"There are no miracles in sports. You know where there are miracles? In training." - Pal Nemeth
If there is one thing that I hate more than Mischler is the thought of running in the snow. And let's face it, to say you've been training all winter long does not have the same ring as saying that you've been training all summer long. Plus it is way less fun to run during a winter night than to run a few miles durng the summer nights. And I'm not alone in this thinking and that is why we can point to three groups of people during winter training:
People who will run everyday and be in shape come January (as a senior and team captain, I should be in this group)
People who won't run and say they did (this is me)
People who won't run and instead will be playing a sport. "Dirk" is a part of this group
But coming back from winter break will then result in the following things during workouts:
Some people will actually be pushing for PR's and a chance to score at conference in May
I will be doing what I do best, leading my troops from the back of the pack
Or one lucky individual will be riding the pine during the upcoming basketball season.
But the one lucky thing about winter is that it ends and people have the chance to redeem themselves, except for the ones who prefer to be dunked on during the month of February instead of running in indoor races...their failure continues until the summer. And as the weeks turn to months and the months turn to seasons they find instead of leading from the back of the pack...they are the back of the pack.
Long time no post...well this weekend is Valentine's Day and now I finally realize why I'm also alone on that day. I neglect things. I neglect to keep up with the stories of me getting in odd situations and I neglect to take care of personal relationships. But who cares, because while others are doing romantic stuff, I'll be watching the Daytona 500...come on Tony Stewart!
Last summer...my sister graduated from the University of Notre Dame with a Master's in Accounting. The whole program is set up by the financial firm Ernst & Young, a small group graduate from the program, and the night before graduation there is a big celebration dinner/dance in the complex where the College Football Hall of Fame is.
But before we arrived to South Bend, Indiana, we have to travel across the state of Ohio. I'm not going to get into the many reasons why Ohio sucks,but we stopped halfway to stay in a city called Maumee. Maumee has to be the funniest name for a city beside Intercourse, PA. Of course the irony of Intercourse, PA is that there isn't much intercourse going on because it is full of Amish people. After leaving the great state of Ohio we arrived in South Bend and checked into the hotel that night. The next morning, when I was once a dedicated runner, I did a small run through the campus. A lot of people say that Wesleyan has a beautiful campus but Notre Dame makes Wesleyan look like a dump. The campus in August was a beautiful collage of trees and lakes and it reminded me of this. I was able to get into all the athletic buildings except for the football stadium that Jesus supposedly built.
After the run, I got lunch with my family and we headed back to the college for campus tours. Here is another instance where Notre Dame outshines Wesleyan. The girl giving the tour talked the entire time about the history and all the BS of the school, but she did it while walking backwards...in sandals. I give that girl credit for walking about two miles backwards. After the tour we headed back to the hotel to get ready for the night.
We travel into downtown South Bend and the reception is right next to the College Football Hall of Fame. I walk inside and I'm handed the program which listed that there would be four different buffets for food and the greatest words to a college student ever are penned on there: OPEN BAR
My family is seated at a table next to one of my sister's friend's family. I immediately get up and ask my parents if they want something to drink? I leave and come back with four beers. This confuses my parents and they ask why I have four beers. My response, "one for you, one for you, and two for me", I say as I take a swig from both bottles of Coors Light. The family on the other side of the table give a look of shock and my parents just shake their heads, they know like a hurricane that a storm is building out at sea and they should board up the windows for the impending damage. To try and prevent Hurricane Chris from happening, they tell me to pace myself. Still young and innocent, the only time I can recall the word "pace" is in track workouts and I didn't think pace applied to this situation.
Being that I was twenty and inexperienced in the ways of how to behave at formal occasions I do the following things during the night:
Chug a beer in the bathroom with some guy who was graduating in the morning
Skipped the entire meal and drank while my family ate
Had an in-depth conversation with a guy about high school football in California
Requested that the DJ play "Freek a Leek", this was rejected when he said it was inappropriate, I then request "I Want to Dance with Somebody"
I think the funniest conversation I had during the entire night was when I was talking to some girl who was the little sister of one of my sister's friend.
Her: So what school do you go to?
Me: It's a small school you've never heard of.
Her: Well, what is it?
Me: West Virginia Wesleyan.
Her: Yeah, I've never heard of it.
Me: So what school do you go to?
Her: Princeton.
Me: Yeah, like Harvard
Her: Yeah, sort of.
Me: So you're really smart?
Her: I wouldn't say that.
Me: Well I'm pretty smart too.
At the end of the night, my parents led me to the car where I slumped into the backseat and passed out. Being loving parents, they carried my comatose body up two flights of stairs at the Hampton Inn where they threw me on the bed.
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It takes a special guy to wake up wearing what you wore to bed that night and it turns out that I'm that kind of guy. But I woke up the next morning still wearing my shirt and tie. My parents are getting ready to leave to go to mass (which is pointless because we're not Catholic) and graduation. I wear the same clothes from the night before and walk down to the car. So I sat through mass and graduation and kept my head down so no one would notice me until we left the campus. The End.
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If you haven't heard, you should read what John Mayer said about Jessica Simpson, here. I'm not sure what sexual napalm is, but all I know is I want to destroy a Vietnamese village with it.
P.S. I guess I'm above average in terms of smarts, got me a 500 unofficially on the GMAT.
It's the end of Thanksgiving which means I'm heading back to school, at school, or comtemplating dropping out. Pretty soon I will open my dorm fridge and remember that I have left milk that expired around the 15th in there until the end of the month; it should still be good. And while I should have been working on research for my History Comprehensive Exam, I did what every American male did during the past week: watch football. Running is all about endurance and being able to watch football from noon until midnight is an endurance test unto itself. Another thing I did during break was eat, a lot...
One night I was eating dinner with my family and we were watching the Biggest Loser on TV. The biggest (get the pun) irony was that we were eating these huge steaks while morbidly fat people fight to lose weight. Using my superior Wesleyan education I stumbled upon the greatest television idea since I Love Lucy, the Biggest Loser: College Football Coaches. (Sidenote: if anybody else has thought of this before, you are a liar and I thought of it well before last Tuesday night at dinner).
This could be one of the greatest shows ever and if you were wondering who the contestants would be, I saved you the trouble of thinking and included the list:
Right now, you're probably saying to yourself that Rodriguez isn't fat and I totally agree with you, but everybody could stand to lose a few pounds. The greatest thing is that these guys wouldn't even have to take time out of their spring recruiting schedule to do the show, they're all going to get fired anyways for having terrible records at the end of this season.
Which is why I am going to veer away from the topic of television shows and talk about how ridiculous is it when fat people are distance coaches. My freshmen and sophomore years of high school, the football coach was also the track coach. And while the football coach did understand the concepts of the spread offense, he knew nothing on how to maximize potential in the 1600. We did four workouts a week on the track and ran probably two meets a week during the spring. During one practice, all the distance runners had to run forties like it was the NFL combine. We were never allowed to leave the stadium, it was literally like a Nazi prison camp (maybe not). Luckily, all the jumpers had to do sprint workouts also and I would sometimes disappear behind the high jump mats and take a nap during practice. But if there is a positive, it makes me appreciate having a coach now who actually knows what he's doing.
But my television idea and thoughts on coaching will have to be put on hold for a little bit while I work on research and try to graduate from college. So I probably won't be getting much sleep and won't be doing too much research.
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I think it's also time to point out a few things about this blog (that is if anybody is reading it). This blog is not in any way affliated with West Virginia Wesleyan College, the URL is wesleyanrunning but only because averagerunner was taken. Also, this blog is not affliated with the NCAA, the WVIAC, or their sponsors and associates. Basically, I don't want to get sued or lose my eligibility. Finally, I want to make this blog big, I was once heard a man say, "when I dream, I dream big."
For the average college distance runner, we go through shoes in much the same fashion that girls go through shoes. Most running shoes only last about 500 miles so every month or so we're forced to make the pilgrimage to one of the mecca's of footwear (Finishline, Footlooker, or Dick's). My personal preference is the Finishline at the mall in Bridgeport.
I've seriously been going there about every three months for the past four years. And every time I walk into the store the same thing happens. I walk in and find the pair that I want, but before I can pick them up and get the right size, the same worker everytime I'm there approaches me. He starts to talk about the shape of my foot and finding the right shoe for my pronation, supanation, inflamation, masturbation, population, and generation. Like that guy is some podiatrist trying to help me run a four minute. So before I can say anything he starts pulling shoes off the display and handing them to me in the following order:
a remake of the Nike Cortez from the 70's (I am not Steve Prefontaine)
I finally get in a word and get the pair that I want then the following conversation takes place: Worker: So are you a runner?
Me: Yeah, I run for Wesleyan.
Worker: Hey do you know Grant?
Me: Yeah, I'm on the team with him.
Worker: Yeah, I went to high school with him.
Seriously, I've had this conversation verbatim about four times a year for the past four years. And i still can't figure out what my Finishline Winner's Circle points are for. But that's the struggle I go through for my sport.
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Another thought on running shoes: I switched to Nike because T-Bone trains in them and he's fast so if I train in them I'll be fast. The logic takes care of itself.
But a true champion, face to face with his darkest hour, will do whatever it takes to rise above. A man fights, and fights, and then fights some more. Because surrender is death, and death is for pussies. - Kenny Powers
