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Born to Run

May 22, 2019 (Morning)

Exercise Type: Run

Comments:
So I ran this morning before states. It seems like we had a good first day. I took down FAT times for Anthony on a ratty piece of paper. Run was nice and cool. Canal was very quiet. Felt good, but thoughts weren’t particularly interesting this morning. All the while, I was cognizant of the finality of all of this.

It’s unbelievable that this is almost it. El fin. Four years go by really quickly. Sometimes I look at the Sophomores, and I think about all the time they have in this place. But then I realize that it goes by so fast, and that senior year is so different and that actually, they don’t have that much time. Time is fleeting and it moves inexorably forward. Understanding that is hard, and I don’t think I get it yet. Nonetheless, I think it is important to try.

As my time here ends, I have a few things I’d like to get off my chest. My last log will hopefully be something a little different.

If you had asked me about running four years ago, I would have told you that it was something I liked, but didn’t love. Without any exaggeration, being on this team changed my life. Going back still further, I am confident that six-year old Jeff would have asked you if you were out of your mind if told that this was my thing.

When you do something every day for four years, it becomes a part of you. Saying goodbye here feels almost like losing a limb, an old friend, a piece of me. Not a day has gone by since 2015 where I haven’t thought in some capacity about the team, running or some related topic.

One of the things that is so remarkable about running and GDS in general is this incredible capacity to turn ordinary events into something much greater. I can sort of predict what will happen on any given run or workout, and yet, interspersed between those ordinary events, we have remarkable discussions and beautiful moments. And when we take all of these ‘ordinary’ moments on ‘ordinary’ runs in sum, we see something truly extraordinary.

I love so many different things about running. I love the witty and cerebral conversations from runs. I love the stillness and quiet of a trail run. I love the feeling of effortless gliding on a beautiful day. I love the window into the world, to the seasons and the people around.

I’ve learned a lot here too. I’ve built my strongest friendships and my most unlikely ones. I’ve learned about adversity, pain, a whole bunch of new life metaphors(I love metaphors), about people and belonging. I’ve come to terms with myself on all manner of things in those many hours spent in my head. And now, I’m learning what it means to lose something that was a constant.

For two hours(or more) every day, 300 days a year, I’ve been with this team, for the last four years. That, my friends, is a lot of time— time that seems to just go poof. For the longest time, it seems like this will never end. It simply cannot. On the first of those thousand days, there is no conception of an ending. For the 500th, and the 750th of those days, there is no conception of the ending. And then suddenly it will end, and it must end. So now as I stand on this precipice, I’m finally coming to terms with the finality of it all.

Running is hard. To lug oneself out the door, into the soupy inferno that is July in this gleaming city is hard. To show up every day, even when every fiber of your muscles screams for time off, is hard. Willing oneself to go in the second mile of a 5k, when there’s no one around and the mud is leaking into your spikes and the rain is dousing your face, is hard. And yet we beat on, as boats against the current.

At the beginning of this year, at least with running, I felt like Gatsby at the dock, watching my future slip away. I reconcile this with Gatsby’s aspiration, that it is no matter, because tomorrow we will stretch our arms farther and run faster, all in pursuit of the elusive orgastic future that recedes year by year before us.

I have a lot of memories, stories, hopes, dreams and a few regrets. I don’t think it is worthwhile or cathartic for me to share them all here, but I’ll share a few.

My favorite run of all time took place in the summer of 2016. It was a cool day in Vancouver, and I was doing a long run in the big park on the city’s edge. I was feeling mediocre, per usual, for the first couple of miles. Then I got to the top of the hill in the park, paused, and then let loose, clicking through mile after mile, 7:40, 7:30, 7:20, accelerating as I raced downhill, the wind rushing through my hair. I was racing, I was gliding, I was soaring. I suspect many of you have had runs like this, perfect in their time, and whose memory will never fade. Sometimes running and I have a tortured relationship. In those times I think about this run, and ones like it. That moment when you aren’t simply putting your feet in front of the other, but rather walking on air, then gliding and then mastering gravity, becoming one with the clouds, and simply flying is worth striving for.

I haven’t thought about Sophomore Oatlands in a very long time. Partly because it hurts some to think about this season, but also in part because it is somewhat embarrassing. At that race, I had a big breakout day. I had planned my race all summer, and knew that I was primed and ready to be better than I had been before. Over the course of the race, Litty and I traded places, but at the finish, we were together, as teammates. He reached out to grab my hand like that picture of Tristan and Aidan downstairs- and we crossed the line together. I think this says a lot about our team unity and spirit.

Right now, I’m looking at the photo of another race, Salesianum 2018. I’m standing in the middle, holding a trophy, flanked by my teammates. In that instant, we all look content, happy, and above all, ready for whatever might come our way.

One night this winter, after an SSC run, I ran to Fort Reno to run some hills. The team had finished their workout, but I was just starting. I ran my four hills, and then sat down atop the hill and watched the sun’s glow ebb. The brilliant oranges were fading from the sky, but I watched their majestic afterglow for a long time, entranced by the beauty and the light. Runs can be so magical-- hold them tight.

I have a few running artifacts that are sitting on my shelf tonight. I still have the run good award, and I probably don’t need to describe that to you. But in addition, I have my 7th place medal from the Episcopal Relays I ran with Aidan Kelliher all those years ago. It’s the most disproportionate award, but it’s a momento of glory days. I also have the 5th place ribbon from MAC’s sophomore year. I was out for vengeance that day, determined to prove that I belonged. And I have my bib, #149, from our that glorious 2019 November day, splattered with mud and crumpled from wear. I remember all of those days clearly now, as if they were yesterday. And I now have my retired and ruined track bag. It served me through 11 varsity seasons, felt my rage and sorrow, and did everything I asked of it through rain and snow and sun. It carried that change that Matt Ishimaru gave to me after that bake sale all those years ago. It carried my pride as a varsity runner. The bag itself has taken on a meaning and a life of its own, and as it enters retirement, so must I.

It seems like an eternity ago that I first walked into this place and met this team. And it also seems like yesterday. The last four years have been magical.

This is now approaching epic length, I think almost 1500 words now, so I'll begin to wrap up. Saying goodbye is hard. I’m not particularly good at it. If you are reading this, hopefully some of the things I have said resonate with you. If you are reading this, enjoy your time on the team. Play a game. Ask to hear a story. Listen to the rhythm of your feet and the stillness of the air, or to the sounds of silence. Run Glover, or SLHG, or the CCT. And Run Good.