I hoped that by now, I would have come to understand my own senses. I hoped then, as I do now, that I will have a more comprehensive, encapsulating understanding of what makes me feel the way I do.

The more I see, and the farther I explore, the less I understand.

Perhaps that’s why I push myself to run, to ride, and sometimes to swim. But mostly, it’s the lessons I derive from such high expectations, that guarantee, such a grand result.

I was in one school for one year. Hated it. Detested it. It was the antithesis of my personal happiness. I did exceedingly well academically, but dissolved personally. I withdrew myself from that ignominious institution, before it withdrew me.

Then I came here. I came to a small school, which I quite literally and passionately fell in love with. The people, the professors, the material. All of it I became infatuated with for 3 years.

Today was my one year reunion. Flushed with emotion, anxious to see what was anew. I didn’t feel changed. But something was quite clearly not the same.

It evokes a strong feeling of familiarity, but when you leave, as I did earlier this afternoon, a wholly new emotion becomes present. A feeling of disconnection. As if one has stopped you in suspended animation, as it were.


But then I look among my fellows, and realize they have the same emotion, anxiety. Some of their expressions, and mannerisms, and behaviors seem to have been lost through the years. But they also have something that I find utterly beautiful: They have the renewed audacity of youth again.

Class of ’89 , ’73, ’66, et al. They now have grandchildren, sons and daughters, nephews, and new tokens of love. Certainty exists in this water-colored portrait of love and education. Certainty tells me that these people, present and past, are merely taking turns. The friends of today, and of yesterday, are more to me than I can describe.

These friends, like many of those I saw today from years past, guarantee my happiness when I wake up, when I look back at photographs, and understand how we became what we are. But then I look at the earlier classes of the 20th century. I reflect, at those whom aren’t accompanied by as many friends as I. Those whom have more dense, aged, and relished memories. The contents of which, I can only begin to imagine.

Their memories are as keen, and as sharp, and as honest as one can conceive. There is a dimly lit, but vibrant truth illustrated in their eyes. Those of whom I speak of, with such fond admiration, exemplify a grand history, but reflect a simple truth. Despite their diminution in size, their smaller delegation, and their slower instincts, they are here. Their size may be fading, and their actions be slowing. But they are also alive.

For they are us.

So today was the day.

The new shoes. Asics Gel Nimbus.
The new orthotics. The beginning of wearing socks again. I missed the cozy feel.

I ran 3.1 miles at a 10 min/mi pace. Felt really awkward and rusty at first, but the pain was about a 1 or 2 out of 10.

I put the incline on the treadmill to 5% - No pain.

I increased the pace, and leapt in the air, trying to emulate the forces of downhill running – No pain.

The pain never made me favor my leg, but I can tell my right ITB is being a wee bit apprehensive in returning from running. So I have to make sure I stretch it out regularly, as well as get on the roller, and massage.

I have scheduled a massage with my massage therapist back up in New Hampshire Saturday morning. I am going to try to run again late Sunday afternoon, after taking tomorrow and Saturday off.

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I’m sailing back into this hobby slowly and easily, no pressure.

Today I witheld great happiness again.

P.S. Check back soon for action pics from the North Shore Tri!

So provided that I have been separate from the sport for the better part of three weeks, here is what I have thus far concluded.

In the twenty four hour period that I recognize as a day, I go through about two valleys, and these are at the polar ends of my day. These symbolize the hardest and most daunting challenges, as a human being I face every day.

One is when I wake up to Bannana Pancakes (my alarm clock) and the other when I return home after studying law for a good 9 hours.

What mitigates these valleys on a normal day, is my ability to train. Most effectively, running.

My mood fluctuates exponentially. My fatigue level raises antithetically to my mood. If the mood is positive, the fatigue is negative. In short, I can’t train now, thus putting me either smack in the middle of a stress cyclone, or at the tail end of a put-me-to-bed-for-three days coma.

So I’m wondering how much more I can take of these spiraling sea-saws. I figure if I still can’t run pain-free by the end of this week, I might take to cycling/elliptical and other non-impact aerobic exercises, to re-build my engine, and hope for the most expedient forms of healing to become manifest in this body.

This too shall pass.

Today I was scared by an elliptical trainer.

I rode it for twenty minutes, and at the end felt great. I then did a series of core workouts, strength work (my first ever!) and a series of plyometrics.

The adductor continues to feel great, and the ITB is tight at the hip area. I am scheduling a massage for this Saturday. Want to have this rectified. This is my only obstacle.

T-2


So now I’m getting painfully close to trying to run again.

I am scheduled to pick up my orthotics and new shoes this afternoon.

My plan is to run for 2 miles, at EASY pace on Thursday on the treadmill. I sure hope everything holds up.

This incapcity is taking an inordinate length of time to return from, so I sure hope it all works out.

I sincerely want to run Manchester on November 4, meaning I have 5 weeks to prepare, (do at least one 40 mile week and one 20 miler)

My other options are Richmond and Philadelphia.

Depending on how I feel by Monday of next week, I’ll know where I'm running this fall.

Many Different Places



I want to tell you how much of my soul is saturated with running.

Several years ago, before I began running, I was in a small garage band, wherein we would play frequently - At local café’s, parties, celebrations, and the like. After high school, we ceased to play together, but I maintained all of my percussion equipment, hardware, instruments, and the like.

Having time to sit around, study, and go for walks as I heal, I decided to go up to my attic at home today, assemble the old set, and turn on the iPod to play.

The entire time I was listening to these songs, they had meanings. They weren’t music. They were a tempo run tune, an long run melody, a fartlek piece, or an intervals beat.
I couldn’t focus on the percussion.

I looked out the skylight, and a light breeze blew as the sun set. I wished I was running. Witness Anthony’s deepest ambitions.

Even the drum heads, manufactured by “REMO” reminded me of the nickname of one of my old cross country buddies, “Reno”.

As my life ventures off, I may try new endeavors, experience new habits, or change hair styles. I may change alter my preference in fashion or my taste in coffee. I may have different girlfriends, significant others, and new, closer friends. And I may live in different places

But after all that has passed, running will still live in my soul.

Come on sweet orthotics.

Reflecting upon years of running strong, the valleys and the peaks, and everything in between, I’ve learn to summarize a series of movements and emotions within three separate clauses, which most closely resemble my thoughts now, on my feelings then.

“When I was young I thought I knew everything”

Consistently running, out of the Lydiard school. Long slow distance was my sense of being. When I ran faster, I got more frustrated. I’d rather be slow and smooth. No reason to compete with something that would cost me those solid 90 minutes of play and cleansing in the early morning dew.

“For the life of me, I cannot remember, what made us think we were wise and never compromise”

I continued to train, absent rest, absent recovery. It worked. Nothing broke down. The wheels never came off, and I was happy as a clam. I wasn’t getting better, but I was happy in this warm little cocoon of training everyday, sometimes even twice. Then I found my first round with ITBs. I then realized running demands much of the body and the mind. Particularly, marathon training.

Then was the XC endeavor, which taught me all about speed and recovery I could have hoped to know. I tore a quarter of the largest muscle in the human anatomy. So I at that point began to wonder if XC was really worth it. Riding a triathlon bike in a sea of cross country runners is an obnoxious feeling if it is anything at all. Witness my feeling of uncertainty.

“I can’t be held responsible”

If I could take one thing from running, it would be the feeling of completion. I have an addictive personality. Partly genetic, party my own free will. When I want something, I work like a dog, at achieving it, stopping at nothing - Almost as if I’m programmed to obtain it, or break down trying. There is a line to my objectives, and it rarely includes reasoning or logic. Kind of scares me sometimes.

In any case, what I now know is this crash is not something I want to remember. But every morning, I wake up with the same sharp memory, which I largely cannot control. I need to heal, and my training needs to change.

The latest is as follows:

I elevated my heart rate above 110 for the first time in six days last Saturday: 45 minutes on the trainer. Minor adductor pain for the first 30 seconds. Then smooth sailing. Felt good afterwards after stretching. No major repracautions the following morning.

Then I repeated this for one hour Sunday. Felt fine again, same discomfort for the first 30 seconds.

Monday I attempted the elliptical for one hour, at a level 30/100 intensity. Felt okay, but was very sore afterwards. Woke up Tuesday morning, with little pain on adductor, ITB stiff.

So now I am taping the ITB at the lateral epicondyle, and maintaining my stretching and adductor strap.

My war wounds have healed well, thanks to 500% of Vitamin C intake per day, and close monitoring of my diet.

I am going to raise my seat height approx. 1.5 cm today, testing some new geometry.

So tonight, my leg feels the strongest it has in 5 days. I feel adequately prepared for what lie ahead: Shacklette Invitational, and a trainer ride at home, with only the best intentions.

I hope it goes well.

Peace.

I need to learn something in order to write.

Education is the medium through which I write most clearly.

In the past few days, while slowly moving around, I’ve learned a few things.

Sunday’s crash was the finest beating I ever took in a race. I don’t know how long it will take before I return to training regularly.

12.3 miles into 31.9, my training template skidded to a brazen stop. But after that stop, energy was found to march on. 31.9 miles, later I have a story.

There comes a point in training, and the interjection of an injury, wherein the body knows too clearly that it is hurt beyond use. It isn’t the familiar twinge, the cracking joint, or the popping tendon sound. It is a point in time which utterly concedes to mortal demands.

It occurred last November on a 20 miler for Disney. I pinched a lower back muscle so directly, that I couldn’t move one leg forward. Running was inconceivable.

Today is somewhat analogous to that November day. But I know I’m healing. I’m learning to manage the discomfort, the awkwardness, and moving to heal everything I know is beaten, with all the knowledge I have thus attained.

But I’m moving forward. I’m realizing strongly and with great certainty that I was beaten up quite nicely. My body is a primary vehicle for which my internal happiness is ensured. Without which, I know no direction.

In this difficult time, I take great solace in the ability and resolve of others, to conquer their dreams, and to meet their goals. And I pray deeply for those who are less fortunate, and ask He grant them strength to repair and become strong once again.

I was driving home the other day, finding myself leaving the same medical office I was in at about this time last year. And I recalled a great sense of renewal, of hope, and audacity. All of these qualities were simply a result of time.

With prudence as a guide, and temperance as a weapon, I must break the frustration that is this disability. To the discomfort and inability, there will be the healing seconds of time. There will be hope in the momentary helplessness; There will be rest for the weary; And there will be grace and vigor tomorrow.

31.9: Recover and Exceed.

“The resolve of our great nation is being tested. Make no mistake, we will show the world that we will pass this test. “

President George W. Bush

To All Those Whom Were Lost That Day.

And To The Families Who Feel Their Lost.

So this is day two.

Yesterday I consumed 500% of the daily recommended dosage of Vitamin C, and largely focused on protein and calcium based diet.

The road rash on my back is very painful still, although I’m learning to get around a bit more easily. Stairs are not as bad, and I don’t think I’m limping as much.

I slept for twelve hours today, as I only have classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I sure hope my body received a whopping shot of regenerative growth hormone.

I’m looking forward to going up to see my old XC team from college compete at our home meet. Maybe even get in a bike ride this weekend, depending on the status of my hip.

I’m still moving.

If pain ought to be glorified, I would be inclined to articulate it here.

This morning's triathlon, an event which I had trained two years to finish, was the hardest physical thing I had ever done.

It transcended the inherent pain that is the marathon; It surpassed the qualitative components of XC at mile 4.4, with only one man between you and the finish line.

Real triathlon is a condition which requires hard work. Nothing less will suffice.

It consists of the technical skill of skiing a woods trail, the courage of a bull rider, and the unyielding attack of maillot jeune.

Real Triathlon is something that isn't glorified in the glossy pages of Sports Illustrated. It is something which cannot be fully comprehended by the spectator, but has the unique ability to be understood through conductive enthusiasm.

My friends and family are utterly and completely supportive of my endurance career. They support it, they watch it, the cheer it, and they care for it.

Today I had three primary objectives:
1.) Finish
2.) Finish the event in under 3 hours.
3.) Finish the swim in less than 45 minutes.

I accomplished all three. Remarkably, I was on track to place well within the 2:30 bracket. Then came fate.

At the end of the 1st loop of the bike course, I was cruising at 23 mph, descending onto a 90 degree turn, which had been fully saturated by an early morning thunderstorms' remains. Despite the pleadings of race official and authorities, I did not yield.

I turned, braked, and then hit the floor. I skidded across the street.


The initial impact was my right hip, then my right shoulder and then my right elbow. I suffered some sort of soft tissue injury on my right hip adductor, my right hip abductor, and earned road-rash on my right knee, right quad, right elbow, right shoulder, and right upper back.

I fixed the chain that de-railed, I corrected the tweaked brake clamp, and kept plugging away.

About 2 miles later, I began to climb, and realized a strong pain in my medial right thigh. Then I got off the bike, dismounted, and realize the pain was a lot worse than I anticipated.

So I started off the run, feeling strong, but certainly disabled. I kept moving, and then as I reached the 5k mark, I began to move. I am a cross country runner. I feel best when I run. My world is familiar, illuminated, and untouched by the savageness of the unwashed.

So I continued to move despite every negative message every synapse was firing into my muscoskeletal system. Passing one, passing two, passing three, like shooting fish in a barrel. Began to move at a sub 7:15 pace, more people picked off, more pain chemicals rushing to my hip. Wounds on back and arm are screaming for soothing cream or anything other than wind. I am at mile 6, and I am at 2:52: I need to break 3:00:00
Now I can play..

The last person I find, I can see is a very able-bodied triathlete. So I run silently, and then with 200 meters, I blow past her. I have learned to compete

I finish exhilarated. Then comes the great exodus of pain. Twenty minutes pass, and omnipresent agony returns.

It doesn't end there. I get bandaged by the paramedics, and I stretch. I down 800mg of ibuprofen instantly. Driving home, I got lost. I bought ice and coffee and Gatorade and a cookie. I felt handicapped.

I felt as if I had no sensual abilities. I couldn't focus on anything. Once the ibuprofen kicked in, I was a bit more cognitive.

Now I am covered in gauze, icy hot, and saturated with anti-inflamatories. I can put weight on my right hip, but not too much. Cannot really lift it vertically, but after a few strong attempts I can. I really have no inclination to do anything physical, anything combative, or anything stressful.

I asserted before today, that thereafter, I need to get away. Yet today renewed an enthusiasm for the sport that I had long ago discarded. But when you reach this distance, you recall how grueling our sport is. How much it demands of the human body. How far it takes the human spirit, and how it sharpens even the most lethal of competitors.

I now must curl up, lick my wounds, and look ahead to my next season.

Driving home today, I thought about all the struggles, the pain and the training. I thought about how I lost my goggles in the first 100m of the swim. I thought about how I rode another 12 miles and ran on a leg that bio-mechanically was not really running. I thought about how long I've trained, how much I've sacrificed, and how fast we fire everything we have in our bodies, for to spare time between mile 6 and mile 6.2. I evaluated that dead feeling after 90 minutes of aerobic exercise, wherein a teaspoon of some slippery, syrupy substance can resurrect the most paralyzed wills. I remembered the inevitable wall that was present after the swim, after the crash, and at mile 4 of the run. And in each of these acts, I broke through.

If I could ride with the tear-drops, swim with the front of the pack, and pass person after person on a soft tissue injury, I know I can compete. I can charge ahead towards carving my name into the medal contenders. Once I return for seconds, only one ideal will become certain: Don't impede me.

When I first started racing, I thought it would be a command performance.

My nerves were raw. I only wanted to finish that first 5k. It was a "Turkey Tune Up", home from my first break from college.

I can remember driving over, how I had planned to meet up with some buddies that night for pizza at our old favorite place, The Riverview. I just wanted to run, then finish, recover, and go out for pizza that night.

The 5k was straight up hill course, then you came screaming downhill.

Then a half marathon the following May. Scared the living hell out of me. I finished, and I was stronger.

Then the best day of mile: April 16, 2005. 4:08:12. Boston. I was hooked.

Then my first Triathlon. Ipswich YMCA Triathlon. Kicked its ass.

Now tonight, I sit on the eve of another mile stone. I attempt the Olympic Distance Triathlon tomorrow. Nervous? You bet.
I haven't run since Monday to eradicate a tight right hip flexor, which is feeling better, and will have to be ready by tomorrow.

I really have no idea what to expect, I just want to work hard, and be alive tomorrow, walking around regularly, and complete what I have sent out to do for two years.

This is the latest from the inside of a taper week:

From 3rd grade until sophomore year of high school, I played a highly competitive, highly aggressive, and contact-oriented sport: Ice hockey.

Throughout my time playing ice hockey, I sustained two serious injuries: A concussion, and a fractured tail bone. Outside of these injuries, I was injury free. Seven years with only two injuries in a sport as brutal as ice hockey I find curious.

I have been running for a little over 6 years now. I’ve run five marathons, completed two triathlons, a duathlon, and a laundry list of road races, ranging anywhere from 5k to 13.1 miles.

I am going to attempt to list all physical maladies which forced me to deviate from my running. All except one are running induced.

Dislodged sacroiliac joint (plyometrics at military academy) *****
Anterior ankle tendonitis (1 day off, resume running) ½*
ITBS, right knee. ***
Achilles Tendonitis. (right ankle) *
Impartial ligamental tear, lateral left ankle region. ***
Torn right vastus lateralis. *****
Pinched sciatic nerve (right side) *
Strained piriformis (left side) *****!
ITBS, left knee. **
Tibialis Anterior Compartment Syndrome (right side) *****
Tibialis Anterior Compartment Syndrome (left side) **
ITBs (right hip) ?


I think that is all of them. Each star represents the severity of the injury. Now, in six years of running, two of which have been devoted to triathlon, my injury history looks like this chronologically.

1st year: None
2nd year: 2
3rd year: 2
4th year: 2
5th year: 4
6th year: 2

In short, in the last year, I have sustained the greatest frequency of injuries. Being a somewhat prudent runner, I’ve been in the following shoes:

Saucony Stabil (2003-2003)
Brooks: 2004-2004
Mizuno Wave Alchemy – Elixir : 2004-2007

The first year I took up triathlon, I was nearly injury free the whole year. Cross Country destroyed me, and I’m struggling to regain my pre-XC, pre Triathlon health.

I know empirically, that I’m not healing nearly as fast as I once did. Witness the aging process.

I’ve been described frequently and repeatedly as an over-trainer; An addict to exercise; Among other, similar compulsive behaviorisms.

If being injured has taught me one thing, it is how much I value a pain free, jovial, “nothing to worry about” run.

I write this only to further my study of my body’s limits, history, and how to make it stronger.

Any input you may have would be greatly appreciated.

One of two things is happening. I’m either beginning to experience “taper madness”, or I’m beginning to slowly over train before this race.

I really don’t want to train anymore for this. I’m going to be happy when its over. I just want to run. Its so simple, but its all I want to do.

I am beginning to either get cranky, overtraining or something.

Come hither, Olympic distance.

I reached a point in the middle of my senior year in high school, approximately at the same time that I began running, that I wanted to change my life. I had ceased playing hockey, begun to run regularly, and was much more conscious of my diet and lifestyle.

In the back flap of a favorite novel, I scribbled the ideas and goals I had for myself. One of which was “Run forever” and the other of which was “Blow out the candles on your birthday cake”.

These two foundations, largely antithetical, began to construct a path which I was to follow and abide for, largely until my senior year. But in the interim, I had a lot of set backs, had the best and worst days of my life, aggregated with the best and worst decisions of my life, cemented by the best people of my life.

Reflecting now, I know that these goals, among others, were largely ones that became comfort. I recognized how much better I felt, how secure, how confident, and how honest and clear-minded I was.

But when I began to abandon these goals, abaonding what I had set out to do, I could myself spiraling in the process. Reading this blog from months past, one can witness my changes, understandings, and utter sacrifice of my personal goals, for the pursuit of social interaction.

I love people, and I love ambition, and hope. But I also love adversity. Adversity makes me harder, more discisplined, and more focused on what truly lies ahead. It cannot me improved through loud music and sleepless nights, or can it me augmented by parties or late night fiascos. It is entrusted to me, and I must greet it.

I know that I have greeted it before, and that I will have to greet it again, but between now and then, I know what has guided me thus far, and that I cannot ignore.

Today is anew.

I’m going to try it again, the all intensive, very meticulous art of nutrition guidelines. I will use FitDay (www.fitday.com), a wonderful tool for calculating the most valuable nutrients, and how they integrate into one’s training. I intend to lose 15 pounds.

Yesterday, after a mile swim, an hour on the elliptical, and some rest, I hammered a 7.5 mile tempo run with my friends, resulting in oxygen debt and a very stiff ITB and hip.

I believe it is my ITB, as it only feels tight in the hip region, but when I roll on the foam roller, it screams at me.

So today I woke up, and it was stiff. I went to the local pond for a 1.5 mile swim at race pace, with the wet suit and everything, attempting to emulate Sunday’s race conditions.

I plan on taking at least two off-days before the race, (this week) to recover the best I can.
I also plan on having active release therapy performed on my ITB/Hip region, to expedite the recovery.


What should I be doing before now and Sunday? Running is my strongest discipline, (last week I peaked at 64 miles) and swimming is my weakest.

Thanks all!


This is when it gets hard.
This is real triathlon.



www.xtri.com

So today I slept in after a late night last night after the 20 miler.
Woke up, packed some stuff, and went home to hang with the family for
a few hours.

I decided since I'm in the North Shore, I might as well get in a solid
bike ride.

I rode up to Cape Ann, with a bottle of 50/50 Vitamin Water and
straight tap. This does nothing...

Then I tried a bite of my jelly sandwich, cut neatly into quarters.
This was a joke, so I tossed it.

Then my legs reminded me that I had run 20 the day before, and that my
hip felt like it was rotting in its socket. I got home, with a high
cadence and as aero as I can be. The hip doens't hurt when I walk
around, but when I sit for a while then walk, oh goodness is it stiff.
I may run tomorrow morning, see how it feels. Nothing major, maybe 3-5
miles at most, then maybe a swim.

Stay tuned.

It always is the hardest at the beginning.
"How can I run for 19.5 more miles?"
"What will I feel like 2 hours from now"
"Will I be able to walk after this?"

These are the thoughts which circulate in my brain for miles on end. I
trust in my experience, my body, and all that I know makes me who I
am. My family, my friends, my body, all of it. It gets me to the end.

And it got me over three hours of solid, honest running yesterday.
Something which I makes me all the stronger, mentally and physically.

Just carry on.