest) animals in the animal kindom"--"Did you know there is now a squirrel that can ski... they can do ANYTHING!
teammate: "Sounds far fetched".
Me: WHAT YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME?!... I WILL SHOW YOU THE YOUTUBE CLIP WHEN WE GET BACK!
teammate: "Why are you yellling?"
Me: "I AM NOT YELLLING! *momentarily pause* YOUR MOM IS A CHEAP WHORE!!!" (...I was yelling)
teammate: *long death stare*....
Me: "I was just kidding.....*long pause*.... she's relatively pricey!"
3 mile warm-up over and done with, it's now time to line up and roll out this 4 mile progession run. A "comfortable hard" run.
And the tempo-like run begins! Wind howling from our left side, a.k.a. where the moutains lay in this busy body city. These mountains had such a shear magnitude, that if you didn't know any better, you would think they were storm clouds at night. As we ran parallel to them, we were just a hop, skip, and a jump away from them.
As we were comfortably rolling along, you can't help but think what draws people together, as friends, co-workers, or in this case, teammates. My teammate being called, "Monte". As he comfortably stided along, a demanding and agressive form, yet with a sense of fluency that can only be accomplished with thousands of miles "in the bank".
In today's world and time, so many people have a sense of "genericnesscy" ("Yes", I just made that word up), people have a stereotypically boring/conforming background in their life, "their story", as you will. It's pretty easy to tell if someone's 'story' catches my eye, because I'll either frankly tell them, or it's just easy to tell. Obviously, only a few people have a great enough life story to catch my interests. Regardless, "Monte's story" starts in a farm in South Dakota, to which, "Yes", everyone in South Dakota owns a farm, it's one of the few stereotypes that holds a lot of truth.
As we came through the first mile in a comfortable 5.30, neither of us laboring by any means, we continued to strive forward. Coming upon a rather large wooden bridge, hearing a loud clanking sound as each foot strike hit the boards, we were unphased and continued to maintain pace as we headed into the second mile.
When Monte was a young sophomore, just coming off a big underdog victory at his state xc meet, he did what he did every other morning that winter at home, "Chores". Now, doing chores on a farm is not the usual chores 'most' people do that don't live on a farm.... it's tough, and hard work, "Man's work". As Monte was doing routine chores, he lost his footing and as he went down, got his foot stuck in farming equipment. This equipment being used to 'grind' up and churn the soil. If you're starting to get where I'm going with this, "Yes", this would not be a 'pleasant' experience.
As the GPS watch starts beeping at two miles into a 4 mile progression run, I take a casual glance at the watch, "5.27 for that last mile". Taking a sharp right turn, continuing onward on an asphalt trail, no one out on the trail to speak of, crossing several intersections, pace quickening, a playground to the left, a canal to the right, we continued to move forward. The pace started to demand more and more energy being put forth as we covered more distance.
As Monte was laying on and facing the ground, his foot and thousands of miles of work was being lost in the matter of seconds. Monte began yelling for help at the top of his lungs. His shoe being ripped apart as if it was paper just being put through a shredder, Monte continued to yell. His family on the other side of his several square mile size farm, his shouts for help would not be heard, except by some nearby cattle. With this shouting, the cattle proceeded to just cause chaos and run off in various directions.
Coming through 3 miles and slightly surprised by the quickening of the pace, "Hey 5.06 on that last mile, Monte". We continued to keep it as a controlled tempo run and make sure to maintain pace. Darting over a road, as the path was connected on the other side, a car coming from the right... "Ya, we're good." As to say, we can run out across the road (without stopping) and they won't hit us. Free and clear as we easily beat the car, we rolled onto the fouth mile.
As Monte continued to yell for help, he did happen to notice a shovel that was within grasp. As he was able to stretch out and latch onto it, desperately trying to hit the lever from behind and turn off the machinery. Without any sight of the lever (talk about being clutch on trying to hit it) as he lay face down on the ground, he would not have many opportunities to try and hit the lever in hopes of stopping the device that was currently grinding his foot into a pulp. As he was going into shock, breathening quickening, heart pounding, blood pumping to the tips of his fingers, and yet, a sense of composure, in effort, to save his foot... leg for that matter and perhaps his own life, he swung back the shovel, again and again, and started getting closer to his desired means....
Just a short straight-away from being done with the progession run, we stayed true to pace and came through the last mile in 5.05. Lightly slowing down to a stop, a short, yet, instinctive handshake following quickly... "Good run"... "Ya, it was... felt really comfortable"... We proceeded to start our 3 mile cooldown run promptly to continue our warmup talk that we were previously having not much more than 20 minutes ago.
Monte continued to swing back, and just as his career in sports was about to be lost forever... and as fate would have it, he connects straight on with the lever and stops the machine from causing any continuing damage to his foot. As Monte lay there, realizing this was not the end of it, his foot would be intertwined into this equipment and there was nowhere that he could go as he lay there losing vital blood.
Monte's yelling was not in total vain. Even though it was only heard by his cattle, it was the cattle that perhaps saved his life. As the cattle made their way to the other side of the farm, it was their comotion that caught the attention of Monte's brothers, so much so, that they quickly made their way over to where Monte was stationed. Monte laying there, half conscious, they proceeded to dig his foot out of the equipment with... "shovels".
The end results being the loss of his big toe, and in the process, having to remend his skin and months and months of physical therapy. It would take over a solid year of strenuous work to get back into solid running form, as well as, specially made orthotics.
A mile or so into the warmup, wind continuing to howl as it hit us staright in the face at this time:
"Dude, I'm telling you, it's my life long goal to become a world champion dog sledder."
Monte: "You do realize they hold that race up in Alaska."
Me: "Alaska... smaska.
pause
"Anything's possible if you want it bad enough, anything."
Monte went on to run 1.51 in the 800m as a senior in high school and currently will be entering his sophomore year in college..
AND "No", I did not forget:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=37fDXX9stJY&feature=related
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
Thursday, July 8, 2010
7500 feet elevation and climbing
First off, I have never been a blog guy, nor do I care that much for them.... Long story short, I am being forced to do this. "Yes", I am being held to gun point.
I will not venture into pointless religion debates, my job, school, or even the secrets to life. This blog will be about one thing and one thing only, my running and my hopes in aspirations of making the Olympic Trials marathon. The route I have chosen is running a sub 65 half marathon (aiming to snag this qualifier in march of 11' at the Mardi Gras half in Louisiana), which is one of three qualifying routes to make the Olympic trials. To my name, I have a 14.16 personal best in the 5k, and as for a mega distance race, I tempo'd a 25k race last Febuary (15.5 miles) at a steady and comfortable pace of 5.18 mile. Would've been a lot faster if I really raced it... that's another story.
Now, that is out of the way.... it begins... "Another Day, Another Mile"
Over the July Fourth weekend, I had the pleasure of staying in a small altitude community, surrounded by numerous moutains, most of which ranging from 12,000-14,000 feet in stature, breath taking to say the least.
It is 80 degrees, and there is no humidity, "Awesome". There is no air, because this town sits at 7500 feet, "Damn".
As I start out on my run, with a slight sense of air headedness from lack of air, as well as, achey muscles from routine tough training... day in, and day out. The town quite as can be, seems to have a sense of what it really means to be a hard working blue collar citizen.
I see my destination that lays ahead, Mount "S" (I will leave my location a secret, it makes for a cool mystery type persona...) After a few miles, my stirde opens up from a 7 minute mile clip to 6 flat'ish' mile clip. My breathing has a sense of 'sucking air' sound... the sound you heard all to much in 8th grade gym class, when fat Freddy couldn't make the damn cut on hitting an 18 second suicide on the b-ball court... "So, Evvvvvveeeeeeeeryone had to do another suicide.... again and again... until Freddy made the cut!" And you know what, he never did. People will do as they want, they control their own destiny. Freddy chose his, and surely, his own path of fitness should not affect mine, or for that matter, poor little suzy who had 19 soccer games over the weekend... "Bless her heart".
Wait a minute, what was I talking about?!
Oh ya...
So, as I'm running alone in the oh so small mountain town, I'm striding along as asphalt turns into an old fashion dirt road and of course, there is not a house, nor a soul for miles on end, "I'm on my own".
As I drawl closer to Mountain S., the road begins to take an aggressive "upward" manner, "it will be all up hill from here"... Well, till I decide to head back home."
As I stride out, each foot strike making a crunching sound with the gravel, sweat beginning to build, heart starts to race, a steady rhythm beginning to develop as I push upward on this tough cookie of a mountain. Everything is starting to ache... in a good way. Yes, to a runner, that makes perfect sense. And yes... we are an odd group.
I have lived my whole life at 900 feet elevation... and now I'm pushing upward and climbing well past 7500... HELP ME BABY JESUS! Roughly around, to what I estimate 9500 feet, my run starts to become very surreal... "to surreal", haha... I begin to wonder if I'm being watched. I can't explain it, but for all I know, and to what I believe, there was a well rounded cougar waiting to prowl. To be honest, it would not be a fair fight... I was after all a star stud'd wrestler in junior high. Let's certainly not forget my comeback westling meet in 8th grade... Another day, another story.
Luckily, no cougar got up the courage to face it's certain death by challenging me. "Although", a fierce grey squirrel did, as it sprinted across my path... "Figures". Squirrels are God's little babies... those things are the most majestic animals that the world has to offer... "Obviously".
As I climb higher and higher, 'my' dirt road turns into a 'sketch' out trail, I begin to dig. Sweat continuing to build, causing a slight burn just outside my eyes, breathing laboring, heart racing and pounding to the extent I can litterally hear it, and of course, that lovely crunking sound of fresh gravel as each foot strike touches down and I power off the the tips of my toes. Roughly 10,000 feet in elevation.... it's time to head back, with a swift 180 degree turn... down the mountain! As I dart from turn to turn on the switchback trails, creating my own wind. I begin to feel more at ease. More-so, when I was 'trucking' upwards. As miles passed one by one and the run was coming to a close, I began to feel the euphpria of happiness that can only be felt from finishing a solid run. A total of 85 minutes at a steady, yet comfortable clip of 6 minute miles on average (at an average of 8000 + feet elevation!), run over. Success.
To note: Later in the day a second run occured, an 8 miler.... Another Day, Another Mile
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
I will not venture into pointless religion debates, my job, school, or even the secrets to life. This blog will be about one thing and one thing only, my running and my hopes in aspirations of making the Olympic Trials marathon. The route I have chosen is running a sub 65 half marathon (aiming to snag this qualifier in march of 11' at the Mardi Gras half in Louisiana), which is one of three qualifying routes to make the Olympic trials. To my name, I have a 14.16 personal best in the 5k, and as for a mega distance race, I tempo'd a 25k race last Febuary (15.5 miles) at a steady and comfortable pace of 5.18 mile. Would've been a lot faster if I really raced it... that's another story.
Now, that is out of the way.... it begins... "Another Day, Another Mile"
Over the July Fourth weekend, I had the pleasure of staying in a small altitude community, surrounded by numerous moutains, most of which ranging from 12,000-14,000 feet in stature, breath taking to say the least.
It is 80 degrees, and there is no humidity, "Awesome". There is no air, because this town sits at 7500 feet, "Damn".
As I start out on my run, with a slight sense of air headedness from lack of air, as well as, achey muscles from routine tough training... day in, and day out. The town quite as can be, seems to have a sense of what it really means to be a hard working blue collar citizen.
I see my destination that lays ahead, Mount "S" (I will leave my location a secret, it makes for a cool mystery type persona...) After a few miles, my stirde opens up from a 7 minute mile clip to 6 flat'ish' mile clip. My breathing has a sense of 'sucking air' sound... the sound you heard all to much in 8th grade gym class, when fat Freddy couldn't make the damn cut on hitting an 18 second suicide on the b-ball court... "So, Evvvvvveeeeeeeeryone had to do another suicide.... again and again... until Freddy made the cut!" And you know what, he never did. People will do as they want, they control their own destiny. Freddy chose his, and surely, his own path of fitness should not affect mine, or for that matter, poor little suzy who had 19 soccer games over the weekend... "Bless her heart".
Wait a minute, what was I talking about?!
Oh ya...
So, as I'm running alone in the oh so small mountain town, I'm striding along as asphalt turns into an old fashion dirt road and of course, there is not a house, nor a soul for miles on end, "I'm on my own".
As I drawl closer to Mountain S., the road begins to take an aggressive "upward" manner, "it will be all up hill from here"... Well, till I decide to head back home."
As I stride out, each foot strike making a crunching sound with the gravel, sweat beginning to build, heart starts to race, a steady rhythm beginning to develop as I push upward on this tough cookie of a mountain. Everything is starting to ache... in a good way. Yes, to a runner, that makes perfect sense. And yes... we are an odd group.
I have lived my whole life at 900 feet elevation... and now I'm pushing upward and climbing well past 7500... HELP ME BABY JESUS! Roughly around, to what I estimate 9500 feet, my run starts to become very surreal... "to surreal", haha... I begin to wonder if I'm being watched. I can't explain it, but for all I know, and to what I believe, there was a well rounded cougar waiting to prowl. To be honest, it would not be a fair fight... I was after all a star stud'd wrestler in junior high. Let's certainly not forget my comeback westling meet in 8th grade... Another day, another story.
Luckily, no cougar got up the courage to face it's certain death by challenging me. "Although", a fierce grey squirrel did, as it sprinted across my path... "Figures". Squirrels are God's little babies... those things are the most majestic animals that the world has to offer... "Obviously".
As I climb higher and higher, 'my' dirt road turns into a 'sketch' out trail, I begin to dig. Sweat continuing to build, causing a slight burn just outside my eyes, breathing laboring, heart racing and pounding to the extent I can litterally hear it, and of course, that lovely crunking sound of fresh gravel as each foot strike touches down and I power off the the tips of my toes. Roughly 10,000 feet in elevation.... it's time to head back, with a swift 180 degree turn... down the mountain! As I dart from turn to turn on the switchback trails, creating my own wind. I begin to feel more at ease. More-so, when I was 'trucking' upwards. As miles passed one by one and the run was coming to a close, I began to feel the euphpria of happiness that can only be felt from finishing a solid run. A total of 85 minutes at a steady, yet comfortable clip of 6 minute miles on average (at an average of 8000 + feet elevation!), run over. Success.
To note: Later in the day a second run occured, an 8 miler.... Another Day, Another Mile
-clay j. mayes the 3rd
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