I’ve been really waiting a long time to find this time. A time when I can exemplify and manifest myself in a precedent of success.

I dream a lot. Not in the sleep sense of the word. But in promise, and ambition, and in pursuit. I imagine great things, and work towards them. I try to weave my duties within the paragraphs of this great script of life.

I imagine these scenic runs, where I meet toil and fatigue, only to imagine myself become renewed. I have an experience of the past; yet redefine my efforts by something today. It doesn’t always work, but on the few occasions that I achieve these small things, I feel unrivaled success, and astronomical joy.

Yesterday was quite miserable. I didn’t train. It was an off day. I’m going to be honest; I think I may have permanently injured a part of my calf last spring. After running Boston on it, I now have this different musculature in the medial side of my tibialis anterior. So maybe it just needs some ART or massage, but it’s a pretty strange area. I resolved yesterday I would run long, at my happy place this morning, before I did anything about my moving process, or painting furniture, or the other minutiae outside my endurance endeavors.

I ran a long run at my favorite place today, as I promised. It went exceedingly well. I suffered yesterday to enjoy today. Joy, I exercised. I encountered horses with riders, dogs, hikers, and a degree of familiarity I had long forgotten. The fundamental difference between those of New Hampshire and those of the Bay State is the degree of simple kindness they exhibit. For the people north are of such kind heart and soul, without the slightest adversary. Despite the suffering, the agony, and the stresses facing me, my running keeps me grounded. It gives me life.

There is life, deep in my suffering.

Punishing myself.
Today is my off day. So, as I am likely to do on off days, I recollect about training and fond memories. I began to recollect about running an XC camp with my coach and friends last August. It was at college, and we would spend the entire day running, eating, or talking about running. In any event, we were outside the whole day, amidst a group of people whom were all connected by a simple, common passion.

I checked GoogleMaps to zoom in on where we used to train. It was an environment that I absolutely adored. I would run on average 10 miles a day, sometimes more, and sometimes add cycling on to that in the morning. For no other reason than I could, and I was good at it. I didn’t try to out-do myself, I simply tried to enjoy doing this simple thing I loved.

I reflect now, and it has become something of a happy place. That preceded the single most enjoyable week of my life, a week of pre-season at a retreat in New Boston, New Hampshire. When I say this, I mean it: I could not have imagined, nor created, nor dreamed of a more spectacular manifestation of happiness.

I suffered a lot. I became injured. Tore a quad muscle. Was out for almost a month. In short, I sustained a litany of injuries, but returned on certain occasions that still give me chills and deeply ingrained memories today. These memories rejuvenated my life on more than one occasion. And that is why I rest today. To ensure I will develop more memories to come.

After all of this stress today, I plan on visiting my happy place tomorrow for a long run. Seeing how it goes. Then maybe scheduling some ART to alleviate this bubble/adhesion thing on my leg.

Disclaimer: I fully understand, and am acutely aware of the sacrifice in the sport of cycling. I have the utmost admiration for those who define themselves as "cyclists" over "'triathletes - For they can do what I can only dream of.

I came into multi-sport as a runner. Plain and simple.
My weakest discipline was my first fear: water

I suffered, and then began to enjoy the idea of flowing through the water, as I had come to adore the idea of running through open space.

Yet long before I reached this point of enjoyment, I tried to forget about swimming, and put in more time on the bike. Albeit, I internally knew that running was my deepest and most profound passion.
Lately, this love has transcended cycling duties more than normal.

Cycling - to me - is a maintenence endeavor. Things break.

Chains de-rail. Brakes need replacement. Tires blow up. I feel as if I'm driving a car, not enjoying the inherent freedoms of moving through space.

On land and sea, I am free. I am moving myself, freely, without all these greasy, titanium demons testing my joints. Frankly, cycling makes me more stressed upon completion.

My bike is in fine working order, just tuned up, and equipped to handle the rigors of long-course triathlon.

Those of you who are cyclists, what perpetuates your passion for the bike? Why not running or swimming? How does cycling define you?

Let me be clear: When someone who is a cyclist, tells me about the beauty of moving through a crisp spring day, on the open road, in perfect harmony with the peloton, or in the case of our hero, le train bleu, I can only nod and trust their testimony.

If one told me that the July 4th, American bi-centennial performance of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture, performed at the esplinade at Boston, was the genius of all orchestrated music in human history, I would not have the education nor the inclination to agree, though I could appreciate their passion for such a peerless exercise.

If I were to explain to the arm-chair generals of the fields and stadiums, how after six miles of distance run, you can become more human than you have been in the culmination of your varsity-leter careers, I would surely face antagonism, perhaps even hostility.

But at least I would be acutely certain, of what I was articuling.

So today I decided to do an over-distance swim.

I planned to sleep in, (which I did) and get a few things done on these precious hours we cherish at week’s end. I accomplished this.

Knowing my legs needed a full 24 hour rest-cycle, I decided to opt for open water.

It was chilly, thus, my wet suit went on. And then something very odd began to take shape: I forgot how to swim.

I couldn’t get my face in the water without gagging and taking in water. A LOT of water. It really began to T me off. I began telling myself aloud to “stop this”. I felt like I was five again, and scared of the water.

It took a full 15 minutes before I could actually submerge my head in the water. It finally returned, and I was much happier. But it was eerie how after just 4 days without swimming, and about 4 weeks without a wet suit, I seemingly forgot how to swim.

Does anyone ever have this happen to them?

Today I sinned.
And for this I am deeply sorry.
I was selfish, and in part ignorant of all I have been given.

My job (public service) is something difficult to put into words. It requires an enduring patience, untainted by artificial time tables and obsolete dogmas.

My shortest day this week has been 8 hours. I haven’t been training in the morning at all. But the last two evenings I’ve found myself running the same 9.5-mile loop to clean my system.

When I return, I feel like a child again. Untouched by my vocation and its inherent ills. Yet this evening I asked my parents, whom I will only be residing with for another nine days, to pick me something up, downtown, about a 60 second drive each way.

Then some sort of chaos erupted after they offered to partake. So now I have my dinner, but I still have to get my automobile to the garage tomorrow, for new tires. Joy.

I am prevailing. But I want school to start again soon.

There’s really only one thing worse than tapering:

Failing to train due to time constraints imposed upon you by someone else.

Today was the most invidious day I can recall in recent memory.

A simple 5 mile run this morning, followed by work until 9:30 this evening.

I got so pissed off at myself, that my nose started to bleed, and I couldn’t stop it. Dinner sucks. Not training sucks.

Today I saw a glimpse of hell.

This is where I go when I have nothing left.



When all which is within me has been exhausted. I have no more inclination to train when I come here.

Today was a struggle. But it ended with glory. I went out on this 91 degree day on the interstate, hoping to conquer a 56 mile ride. I was steadfast for the first 90 or so minutes, until I stopped to purchase more hydration. I then began to turn around, and it became very difficult.

The wind blew at me, the mechanized trolls of the asphalt became angered again, and my nutrition was not normative.

At around the 150 minute mark, I began to climb, around 15 miles from my desination. My tires began to swirve. I knew something was erroneous. The little pebbles I can normally traverse became vast pieces of rock face, unrelenting on my weakened frame. This is when I pulled the brake.

I really don’t like to stop when riding my bike. Perhaps it’s the runner in me. Always wanting to inceasantly, move through space. In any event, I stopped, found my front tire to have a slow leak, and part of the tire wall itself frayed and shredded.

I attempted to fix it. But that was futile. Frankly, I don't even know why I carry that damned repair kit. So I was stuck waiting for a ride.

I sat.

On the shoulder of dry dirt and sand, I waited. I sifted through red ants, dried rock, and cigarette butts. I was amidst the waste of the proletariat, so vastly spread before these unforgiving means of transit. When I finally was picked up, I came back to my little corner of the world.

Rome must not have looked much different from my home. For there is green grass, flowers, vegetable gardens, and cool breezes. Young children run in their barefeet to their honest, hardworking parents' arms. Among citizens, in the de facto sense of the word. But not far from this contemporary utopia lie the barbarians on loud machines that give an ignominious feeling to this harsh world.

But while sitting in that netherworld of neither completion nor failure, a place which refuses submission, yet has already given in, I resolved. I knew that I would not let this accident be in vain. So I did what I do, whenever I no longer feel worthy of my efforts. I ran.

So this ride turned into a brick, which tested me. I am still dehydrated, feeling nauseas and dizzy. I don’t want to move. I just want to sleep and drink Gatorade. I just want to relish in the past movements of today.

That is why I am back here. At the garden hose.

The training has certainly improved.
A few late nights this week at work, but by and large, a productive week of training. On Wednesday evening, I was stuck in town until about 7:30, so I didn’t get to run until about 8:10. I call these my superman runs.

I have firmly concluded, that taking the time to take the train home, getting in the car, and driving to the gym or another 15 minutes to my home, change, and then begin to train, takes WAY too much time. Time which otherwise could be spent more wisely (i.e. training)
So I become Clark Kent, minus the phone booth.

I simply change out of my suit in the car, get into my gear, and just start from wherever I am, whichever parking lot, whatever city works bring me in. I save about 30 minutes of commuting, and feel like I have control over my day and time.

Tomorrow is a run down on the Charles River with my college XC coach, and some other friends. Looking forward to that. Also looking forward to the fact I won’t have to play superman.

Besides, real heroes wear shiny, metal capes. 

This is neat.

Yesterday was my first brick in nearly 10 months. 22 mile ride, followed by a 4 mile run. Went great. But those first two or three miles on the bike are tricky.
But I felt well.
Later in the day a nice open water swim with a runner whom I am determined to convert.

Today was an 8 mile run after work, with nothing before work. Felt good.

You are everything you say you are.

Today, the chains of human regeneration were finally broken.

If I honestly told you, how long I’ve waiting for a run like today, it would cause a minor stroke upon many of you. I’ve had the reputation of being a compulsive over-trainer. The familiar expression “Oh, A-Low” has more truth to it than I care to conceive. But it also has experience and truth.

Each run has gotten better. But today was a run, without any pain medication, without any planning but the decision to just run for a favorite 9 mile loop back home, here in the northshore. I didn’t feel this free at Boston. I didn’t feel this free at Disney. I didn’t even feel this free at that biblical run at the lake after coming back from my quad tear, though I know something greater than me was with me that day.

If I were to completely hypothesize, without regard for accuracy, I’d say it was at Mount Washington during pre-season 2006 that I felt this free. Albeit, that Mount Washington run was very, very hard. Hard enough to burn a memory of dehydration and cramping into my mind. But it was also a period of time that I remember with fond recollection.

After a week such as this, wherein I blew a tire on my bike for the second time in as many weeks, I worked three 12 hour days consecutively, and my car was towed away to an undisclosed location this afternoon after work, life was beginning to drown me.
For seemingly every unstoppable force in the world was going against me. But today, these forces met an immovable object: Human Tenacity.


In the total of the events of this week, in the culmination of my adventures over the last year, and all the education my friends and family have bestowed upon me, after all of these linchpins of my personal development as a runner, I was left with a single emotion today. Redemption.

Let me begin my openly admitting my mechanical handicap.

Largely, anything with moving parts, gears, screws, or a combination thereof, is rendered tantamount to the culmination of my abilities, and largely contributes to my gross ineptitude at establishing remedial action therein.

That is to say, I can’t fix $#%*

Witness my ride yesterday afternoon. Scheduled for 28 miles, I began in a quaint town called Ipswich. Ipswich became Hamilton then Wenham then North Beverly then Beverly into Salem.

Yes, the Salem you read about as a child in Social Studies classes. The Salem established in 1626. The place where John Winthrop, Tituba, and the other poor souls who were accused of practicing witch-craft, were all burned at the stake. The location of sheer madness and anarchy on Halloween, and also the place of the world’s worst infrastructural system.

With all honesty, the city of Salem’s roads were conceivably more smooth 300 years ago. Today its carbon monoxide, loud motorcycles, and drunken working class heroes. These are not the places you’re not supposed to ride a road bike. Period.

So naturally, I blew a tire. Not just a tire. But the second one in as many weeks. Moreover, I did not have my repair kit. Joy.

So I called some family for a ride back to the gym. Once arriving there around 8:30, I got on the spin bike and just finished my objective. Then I come home, and attempted to fix the flat. It was largely fixed, until it became apparent that the spare tube ALSO had a hole. Moreover, the same phenomena occurred last week. There is a large, corporate outdoor store whose name is three letters. The second and third are vowels. The first is a consonant. Don’t buy you’re bike gear here.

So now I had to forfeit my workout this morning, fix the tire after work, and ideally get in a brick workout this afternoon, which will hopefully absolve my cycling sins.

The occurrence last evening, is demonstrable evidence of a single conclusion.
I love running exponentially more than cycling.

God reveals himself in mysterious ways.

As I now have undertaken my duties and obligations at this new office, I have largely constructed a training schedule around it. It dictates that I take a rest day as needed, but never longer than 10 days without a rest day. It constitutes a firm monitoring of my sleep, my cumulative training hours, but not so much my diet. It is detailed by a 5:30AM workout, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and then a 6:30PM workout on the same day.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I usually sleep in, and then train one, medium distance workout in the evening. The weekends are largely for over-distance projects, or the endearing qualities of a brick.

A problem has arisen.

I have found that my sleep is not adequate for the training I am putting in. I am training, on average 90-150 minutes per day. I am going to bed between 10 and 10:30AM, and on 3 days a week, getting up at 5:30AM. The training, compounded by a long work day (nearly always over 8 hours) leaves me with little downtime, and rest. In college, I would schedule my training around the sporadic class demands that is academia, hoping to catch the most number of hours of sleep I could. I concluded that 10 hours is ideal, but here in the city its not possible. So I’m surviving on seven hours. It is not enough.


Those beloved Tuesday and Thursday mornings, when I do sleep in until 6:30ish, present an array of fascinating displays, manifest in my endurance fellows. Driving to the train, I witnessed two cyclists, clearly of the same affiliation, drafting. Two runners, one of whom had already stripped an outer lay of clothing, displaying her tenure on the roads this morning. And to ice the proverbial endurance cake, a moving truck, under the company title of “Road Runner Moving”. Witness my insanity.

This morning was a pole away from Tuesday. Whereby, on Tuesday I just utterly failed to produce. Don’t think, just do. I did, yesterday. This morning, my mind, spirit, and body were unanimously declaring, “Rest me”. So I slept in for another hour, and witnessed the divine teases, only we can observe.

Whenever the blissful notions, and ideals of ignorance, are exercised, the principles of integrity are consequently sacrificed.

I move, to mitigate the latter.

This morning I made an error.

I failed to train before coming into work. At the time it seemed like a perfectly practical and productive decision. I trained well yesterday, the run in the evening was less than stellar, given a tropical storm, and a 10 miler the previous day. Thus I gathered that a restful snooze would do me well. Albeit, I never fell back asleep. But failing to train this morning was pure idiocy.

I could have gotten a much more fresh start to my day. And I would not have had to worry about possibly leaving late, and thus losing my ability to train.

In any event, I’ve learned that the first 10 minutes of any day are unquestionably the hardest. Once I get out of that trench of passiveness and embellished covers, I am free to charge the enemies of stress and frustration, with the magnificent gift of moving through space rapidly.

I have learned.

Yesterday was the longest I have run in nearly 6 weeks.

Saturday was an epic, over-distance ride in 92 degree heat. Quite a challenging ride.
It covered ten different municipalities, and two states. It covered 63 miles and took slightly over 3 hours.

Yesterday morning, I did a 10 mile course all road, and shaved 9 minutes off the course PR. Witness improvement. I felt really good the whole time. And I refer not to just the idea of being pain-free, but moreover, the idea of being fluid. Moving through space and time with efficiency. The hard climbs on the bike certainly have pain off, as my V02 max unquestionably has been augmented.

Now I must hydrate.

The power thought, can arm the armies of beliefs. And with beliefs come the most powerful and steadfast of human effort.

My job has been hard. The last two days were 14 hours, the day before that was 12. Today was only 7, but I was apartment hunting for the following 4 hours. After a ride this AM of 18 miles, I found myself on the trainer tonight after finding what I feel will be my new home. I asked my mom to come down and talk to me about it as I rode. She smiled and we laughed as she sipped wine and I hammered the wheels of honesty.

She always is there. I feel like she's really training with me. She made 65 minutes FLY by without iPod or CNN or any other artificial stimulus. Getting these workouts after LONG day is a project. Actually, it more resembles a mountain. But I'm doing it. I never thought I was going to be able to do it. But I am. And I know that every day, should be a good day to die. So I'm working for what I love and what I love works for me.

Lately, out of this darkness, a light is gleaming like a flash. I thought I'd falter at first. But now I think I can do this. I think I can.


Out of the darkness, comes light like a flash. I think I can dream, I think I can.