Now What?

                I’ve noticed the last couple weeks that I’ve had this overwhelming feeling of blah. At first I thought I was coming down with some cootie virus, as I had heard sometimes happens after a marathon. But congestion, nose blowing and achiness did not follow. I’ve just felt sort of melancholy for no particular reason. The holiday’s, while in the past haven’t been spectacular, have actually been pretty decent so far.  I’ve just had this sense of “now what” running through my head. Even though I’ve been training for the FFAT I’ve still had this feeling that I lack direction. Then it hit me as I was driving home from my unsuccessful FFAT…I have spent the last year training for a huge event that is now over with.

                Initially, my training started as a way to get prepared for the FBI physical and fitness test but when that was put on hold due to budget cuts I on a whim signed up for the MCM. From January until October my life was focused on what foods I needed to eat, what body part was injured, my training schedule and finding socks that didn’t give me blisters and helped cut down on the post run stink. Now that the marathon is done and my body is feeling pretty decent and I have found the perfect sock, I am feeling lost.  

                I honestly didn’t realize until the last few weeks how much of my being was shaped by the experience of becoming a runner. My whole life has changed from my sleep pattern to my food to my need to plan my life around my workout and running schedule.

                A recent article in Runners World said that one needs to set new goals, which I have done to a degree. I have already signed up for my next set of races: two half marathons, a 5k and am waiting patiently for January to roll around so that I can sign up for the Marine Corps Irish Sprint. But when I think about a half marathon it seems so small compared to what I did. Then I feel like a pompous dork for thinking that a half marathon is small when I’ve only ever run one marathon in my entire life.

                It’s not that I don’t look forward to my race schedule that will also include a Spartan Race (or two) and a Warrior Dash, but I feel like I want to do something more. As President Bartlet on The West Wing would say “what’s next,” I wonder what’s next. I’ve accomplished a marathon (which I would like to do again) but now I want more but I don’t know what “more” looks like.

                Until I figure out what my “now what” looks like I’ll keep push upping until I pass my FFAT  and I’ll keep running and hopes that along the way I find a direction and purpose. 

Push-upping

                Today was a jumble of emotions. I started the day in the dark, traversing my way down 270 and 495 in morning rush hour to take my Functional Fitness Assessment Test (FFAT). I was a mix of excitement, nervousness and nausea. I also felt calm and centered. I had practiced the fitness test. I had visualized myself passing the test. Completing with flying colors and making my way across the state of Maryland to MSP Headquarters for my written exam. Slight hitch in the plan though. I didn’t make it past the pushups.

This morning’s FFAT was as follows:

Minimum of 18 pushups in 1 minute

Minimum of 27 sit-ups in 1 minute

16.25” sit and reach

10 trigger pulls in each hand

1.5 mile run in 15:20

                I received my letter inviting me to the FFAT two weeks ago. In the last two weeks I have been push-upping until my arms hurt in places I didn’t realize existed. I was concerned because I couldn’t get past 5 without feeling like my arms were going to collapse. And then low and behold Saturday morning I woke up and did 18 pushups. They were beautiful and left me with 15 seconds to spare. I was thrilled when I was able to repeat this feat several times over the next 48 hours, even increasing my total up to 22.

                However, it would seem that my efforts were for naught, at least in regards to the FFAT. I wasn’t getting far enough down in my pushups. I have to go all the way down to the instructor’s fist, so essentially 3” off the floor. I was getting about 4” away. 1 darn inch. I did 15 pushups at the test without a single one counting. When I became frustrated, I uttered shit and was told that I needed to maintain my composure, I realized that I wasn’t as prepared as I thought so I held a plank for the remaining 30 seconds of the exercise. I may not have been able to complete the pushups but I wasn’t about to take a knee before time.

                I was embarrassed and defeated. I had failed. Thankfully my instructor took a few minutes to demonstrate form and explain to me how I needed to improve. That 2 minute conversation did wonders for my spirits, though the sting of embarrassment was still there.

                I took an hour to wallow, bummed that I had failed. But then I realized in two weeks I had managed to go from not being able to push up to being able to do 22, even if they weren’t MSP regulation. I realize that the true failure would have been not trying.

                So for the next month, I will be push-upping and sit-upping during TV commercial breaks. I will take what I learned from the instructor and practice and in a month I will try again and this time, I will conquer those pushups. And instead of a mere 18 I’m going to push for more. I will show the MSP that I am the best suited candidate for the job.  

I showed you how great I am....I am a marathoner

Disclaimer: This post was actually written a few days after my October 30th Marine Corps Marathon, however procrastination and my incessant need for perfection has resulted in edits and rewrites. Plus, a strange fear of sharing my thoughts about the race has kept this blog on the task bar of my computer. 

                I did it. I ran a marathon. I ran 26.2 miles. 26.2 fucking miles.  Four statements I keep repeating to myself while looking at the medal that I received upon crossing the finish line. The medal that honestly has not left my line of vision since Sunday. I know that running and achieving goals that seem impossible is about the intrinsic reward but sometimes the medals and shirt are just really nice reminders of the blood, sweat and near tears of the day.

                I’ve been asked several times, what was it like? How was the course? Are you nuts?

My short answers: Indescribable. I have no idea. Probably. My pithy answers are usually not enough detail for the questioner so I try to dig down and come up with more expansive responses. But the truth is, 72 hours later, I still can’t properly formulate what it was like.

                There is the glee and sheer joy of accomplishing the seemingly impossible; a feeling tempered by sheer exhaustion and the agony of the pain in my foot. To be honest, there Is much about the day I don’t remember as my focus turned from looking at the scenery to focusing on the ground in front of me and trying to gauge if the pain bad enough that I need to stop.

                The not remembering really leads me into the next query about the course. Even after studying the map for days prior to the race in order to visualize and prepare myself for the day, in all honesty the preparation really went out the window once I got going. The pain was bearable until about mile 11 when I had to adjust my brace. By mile 17 the pain was shear agony and was of a level that I had never quite experienced before. What had already become a slow run at mile 11 became a walk at mile 17. My running companion in search of her own personal goals proceeded ahead. I attempted to run another mile, until the run was more than I could bear and my body screamed, probably many variations of four and five letter words until I gave up running and focused on walking.

The Monument that I somehow didn't see

                I look at the marathon photos of myself and for the life of my I can’t remember seeing any of the monuments or sights. I mean, how can one not “see” the Washington monument but for some reason I don’t remember actually seeing it….but there I am in pictures where my too big pants running right by the worlds second largest phallic. I remember snippets but I lack any true sense of time or location. Even with mile markers proudly proclaiming my accomplishment as I progressed through the course I have no true sense of where I was. Some miles seemed to go by so quickly I thought for sure I was doing a 4 minute mile while others seemed to drag on for hours.

Calling Regina while running

                I called my girlfriend Jesi and my friend and trainer Regina for much needed support at mile 20. Regina talked me through my fears with her usual no non-sense attitude and good cheer. Jesi just kept me company with news and details of her day (which I hate to admit I don’t remember, sorry babe). Their voices helped calm me fears and provided me with support and much needed reminders that I had come further than I had left to go.

                During those last two hours of walking my mind warred with my body, specifically with my left foot. I fought to keep moving forward. Probably the biggest fight was my mind battling with itself. Dueling with whether I could complete what I had started. Questioning whether I was truly ready for the task when the longest distance I had run was 16 miles. The last time I had run any significant distance was nearly three weeks prior with my friend, Jason, during his Double Ironman.

                I fought with myself to keep going. To push thru the pain, both physical and mental. I realized how strong the battle was, when I began debating with myself about shedding my pants. The temperatures were now warm enough that I didn’t need the outer layer I had put on to keep me warm, but at the same time they were a comfort, they held my candy corn and were soft and comfortable. I’m sure they lacked aerodynamics but by that point I could care less about that….besides I was worried if I stopped to take them off I would somehow be unable to move again. It was in these hours that I learned that a marathon is as much about ones mental fortitude as it is about the size of one’s quads. I remember Jason saying a similar statement as I ran beside him a few short weeks prior.

Pushing through to the finish line

                When I finally saw the red arch with the large FINISH I found myself moving faster that I had in hours  and within a few seconds I was running….my sore ankle and foot along with my too big pants be damned…I ran like I had never run before, pushing myself across the finish line. As I pushed myself those last 100 feet I heard the vocals from the YouTube video “I’m going to show you how great I am” playing in my mind. The cheers of strangers propelling me forward.

                And in a seeming instant, after the high-fives from the Marines and the medal placed around my neck, it was over. I had my medal, my finisher picture taken, the boxed food (that I didn’t eat) and then it was done. I had done it. I wasn’t as fast as I had hoped, it certainly wasn’t as pretty as I had hoped (flappy pants aside)…but I did it. I had done the seemingly impossible. I had done what so many thought I couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t do.

                In regards to the final question regarding my mental stability….no I am not nuts. The truth is, those that continually ask me that question are the ones that can’t fathom: waking up early, going to bed late, pushing through indescribable pain, ignoring the nay-sayers and the inner voices. They can’t fathom achieving something so great and life altering because for them it’s easier to be safe in their existence. All of that is ok, for them. I’m not nuts…I’m hard working and driven and I’m a marathoner.

In front of the Iwo Jima Memorial post race

Wearing Two Shoes

Today was my first day without crutches AND getting to wear two shoes, more accurately two matching shoes. For the last seven days whenever I venture out (albeit against doctors orders) my feet have been adorned with one running shoe (right foot) and one Adidas slide (left foot). I have felt slightly self-conscious going out with mismatched shoes, I mean it's obvious that my ensemble is justified....especially when seen whizzing speedily down the main aisle of Target in the electric chair cart with crutches in the front shopping basket and my Mother yelling my full name to slow down. In my defense I only took out one poorly placed fixture. I mean seriously, who puts a shipper THERE....sheesh.

But I digress.....

Today I woke up, exactly one week from when the doctor said I had to remain off my foot and attempted with some minor grunting and much lace loosening to get my left foot into my shoe and off I went to class (yes I did wear more than my two shoes). My first workout went well. My trainer, Regina, came up with modifications....while my classmates were running I was pedaling along on the stationary. Our usual Monday arm day exercises were a tad more challenging only because I've spent the last seven days walking on my arm pits while swinging my body through two aluminum sticks while praying I didn't swing myself too violently and fall. (this has happened before) There were seated kettle bell swings, standing kettle bell swings, power max 360, rope battles, bicep curls, hanging crunches and push ups....lots and lots of push ups. I felt confident after class that I had successfully made it through with a minimum bump in my pain level.....down to a 4 from a 9.

Feeling confident with my new found magically shoes I headed to the post office where I must admit after having to stand in lane for 10 minutes I looked like a flamingo, standing one legged until I had something to lean against....and missing my crutches as I realized how fatigued my left foot was. However I focused on the positive...the nearly perfect form I had and the stellar work out my right quad was receiving.

Today showed me that I'm recovering, slowly but recovering. I helped the recovery process along with a 10 minute ice bath tonight. Yes, if you heard a loud intake of air and a series of curses in a somewhat high pitched voice, that would have been me getting into the ice water bath to soak my legs, hips and knees all of which are sore. But hey, it was all worth it because I got to wear my shoes...and as most of you know I love my shoes. Tomorrow.....I take a couple miles on the bike.

A Much Needed Well Placed Life Lesson

                I have been remiss in my blogging duties, as of late there has been little to report. I have been running and working out and training for the Marine Corps Marathon. It honestly seemed quite bland to bore my readers with my daily workouts and miles logged. Suffice to say that I have topped over 200 miles since July and countless hours with weights and workouts. However, this past weekend I got the opportunity to witness something so amazing that I’m still struggling to put into words exactly what it was.

                The basic bones of the day were a 3:00am wake up to drive two hours to Lake Anna State Park to cheer on my friend Jason as he completed a Double Iron, yes that says double. For those unclear on what that means….Jason set out to swim 4.8 miles followed by a 224 mile bike ride topped off with a 52.4 mile run. I arrived around 6:00am, after traversing the winding road back to the parking lot. It wasn’t until the sun came up that I saw the sign cautioning drivers about runners and bikers….all I saw were bouncing headlamps and flashing red lights, if I hadn’t know what I was looking at I would have thought E.T. and his posy had descended on Virginia.

                It was a foggy cool morning, that made me quickly realize I hadn’t worn sufficient clothing for the nearly 10 degree temperature difference from my house to the race but I put the thoughts of cold out of my mind and made my way up to the lighted tents in hopes of figuring out where Margaret and Jason were….well I knew Jason was out running but I wasn’t sure if Margaret was running also or had perhaps passed out from sheer exhaustion somewhere. I found the tent fairly easily once I realized they each tent had the competitors name on it. I stood patiently outside the tent until a blur of warm clothing and a pink hat came by….it was Margaret (who I hadn’t met and had only exchanged an email or two with the previous night) who was stirring soup and keeping an eye out for Jason. We exchanged greetings and handshakes and I was completely surprised at the amount of energy that Margaret had after being up for about 300 hours, okay I think at that point it was about 48ish but 300 seemed a better number when one considers that during that time she was running, feeding, cheering and helping out not only Jason but also Andy (one of the founders of the Spartan Race) along with anyone else who might need a hand, or two.

                When I looked up I spotted Jason….I was honestly giddy and probably a little shy. I had been following Jason since prior to his snow shoe race last winter. We had not actually met before now our friendship had been emails, Facebook posts and letters and care packages….meeting Jason was to me like meeting the most famous person you ever wanted to meet….and then get to spend time with. I was super excited and shy and nervous all rolled into one. So excited and nervous in fact that when given the task of running Jason his soup, I spilled quite a bit on me and then managed to get lost as I didn’t realize the runners turned off about ½ to ¾ of a mile from the start point….I ended up about 2 miles past where I should have been…thankfully the race director rescued me and Jason’s now lukewarm soup and deposited me with Jason.  For the rest of the day Steve, the director, reminded me to turn right….I was considering changing my Mud Mafia name to Turn Right.

                Jason and I ran together for awhile. We talked. It felt like we were old friends, we just chatted about everything and nothing. Jason shared a lot of his knowledge about running; the psychology of racing and the need to appear cool and collected when you pass someone so they don’t try and blow you out of the water; our habit of dropping F-bombs while running; and most importantly we discussed the best candy (Swedish fish of course the awesomest but I explained the greatness of Mike and Ike’s). All while running a consistent pace, that actually has been my best pace so far.  

Jason and Margaret

                This was my first time at an event like this as a spectator much less as someone there to help. I was confused about what to do and how to do it. I was unsure of Jason’s routine so I tried not to yammer too much…I think perhaps in my nervousness I did. But after some time, Margaret who had taken some much needed time to stretch out and hopefully catch a nap or a few winks of sleep took back over and finished running the race with Jason. I will be honest, I was grateful when Jason said he wanted Margaret to take over….the race was getting hard and I realized that Jason was struggling in ways I didn’t understand.  I had come to help in whatever way possible and I was concerned that I wasn’t going to be able to uphold my promise.

Thoughtfully Chaotic HQ Tent

                I happily and with gusto took over as HQ person…after a quick orientation from Margaret “this is heed,” “this one has two scoops of this and one scoop and a little of this and a goats tail” (ok no goats tail) and “this is plain water” she took off to pace/run/keep Jason going. For a while I was lost. And chilly and sore. My sprained (what I thought at the time was sprained) ankle was not thrilled with the miles I had just logged so I found an ice bag, submerged my foot and waited. Not exactly sure for what….but I waited none the less. At first I had missed that I hadn’t brought a book but then realized I might miss something. After about an hour and a couple loops with Jason running and Margaret giving me a heads up about what to get, I began to get a hang of the routine. Everyone cheered and clapped for everyone. Yes it was a competition but it seemed to be more of a personal competition rather than a competition amongst each other. Even on the loops I did with Jason each time a runner passed they shouted out words of encouragement or a thumbs up to those they passed by. If those were too physically demanding a smile or head nod. Perhaps these competitors seemed to go by some unwritten rule that it’s not always about beating everyone, but just doing your best. I don’t know if that’s an unwritten rule but more the adage that I have always gone by and I found it reflected in these athletes, there’s always going to be someone better than you so the only thing you can do is your best. As the Mud Mafia mission statement says "take care of other runners on the course because you’re traversing the same battlefield," I definitely saw that in action on Sunday.

                As the hours rolled on the sun came up and burned away the morning fog. The day warmed up but not so much the runners would be uncomfortable, at least from the heat. I iced my foot and waited until I saw Jason and Margaret come around the bend and I would stand up and wait for Jason to round the cone and Margaret to let me know what was needed. In the in between times I would observe the other athletes, some of whom had finished and promptly fell asleep the second they sat down forgoing food or liquid for sleep which they had been deprived off for 30+ hours. (Think about how exhausted you are when you go a normal day without sleep….now consider what it would be like to run either a double or triple Iron and see which you would prefer….food or sleep).

                As for those still racing, I would watch and try and figure out their back stories, I wondered what led them to this event. This moment. What amazed me was that everyone was smiling. Perhaps it was delusion setting in but they were genuine smiles of joy. Yes, joy.  Even at their most exhausted moments not a single person dropped their shoulders in defeat they kept pushing forward. Some rounding the cone marker in some fanciful manner others just running, but all seemed to have this sense of joy. Whether they realized this or not is a different story, but to me that’s what I saw joy and exhaustion.  

                After 30 hours and 35 minutes Jason completed his journey. He carried the American flag across the finish line while the National Anthem played in the background and Margaret by his side. He had done it! His bright blue eyes shining, and there was a smile upon his face. He and Margaret hugged a hug that silently spoke volumes to what they had been through. Margaret had run 40+miles, had helped two athletes cross the finish line in their first triple (Andy) and double (Jason).

Jason and I, post race

                The two collapsed into their chairs under the tent and relaxed and enjoyed a Boca burger and laughed and smiled at each other. Incredulous at what they had completed, giddy from exhaustion, I jokingly said I should have brought some adult beverages along with me….both laughed and said they would probably pass out and die from the alcohol. After some relaxation time it was time to pack up the car. Jason and I sorted through clothes and other stuff and learned that we both have a similar need for organization. The three of us laughed and talked, I’m not sure about what exactly, but I remember Jason teasing me about my perchance for noticing shoes. After some strategic placement of tables, bags and bike wheels….I got to touch Jason’s time trial bike….we all hugged and said our good-byes.

                I spent the two hour trip home listening to Mumford & Sons trying to wrap my brain around what I had seen, heard and felt throughout the day. I remember one thought was a feeling of gratitude for being able to take part in something that was so personal for Jason. I was grateful for the new friend I had made in Margaret. I was grateful for the stupidity that was my ex and her decision to leave me because without that I wouldn’t have had the chance to partake in all that I had for the last 17 hours.  I just felt overwhelmingly grateful.

                Since then I’ve been trying to figure out the other lessons in that day….trying to figure out and explain this feeling that has been with me since watching not only Jason cross the finish line but so many others. I’ve been trying to discern the knowledge that was imparted on me and then roll it into my everyday life. I think like many of the life changing events that have happened, it takes awhile for that message to become clear. For now I’m just enjoying this feeling of euphoria and fogginess that seems to be pervading my thoughts. It’s not often that you can pin point a life changing event, for me the Virginia Double was that, for reasons I’m still trying to fathom.

                I suppose this is a long drawn out blog for something that, for me, only last 17 hours from start to finish, but usually the response to my telling of the events is a head shake and “you people are crazy,” I felt compelled to verbally vomit everything I can remember about that day here where I know judgments will hopefully be limited to a “good grief she’s wordy.”

                I suppose I just wanted to share about the fortitude of a small band of hard working, focused athletes who showed me the resilience of the human spirit and body and a sense of humor about life despite the need for massage amounts of body glide and other creams.

EPILOUGE

                I willingly went to the doctor the next day and learned that the ankle that I thought was sprained, and therefore was ok to run on despite some pretty gnarly pain, was in fact severe tendonitis. I was grumpy Monday, Tuesday and most of Wednesday especially from the amount of teasing I received for being accident prone and various other phrases. This time I seemed to be more easily offended because this time the injury came from doing something I have come to love. It was the result of hard work and passion and a drive to achieve the impossible. Once I got my indignation under control and my grouchiness at the situation seemed to subside, I began to refocus on the MCM and thought about the small band of focused athletes and what they taught me….it’s not about winning it’s about doing your best and giving it your all. With that in mind I am not focusing on the injury but the recovery and the end result. MCM here I come.  

Crisis of Confidence

                This morning I definitely suffered a crisis of confidence. While running this morning it seemed like the task laid out before me seems unreachable. I’m not sure if it was the stifling heat of the gym or the impact that the cast on my right hand has on my gait. Regardless of the issue I started to doubt myself, my training and my overall abilities.

                My run this morning was decent, time wise I won’t be breaking into any record books but I did my run on a 3% incline at a 5.6mph speed. It was challenging beyond any basic without obstacles and mud run that I have attempted thus far.

                The Marine Corps Marathon is now 110 days away and I’m realizing that I’m behind in my distance training. I think part of it is a lack of motivation….some of it could be that once again I’m dealing with an injury. While I’m proud of my mangled hand, and what has turned out to be a torn thumb ligament, I’m finding the cast is messing with my balance and I find it distracting. The other factor in the lack of motivation is not having someone to run with. Intellectually I know that running is a solitary sport, part of what drew me to it as a means of dealing with life, however as I need to run longer and longer distances I find the lack of running companionship to be challenging.

                It was ironic that as I sat down to write this I spotted a link on the Mud Mafia Facebook page from Runner’s World about how to stay motivated. I found a few of the tips helpful, others made me chuckle but perhaps it will help others find their way. (http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297--11733-0,00.html)

                In the end I know that I need to man up and just do it, as the cliché Nike ads all say. No one is going to be able to accomplish this but me. I may have the assistance of my trainer Regina and my fellow troops in SoldierFit along with friends that are also pursing similar goals, but in the end it is I alone that needs to get out of bed and run. I have achieved much harder things but I think part of why I struggle is that those where incidents that were thrust upon me, I had no other choice then to push forward. This time, I have put the pressure on myself; I have made the conscious decision to put myself through these paces.

                One thing I came across last night was the poem “Invitcus” by William Ernest Henley I had jotted it down for some reason or another (prior to the popularity of my dream boy Matt Damon’s movie of the same name) It has provided me with a degree of perspective and focus:

Out of the night that covers me, 
Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be 
For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the Horror of the shade, 
And yet the menace of the years 
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 
How charged with punishments the scroll. 
I am the master of my fate: 
I am the captain of my soul.

The Spartan Race

                I have struggled to write this blog, not so much because of the emotional aspects swirling in my head but because in addition to losing my Spartan Race bib on Saturday I also lost my thumb nail and fractured my finger. Typing with 9 normal fingers and one the size of a bratwurst is somewhat challenging.

                I will admit I stepped to the start line of the Mid-Atlantic Spartan Race confident in my abilities but nervous about the true impact that a summer bout of the flu and a sore throat had on my training. Also, I was concerned about the 3^rd degree massive sunburn I received the day before on my back. However, immediately upon starting I knew that I was in for something completely different. I will be honest, I don’t remember all 18 obstacles or in their proper order and my sunburn was quickly forgotten. I know that on the first wall I went over I fractured my finger, though at the time I didn’t realize it I just assumed that my torn off nail was the reason for the agonizing pain. But I kept going….over walls, under mesh netting, through tires inserted into walls, over Hagrid size trees, into water and over terrain that left my ankles hesitant while my brain screamed just move.  There was dragging of cinder blocks and water with rocks that was quite chilly despite the humid temperatures. The first cargo net was scaled with surprising ease despite my dislike of heights.

                I remember the 400 feet of barbed wire well. I remember the guy in the kilt and tee-shirt yelling “Mind over matter…if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” Annoyingly distracting but it served its purpose I kept going if only to get away from his barking voice. (It was during this obstacle that I lost my bib…please observe a moment of silence for bib# 13792, it gave its life nobly).

                It was also here that I met Gail. Gail was a first time racer whose team had left her behind. She was gallantly trying to keep going. I realized at this point my time was shot to hell so I slowed my pace and helped Gail finish her first race. Apparently her friends didn’t exactly describe what she was getting into with much accuracy and she had contemplated quitting…something I too had considered in the middle of the barbed wire when the lactic acid was killing my stomach and my muscles.

                Together we finished the remaining obstacles we ran through a mesh tube and got pelted painfully with paintballs from a 50c weapon. Scaled yet even more Hagrid size trees and carried buckets of gravel and made it over 5 walls with out falling. We together overcame our fear of heights and made it over the even larger cargo net, with the help of the nice volunteers on the ground who all cheered us on and high fived us as we hit the ground.

                In addition to obstacles we completed insane amounts of burpees….I didn’t attempt the monkey bars (Gail fell mid-swing), I knew that my shoulders wouldn’t handle the swinging. I fell off the balance beams (big muddy feet are not agile), missed the hay bale by mere inches with the spear(my arms were exhausted and by this point I was contemplating that there was indeed something the matter with my hand), missed the teeny tiny paint ball target (I blame the weapon), the ascending walls were more than Gail and I could manage alone and after a nasty tumble off the soap wall that took all the remaining skin off my elbows and was more than my thumb could bare, I completed burpees 151-180. The remaining 6 came from seeing Gail struggle valiantly to complete her remaining 12. I bargained with the very nice volunteer about splitting Gail’s remaining burpees so that she wouldn’t have to struggle…he considered for a moment and said he was ok with that.

                It was during these last burpees that I spotted my mother nervously standing at the finish line. I had told her that it would take me no longer that an hour to finish the course, while I didn’t know the exact time I knew that I was longer than I had anticipated. So between burpees I waved…it took several times before she waved back. I found out later that according to mom we all look alike regardless of race, gender and any other distinguishing feature so it took her awhile to realize the person waving while completing “some funny little exercise” was in fact her kid. She apparently had witnessed people tumbling off the 8 feet wall in a myriad of manners that didn’t look safe or gentle for any joint. She said she was terrified that I would come flying over the wall and break some body part (she wasn’t aware that I was already broken).

                The jousters were quite nice….they didn’t smack me too hard just enough to knock the wind out of my gut which for their safety was probably a good thing. Mom said she had already planned to smack the jousters if they hit me too hard…something about picking on people their own size was mentioned. I looked behind to see that Gail had made it safely through the nice gentlemen in the skirts and padded q-tips and I sprinted to the finish line with a surprising burst of energy that I felt I had lost for the last little portion of the race.

                I learned a lot from the Spartan Race, some of which I’m still processing. It was the most physically challenging and humbling experience I have chosen to put myself in. Also, Spartan Races are best completed with a team or at the very least with a friend who is significantly taller than you are. While the time wasn’t my best and I honestly could have done better, waiting for Gail and helping ensure she got across the finish line became as important as me getting there. I couldn’t see leaving her behind as her friends had done.

                When asked if I would do another Spartan Race my immediate reaction was “hell no” but as time has passed, I realized how truly awesome my time was in the overall picture (191/683. Time wise this wasn’t my best race but in terms placement, stamina and sheer guts and overall accomplishment it was.  With more training and a strict adherence to the WOD regiment in addition to my other work outs, next year will see me once again taking on the Spartan. Perhaps I will try one of the larger races….with the Death Race not out of the realm of possibilities.

                I have been called many things over the last few days…nuts, crazy, masochist, insane, klutzy but the name I’m proudest to bare is Spartan finisher. My bloody little finger and I will proudly tell all who cringe the story of the epic battle and the awesome friend I made.

                Now it’s on to training for my first marathon…..after a nap of course. 

Success! Complete with a nap and a near heart attack

                Today’s running excursion was a moderate success. In terms of distance and speed it’s probably not worth mentioning however in regards to pain (or lack thereof) it is. After being inspired by The Barn Beast’s theory of PTFU (Prepare The F*#k Up) I decided to do just that and take this running thing by the horns, ankles and calves be somewhat damned. As it seems that running on hard surfaces like roads, sidewalks and anything else that resembles a race course has been challenging, I decided to run on a treadmill. Aside from the freezing temperatures and its impact on my asthma I felt that by using a treadmill I didn’t have to figure out a way to get home should I get too far away and my ankles gave out. Crawling is not something I like to do unless it involves looking for contact lenses.

                The gym where I sometimes work out is small and most importantly free. It has two treadmills. An elliptical. Some interesting bicycle contraptions.  A few weight machines. And one of those lounge chair ab torture things that look like the wrong move would result in you being turned into a sandwich. It’s a pretty basic gym that I should probably mention is located inside a retirement community. Since I am often times “volunteered” by the Volunteer Director (who happens to be my mother) I get to use the gym for free.

                When I arrived this morning one of the residents that I recognized but couldn’t remember her name was there working her way around the various machines.  I started out on the treadmill at a gentle walk, all the while wishing I had remembered my ear plugs to lessen the volume of the TV playing. Honestly, I was surprised that CNN studios weren’t suffering from feedback in NY from the volume of the TV in the gym. While I am a great fan of Christine Romans and the CNNam crew, I typically listen to their show at a much lower volume. After starting my jog the kind lady whose name slips my mind, my description of short with gray hair and glasses drew a groan of irritation from my Volunteer Director mother, decided to use the lounge chair ab torture thing which happens to be in front of the treadmill. As I was running along listening to the commentary on the situation in the Middle East I began to realize that my gym companion had stopped moving. When I peaked over the top of my machine I realized she wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed, my initial thought was horror that the torture contraption killed this little lady whose name I don’t know but who is very sweet. I was much relieved when I heard the loudest snore I have ever heard escape from this little tiny person.

                We were joined shortly by another resident who fits the previous description and again whose name I can’t remember. (In my defense there are over 400 residents who for the most part have gray hair and glasses). She walked slowly on the treadmill next to mine while I ran until I felt the slight twinge in my ankle and knew I needed to stop while the getting was good. As I slowed to a walk the lady who had decided to nap in the ab lounge chair torture contraption woke up and acted as if she hadn’t been asleep and quickly began crunching away…nearly giving our new gym companion a heart attack since she didn’t realize there was someone snoozing on the gym equipment. It was quite a humorous way to spend time in the gym.

                In the end, after the overly loud TV and snoring gym companion, I did a 12 minute 1.5 mile run at 4.5 mph with a 2% incline. I ended up walking about that same distance between the warm up and cool down.  Not an awesome workout but I’m pleased with how long I went without pain. Most importantly, I’m feeling like I have my confidence back. I’ve got my game face back and I’m PTFU. It’s a little over 3 weeks until my first race ever and I’m feeling like I’ve got it. 

Frustration

                The last week or so I have felt an annoying sense of frustration. In the last month or so of training it’s as if for every two steps forward, I have to take three steps back. Especially in the area of my ankle and shins. It seems as if I baby my ankle along until it feels better and then I slowly work up my weight and routine and then I try something as bold as actually running and then it’s back to square run with me hobbling around.

                The greatest moment of frustration came after I tried to take a short run, about 1 ¼ miles through the neighborhood, only to be left barely able to walk without ice packed legs for two days….and what was merely an ankle injury turned into shin splints. A common malady for runners I understand, but added to other things it was just another damn frustration. With the frustration comes the question of how in Sam Hill am I going to run a marathon when I’m barely able to run two miles without having to call a taxi to  return me to my starting point. I’m not so sure the Marine Corps Marathon organizers would appreciate me hailing a taxi in the middle of the race-not that I typically have much luck hailing a cab when I’m bumming around the city.

                If I were to look at the root of my frustration it probably stems from this need to achieve self perfection. I over analysis when things don’t go as planned and even when they go as planned, or at least are successful; I still have a tendency to find a flaw, albeit subtle to the outside observer.

                I’ve been trying to remind myself during the last weeks of frustration that I’ve come a long way. Considering I started this journey with mangled ankles from a yet to be determined “how the hell did I do that” moment-running with incorrect shoes or leg pressing too much weight are two of the top culprits, I’m actually doing fairly well. But if that isn’t enough to soothe my frustrated self, I can go back further and see that I truly have come a long way. I was a talented athlete with a bright future. I played three varsity sports but was always willing to play anything. My future as a WNBA/MLB/LPGA/MLS star came to crashing halt when at 15 I nearly lost my life to an undetected thyroid disorder. Resting pulse of 150 is not really ideal for an athlete; well it’s not really ideal for anyone for that matter. The following decade was filled with trying to recover from the emotional and physical impact of a that took who I was and all that I knew.

                In 2005, I was nearly killed in a car accident and was left temporarily paralyzed from the shoulders down. I thought I would never walk again but I was lucky that the fracture in my back was not the cause of my paralysis but instead the result of my body shutting down to protect itself….or at least that’s how the doctor explained it to me. A couple years later I was assaulted and left with a shoulder that can not only predict the weather but whose cracking would make a nice addition to any performance of a Beethoven sympathy.

                While some shake their heads at my list of injuries and illnesses, a few laugh and tease me about them, while others go so far as to question their validity….I look at it as 15 years that have reshaped my life into an interesting direction. But if I truly look at the last 15 years as a whole, and ignoring what others think and say, I have come a long way…..I just need to remember that when the frustration seems to keep me in an angry/frustrated state. I need to remember that five years ago I never thought I would walk again. Now I’m not only walking but running. Hopefully the two steps forward and three steps back will reverse course soon allowing me to get back on my game so I can kill my upcoming races. 

When-Thoughts on passion, shoulder sockets and music

                Yesterday was a pretty awesome day. I spent a few hours at the Frederick Fight Club snapping pictures of my buddy Mischa as he trains for his bout in a couple weeks. I watched as Mischa sparred with a couple Junior Golden Glove winners. A truly awesome experience. The energy was indescribable, but inspiring was definitely thrown in the mix of feelings. Being in a room with a bunch of guys that are doing what they love with such awesome talent and desire. The time really caused me to reflect on what I’m doing to fulfill my passion of running (as well as fulfill my overall life’s passion). The end result of the afternoon left me with a feeling of wanting to do more. To step up my game as Mischa would say.

                I’ve already alluded to my boot camp days and times as my set “when” days. The in between days I fit my work outs in when my time allows. Typically I try and work out first thing in the morning so that my day starts out energized. Though as the weeks have passed I have found on the non boot camp days I am working out twice a day; once in the morning and then again in the evening after supper. As Mom is working up her strength to recover from stay in the hospital I am walking with her at the local mall for an hour each morning.

                As I’m typing this I am feeling like I wanted to go longer and harder this morning. I had definitely had moments during our arm work out that I thought my shoulders would surely fall out of their sockets and lay on the Astroturf covered pitch, to my credit I pushed myself with 15 pounds today up from 10. I’m still not completely discounting the chance that I may be doing more ab and arm work outs after the affects of the ice on my shoulders has worn off.

                I realized over the last few days that so much of my schedule is built around when I work out. When I need to eat. My goal of being in shape for my list of races and ultimately the marathon has driven me to change my lifestyle. Some might say it has taken over my life and perhaps they are correct in their assessment of my new found behavior. Part of it is excitement in finding something that just seems to suit me. Part of it is finding something new and challenging that seemed in the past as unattainable. Part of it is really to keep me from going completely insane while I search for a career that suits me as well as my new found passion. (Career focuses currently: Marines, FBI and law enforcement)

                I have a race every month except for July and September.  I was going to try and pack those “free” months but decided to allow myself some down time on those months to focus solely on training and perhaps some biking and camping adventures with friends.  September is the month prior to the marathon and knowing my ankles tendency to be cranky I want to focus those weeks entirely on the marathon. Besides, my two week sojourn to the beach will provide me with ample training opportunity…what better way to greet the day then a run along the beach as the sky turns from navy blue to sun kissed pink and orange.

                Now when I run I feel like I’m chasing that sunrise. I’m beginning to feel comfortable in my stride. I still need to work on my breathing and my speed. My days as a basketball and soccer player have programmed me to take off full speed ahead without any concern for the fact that my body will perhaps stop breathing sooner than I would like. Now my focus will be on slowing down and having a consistent pace. I’ve tried music of varying types but can’t seem to find anything that keeps my stride even, not too fast and not too slow. Eminem and P!nk are fabulous for my emotional state of mind but do little to keep me from tearing up the ground. My next attempt is classical music. I’ve been going through my CD’s pulling out the music from the days when I was striving to be a classically trained musician in hopes that something will match my stride and keep me on pace.

                I have one month until my first race. A 5K mud race sponsored by 368 Athletics and held at the Ceresville Mansion. It will be nice…close to home, short race that will allow me to quite literally get my feet wet. And there will be beer. Beer is always a good thing.

                

#PrayforJapan and #CrescentCity

Crescent City Morning

               I woke this morning to images that were somewhat reminiscent of the destruction of 9/11. I sat rooted on the side of my bed thinking that perhaps I was in some nightmarish scenario. Somewhere between fully awake and partially asleep. I was nearly late to boot camp this morning as I flipped between the Weather Channel and CNN watching the images and trying to make sense of what was happening. Despite spending the day watching the images on constant replay I am not yet able to fully comprehend the magnitude of what has happened.

                As the concern of a potential tsunami made its way to the United States I was left with conflicting emotions. Tsunamis seem like such a distinctly foreign concept. It’s something that was studied in various science classes; seen happen in faraway places. But to have such a catastrophic natural event knock on our borders left me feeling…agitated.

Standing on the beach

                When I turned on the news this evening after a brief respite to clear my head I heard of the tragedy in Crescent City, CA. One killed and three swept to sea. While it seems that the person killed was attempting to take pictures of the tsunami waves, it doesn’t lessen the tragedy. Especially with the assumed loss of three lives swept to sea, not to mention the livelihood of many who lost their boats when the harbor was destroyed.

                I realized that some of my agitation and unnamed emotions stemmed from having been to many of the places on the left coast. Having spent many days driving along the PCH enjoying the coast line, feeling the ocean breeze on my face. Following the coast through the Redwood’s and into Crescent City and up through the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps it was knowing that only 6 months ago I was in the very location that turned out to be such a tragic spot for many that has left me feeling so jumbled inside.

                Crescent City, CA was an awesome town. The people were incredibly nice; while it lacked a decent place to eat for a vegetarian the misty views over the ocean were amazing. I spent time walking the beach and dipped my toes in the Pacific Ocean. The view from my Brady Bunch-era decorated room was terrific. I found a fondest in my heart for Crescent City, perhaps because as a photographer the docks provided ample opportunity to capture some amazing images. 

                While I remember the people of Crescent City fondly I also hold in my heart all the other people and places that have been so adversely affected by the earthquake and tsunami. I wish that I knew specifically what to pray for that would somehow solve their problems but it seems so overwhelming, so I will just pray for the people of the small town I fell in love with; for the people of the world who are faced with unthinkable challenges and tragedy I pray. 

Where

                I suppose the where have I been might be good place to start. I don’t really have a decent answer to that other than I’ve been focusing on caring for Mom and somewhat forgot about my blog. 

                But the where I was originally going for while the idea was kicking around in my head was where I work out. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings I wake up at 4:30am to make my way to the Frederick Indoor Sports Complex (FISC). Technically, I work out at 368 Athletics which is the kick ass gym located inside the FISC. There Regina has me run up and down the soccer field with various apparatuses along with playing with various machines. 

                I use to think that the days in between were off days where I could recover my muscles. Orginally, the in between days were needed to do just that. The first few weeks I felt as if I was going to die or at least never walk or move my arms like a normal human being. However, as I got stronger I craved the exercises on the “off days.”

                On the off days I work out at home with my newly purchased equipment. A balance ball, medicine ball, bar bells and a jump rope.  I also use the neighborhood streets (when my shin splints aren’t being cranky) to run. When my shins are incredibly cranky I use my cyc-ops to pedal many miles while watching CNN or whatever else appeals to me on a particular morning.

                I’m finding the mixed up routine of places helps keep me from getting bored, something I was worried might happen when I found out there was a two year wait for the PFT. However with the new goal of the Marine Corps Marathon I’m feeling motivated. 

What

                As I sat down to blog again I realized that my titles were beginning to look like the current events assignments that Mrs. Routzahn assigned in the 5^th grade. We were to stand up on our assigned day and follow the famous 5-W model and present our articles. Who, What, Where, When and Why and on occasion How. I remember distinctly that we could only do sports once a month. A rule I believe that was instituted because Christopher (known among my classmates as Kissy-fer, for reasons beyond my comprehension as it had nothing to do with the obvious) and I would have focused our entire current event assignment on the B section of the Frederick News Post.

                However I did realize that my order of the 5-w’s was slightly out of order, perhaps my tendency to exasperate Mrs. Routzahn is returning via my out of order blog. Though in my defense, it wasn’t my intention to mimic an assignment that I haven’t done in a couple of decades.

                Today’s blog thought is what. At first my focus was going to be what I do at the gym. What I do to get in shape for the marathon along with the other races I have decided to do. Then I began to think perhaps the focus could be deeper, focus on the what exactly it is I’m doing. The obvious of course being I’m running. But I think the what is deeper than that.

                To start with the easier of the two what’s-what do I do to prepare for the upcoming events. As mentioned in the "Who", I spend three mornings a week with Regina in a boot camp style work out. There is no set routine, Regina believes in mixing things up. In addition to freaking out the muscles by tricking them, her energizer tendencies prefers to keep things exciting and not stagnant. Though wall sits, lunges and tires are usually present in every workout. As is running, lots and lots of running in various forms….laps to warm up…sprits from end to end of the field, side to side, up the steps and down the steps….there is running with weights of various types…there is running with weighted sleds…and there is running backwards with and without weights or weighted sleds. As for exercises there are routines involving medicine balls, bar bells, TRX and these rather large rubber bands that I am deathly afraid will break mid exercise and snap me painfully somewhere. (Seriously, just think how painful a normal size rubber band is….now imagine a 2’ long, 3” wide and ¼” thick rubber band. See? I’m not so totally nuts) There’s no set routine aside from Monday being arm day, Wednesday being full body and Friday focusing on legs.

                On the in between days and weekends I do the Spartan Race Workout of the Day (WOD) that they post daily on their Facebook page. Pretty soon I’ll be running every day for distance and time. I’m waiting for the snow to finally disappear so that I can safely run without worrying that I’ll end up in a snow mound because some moronic driver wasn’t paying attention and ran me off the road.

                In terms of what I eat, it’s pretty standard protein shakes and healthy food stuff. I probably drink more protein shakes then the average person working out because I honestly have an incredibly hard time eating.  I eat like a bird. I’m rarely ever hungry and most of the time I have to be reminded to eat. The protein shakes give me calories and protein that I need and I find it easier to consume. I do eat real food in addition to the shakes. This area is honestly, more challenging then the physical aspect of what I’m doing. Practice will help me to eat healthy and consume the requisite number or calories every day.

                After covering the exercise and food routines I could easily say that what I’m doing is running. But that would be too quippy, even for me. While it is in essence true, to scratch the surface would reveal a deeper meaning. Running became a stress reliever for me. I would go out at night and would angrily run without regard for form. It was just an angry foot slamming on pavement at a very fast clip, arms pumping, anger driven experience, that at times would include playing chicken with traffic. I had no regard for my surroundings including the pot hole that nearly took out my knee. Some viewed it as running from my problems, for me it was a way to vent my anger in a clean and sober manner. I didn’t always deal with the issue at hand but I was able to reduce the stress and anger so I could more clearly look at the problem.

                If I were honest, I’m still running from my problems. Though I think this time is different than the others. Instead of running away from my problems, I’m hoping to run them out-the pain, the anguish, the heartache, the anger and the confusion-I’m attempting to run them out of my system to provide my soul with a new vessel in which to reform. It worked for Forest Gump. 

Who

                While inspiration and passion comes from within, I won’t be achieving my goal completely alone. I have a personal trainer, Regina, who is pretty awesome. Originally our three mornings a week boot camp was a class consisting of me and occasionally Regina’s husband Donald and sometimes, typically on Friday their friend Glen. Starting this week our little class was joined by the other boot camp class that also works out at 5:30am. Yes that says 5:30am it was not a typo.

                This new group has brought an interesting group of people. I will admit I wasn’t sure how I felt about giving  up my one on one time with Regina but now that I’ve spent the week with classmates it’s pretty enjoyable. Some are mothers, others aren’t and there are a couple guys. One in particular after a long siege of tire flipping and lunging breathlessly, actually more like gasping, in reference to Regina asked “where did you find her.” The inflection in his voice made the question quite humorous….add in that he was about   6’+ and a very burly guy the question was made all the more humorous.

                 To answer his question, I “found” Regina through a friend whom she trained for what I found out today was the Marine Corps Marathon. At the time I started boot camp I had suffered a serious injury to both ankles and was hobbling around in air casts on both ankles. But my need to train for the PFT outweighed the doctor’s recommendation that I rest. Thankfully Regina does not prescribe to the adage of ‘no pain, no gain.’ Instead she would prefer that you come back. So for the first few weeks while I was hobbling more than walking Regina made creative exercises and routines that got the most without mangling me any more than I already was. In the two months since I started working with Regina she has been the key factor in my transformation. Her no nonsense advice about life and other topics make me laugh and sometimes think.

                Regina is a human Energizer bunny.  Her weekly schedule of working as a nurse mixed with her nearly full time job as a trainer makes me want to lay down and take a nap. Not to mention the workouts she does on off days. She has run a 100 mile race, the JFK 50 miler along with scads of other insane sounding races, with names that honestly sound pretty goofy.

                Under Regina’s tutelage I have managed to do things I thought I was no longer able to do. From the unexpected grew this new passion to push the limits in a healthy manner. I am grateful to have met Regina and most grateful for her experience and patience and awesome sense of humor as I stumble (some days quite literally) through this. 

Why

               Why write a blog when according to several magazines the blog is going by the wayside, being replaced by 140 characters and like buttons? Perhaps because I’m finding that many of friends are suddenly getting back into blogging since our initial forays into the concept during college. Or perhaps because the topics that I now care about seem to be covered in Blogs. Mostly, I just wanted to have some record of the coming events that are sure to shape my life in an amazing fashion.  Yesterday I did an insanely crazy thing, I haven’t done anything this crazy since….well I shouldn’t really put all the details but suffice to say I have done a few crazy things in my life but I digress…yesterday I signed up for the Marine Corps Marathon probably the craziest of crazy.             

                This has been an interesting year, aside from turning 30 which seemed to lack the horrid emotional turmoil that many mention they experience at this arbitrary number. In the last year, the self that I have known and for the most part liked fairly well was completely turned upside down. I graduated with my MBA after spending most of life in the hallowed halls of academia. I left my less than satisfying job without another job lined up. My partner chose to no longer love me and left, leaving me reeling.

                I will admit to spending a few weeks wallowing as learned from my many hours of watching Gilmore Girls. However, through the darkness that became the end of my 29^th year I began to formulate a plan. A cross country road trip, an epic cross country road trip actually. Just me, my GTi, my Kindle and a hiking pack with a goal of seeing the country. The trip was a turning point. Allowing me to unfog my brain, experience amazing beauty that even Ansel Adams awesome photography can’t completely capture and put an insane number of miles on my car.

                I returned with a desire to pursue a different career path. To use my multiple degrees, brain cells and wit to better the forward progress of humanity. This career goal requires successful completion of a Physical Fitness Test (PFT). After realizing that despite hiking into the Grand Canyon (and back out), hiking through almost every national park, and scaling rock formations in The Badlands (and discovering the quick way back down in a head over heels manner) I wasn’t as physically fit as I would like to be so I sought out a trainer that would help me to pass the PFT.

                The first two weeks were brutal, there was vomit and sweat and swear words and lots of ice and that was just the first day. However, after the initial two weeks I realized I enjoyed spending my mornings running, flipping tires, lifting weights and doing seemingly superhuman tasks. I realized it was about more than a PFT. (Which subsequently I won’t be taking for a couple years due to budget cuts.) It was about a new me. A more focused me. A more physically fit me. I also realized that as I worked out the less positive events that had happened over the last few months began to lose their intensity. Their presence in my life began to dissipate and were no longer the driving force in my life. The thoughts that if I completed certain set tasks my old life would return no longer took up space in my brain box.  I found that as that way of thinking dissipated it was replaced with clearer thinking and a new sense of self, a sense of doing this for myself and not for someone else who chose not to be in my life.

                While running warm up laps yesterday at boot camp I found myself with a clear head. It was just me focusing on the timing of my stride, hearing the thud of my footfalls on the astro-turf soccer field. It was freeing. In that moment of quiet I decided I needed to achieve something that I thought was impossible. I had already signed up for a multitude of races from April until September, various obstacle laden races requiring fortitude and really good shoes and a like of mud. But I wanted more. For once in my life I wanted to go completely balls to the wall for something that seemed out of my reach and completely insane. There when I returned home on Twitter was the reminder about the Marine Corps Marathon. There was my answer for a completely insane task.

                I admire Jason Jaksetic who is doing several months worth of insane things. (Here is his blog http://jasonjaksetic.blogspot.com and while you’re at it please send him peanut butter). His efforts inspired me but I have learned that inspiration must come from within. It’s helpful to admire others and their efforts but to really be inspired to get off the couch and run for hours you have to be inspired by something that comes from deep down where your finger nails grow. (That is a favorite saying of my minister)

                The surface response to the question of why I’m doing this is blog: to have a record of what I’m doing. The deeper answer of why I’m doing this; this being defined as going after an insane goal: it’s exciting and keeps me from going insane. Because it’s something I can do and it’s something I will do.