Inferiors

I don’t remember where I happened on the term, but I know I did not invent it.  Those nagging thoughts that tell you to stop doing something just because.  Because you are not good enough, you are not worthy, you are not capable, you are not whatever.  I hear them frequently while I am out there.  Sometimes during a race when I know I have not hit the goal I set they start in.  “Back off a little, you already missed it, with all that extra effort you still are not going to be satisfied at the end.  Save it for the next race.”  Sometimes in the heat (heat meaning any day where I feel mildly uncomfortable, there are rules for running based on temperature and humidity).  “It’s too hot to run.  You criticize people who run in weather like this, what are you a hypocrite?  You could really hurt yourself.  You could die.”  Most often it is on the mill [treadmill].  “Just stop, mill running is the worst form of running.  It is running you, you are not getting much benefit.  That television is irritating, you hate it, just go home and come back when there is no one here.”

These are the inferiors.  Those voices that can drive you to turn back, stop the mill, or never get off the couch.  I suspect many of the people that are amazed that I line up at my races knowing that I am never going to win, while at the same time professing to not know why I run four days a week are jealous.  I will admit that I want them to be.  Jealous of the fact that their inferiors are louder than mine.  That they let theirs win.  My suspicion is that their jealously lies with the fact that they think I don’t have them.  That they think I am somehow immune to self-doubt.  This belief that I have immunity is what keeps them trapped in a life of inactivity.  A life they secretly hate. They think they are not special.  They are wrong.

On a lot of days, yes, I don’t hear them.  They are just not there.  That is what happens when running is a habit, or, as I call it, my addiction.  The voices telling me to run are louder than the ones telling me not to.  One of the things I am thankful for is the fact that I can see things from both sides of the coin.  I was once obese.  I was once a drunk.   I was once a smoker.  I was once one of the people that had to get off the couch to make the change, and I heard them loud and clear.  Here is a secret.  I still hear them.  They say different things to me than they did when I started, but they still pester me.  Learning what to listen to is the key to mastering them.

The challenge comes with discerning the difference between hearing the voices and knowing  when you should stop.  The Inferiors are sinister.  They will voice anything to get you to stop.  Your body is the one to listen to.  The best I can say is that this comes from experience.  If you hear those voices, push through, and end up hurt, remember.  That voice was subtly different.  That was your body.  Remember when you push and do not end up hurt, too.  The difference in the voices is the key.

After you learn to tell the difference you can start to quell them.  There are various ways of doing this.  Some people just ignore them; like playing an away game.  I find this difficult.  In fact, yesterday I came to a halt during a tempo run because I was “hurting.”  I should have backed off.  At least it was not a race.    I have a difficult time ignoring them.  The way I have found is to keep it fresh.  I used to run with the same music, the same playlists.  Now I create a new one for every run.  I also try to vary my routes.  Sometimes I can tell where I am by the stains on the road.  If I was out running for time I could tell my splits by the music.  Have a slow opening mile and that makes a tough mental run.  Change the music and I don’t know the splits.  I stopped the inferiors.

I think the best tool is to realize that everyone hears these voices.  Some are so loud they are almost debilitating.  Others are quiet, others crescendo, others decrescendo, but everyone has them.  Keep running while learning to know when to stop so that you don’t get hurt.  Those of us out there every day are not any different from anyone sitting in their living room.  We are not immune.  We have tough runs and runs where we quit.  The difference is we get out there again, inferiors or not.

Gear

My shopping strategy is self described “seek and destroy.”  Meaning I know I don’t need to find the perfect thing.  Say I am out shopping for a gift for the boss.  Ten minutes, tops.  Birthday gift for wifey, 15, and that includes the card.  Sounds insensitive, sure, but you see something you know she would like, get it and stop fussing about if there is something she would like better.  I know she loved the microwave egg poacher and the happy fourth birthday card she got four our fifth anniversary.  My point is I am a fast shopper, unless I am shopping for running stuff.

I am a fan of running stuff.  Gear.  I like Clima-dry and dry-fit and SmartWool and hats and water bottles and SOCKS, man do I love socks.  I got my new job and to celebrate I went out and replaced my threadbare Nike socks with some Asics low profile ones.  I also bought a pair of SmartWools that I have not even tried out.  These I just like.  They are a little expensive, but take some out for a test run, and I think you will be sold.  I also have various technical tees, tanks, underwear, shorts, pants, gloves, etc.  The niftiest thing I have is this water bottle you can strap to your hand.  Nathan makes it.  Holds about a pint, perfect for me, it has an id card, and a little pouch the exact size of an energy gel with a little clip for a key.  A little bit like a running purse.  Wait, exactly like a running purse.  Mine even matches my shoes.  The only thing I think I might be missing is a visor.  I have, what I would consider, a lot of gear.  It is handy, not top of the line, but it works and I know I cannot justify getting anything else. 

I still shop.  Frequently, I will park at the end of the mall that has the Dick’s and take 20 minutes poking around.  What I find amazing is the amount of stuff that is out there.  The gimmicks and tricks astound me.  Some of the stuff is true, water vs sports drink on a run over an hour.  You have got to dig deep on the web to find out how to most effectively use the stuff.  Many of the drinks were designed to keep athletes, real athletes, going during a foot ball workout in south Florida, or a marathoner out there in the marathon.  A four mile run does not justify a quart of Gatorade.

Same kind of tricks go for gear.  Sometime you read an advertisement and think, “If I don’t get this shirt I will die from heat stroke.”  Most likely not true.  And if you but the wrong kind of shoe your feet are not going to fall off, and you probably won’t damage them permanently.  Just make sure they fit and get out there.  If they look cool with a sweet pair of socks, big bonus.

I still shop.  I have a lot of gear.  Once I find a visor it will most likely be time for new socks, or shoes, or who knows.  How will I know if I need it, if I don’t shop for it?

Caribou, Maine

When doing my initial research for a city I usually just Google the name.  So far, I have gotten lucky with getting the town’s web sites.  Caribou’s made me laugh out loud.  The very first link on it is a proposed medical marijuana ordinance.  Coast to coast, I guess.  It made me think of a time in Ohio, during the Olympics, when one of the American snow boarders tested positive for marijuana.  The press was deeming it performance enhancing.  One of the guys I was with said, “Performance enhancing?  That shit makes you cough.”  I still think of that when I see medicinal in the same sentence with marijuana. Also, it made me think of Dazed and Confused when John Stewart's character kept making everything better because he did it, "on weed."

With yesterday’s five and change and today’s abridged intervals I am in Caribou Maine. By the numbers, Caribou is like the last three towns I have come by.  Really, really white.  Almost no crime, aside from theft.  All of the income data suggest below average, but I wonder if the tourist income and the coastal property values skew the numbers.  I wonder how it would look if you were to make create a data set taking out everything south of I95?  A question that will remain rhetorical.  

8,000ish people call Caribou home making it the second largest city in Aroostook County.  Amongst the local attractions here is the Nylander Museum.  Olof Nylander was a native of Sweden, geologist, and naturalist who is immortalized in Caribou.  He developed a reputation for being a tireless and innovative fieldworker.   The museum was built in 1938 by the WPA and houses several exhibits, including large taxidermy.  Admission is free to all and the museum is open Tuesday - Saturday during the summer months. 

Caribou is the first place where I have found a race.  An organized race.  Labor day 8k pictured above (ladies notice the shirtless specimen on the right, oh my)  Last year Thomas Beckum won in 27:58.  I did reach out in an attempt for an interview, or some comment on running in extreme northeastern Maine; but, that request has, so far, gone unanswered.  Last year the event had 35 runners.  Small, but I am encouraged to see running activity.  This year it will be run on September 5th.  I will be reaching out to the race director.  I have also happened upon the Aroostook Musterds, a running club in Aroostook County.  My attempts to contact them have also gone unanswered; but, again encouraging signs that once I reach more populated areas I might have better luck.

With half of the intervals I intended today I am less than 20 miles from my next stop.  Once again, my intentions were to to hit the track before eight.  I left my house at precisely noon.  Walking out the door with more than a liter of Gatorade into noticeably viscous air with cicadas sounding heat advisory warnings from every tree should have been a clue to a tough session.  The heat was the last thing on the list.  Thursday I raced the sun laying down an absolute trail of smoke during a four miler.  My legs had not quite recovered.  I have been running long enough to tell the difference between your mind telling you to stop and your body.  Today was my body.  I listened.  Keeping me from collapsing on a scalding hot track, under the "Home of the Spartans" sign, with Dr. Greene staring into my face telling me I was in good hands.  I listened, came home, and took my daughter for some orange sherbet.  18 and change away from Presque Isle.  Then my first purposeful steps west. 

Life is Never Easy

Drifting my way from Van Buren to Caribou, something occurs to me.  After I wrote the Secret to my Success post I had a couple of people tell me they wished it were that easy.  I do too.  I never said it was easy.  Losing all that weight and resisting cookies, cakes, pies, and deep fried whatever is not an easy task.  It is immensely satisfying.

My best runs come in the winter.  My favorite run was when it was 19 out and there was snow.  Not a lot of it, but enough to stick to my beard, eyebrows, and eyelashes.  I was at my parents’ house; so, my choices were stay inside next to the fire place, or head out into the dead of winter.  I could have stayed inside reading, I could have had a cup of hot cider, I could have had ginger snaps with it; but I chose the run.  It was the best run on my life.  On that run I decided I did not want to work in my current office.   I made the decision and five months later all indications are I will be successful in my new job.   I made that decision early on in the run and felt liberated.  I had set my mind free of two years of angst and trouble.

I felt amazingly connected to nature, welcomed.  Sitting in the house snow falling in a light wind appear like diagonal white streaks against the solid landscape.   Putting yourself in motion makes the landscape fluid allowing you to slow down the flakes and focus on them.  Instead of being driven by wind, now they floated with me, or I with them.  As if I was part of the squall.  I felt like I was supposed to be there, in that moment I was meant to be running.  Nature wanted me to play with her.  The wind would eddy around a house or a hedge and push the flakes back into me, up, around, and over.  Gleefully chiding me to continue on with them.  I had to turn back.  For one and a half miles I had Nature as a running partner.

What would I have gotten if I had stayed inside?  Probably a good conversation with my father, maybe read my daughter a book, or had a nap.  As it happened I got those things, too…probably.  I don’t remember, but I remember that run vividly.  Was it easy to deny myself the hot cider, gingersnaps, and book?  No it was not.  Look what I got in return.  I didn’t set out to have the best run of my life, but I did.

It gets easier the longer you do anything.  Knowing the disappointment and the reward can make you anticipate how you will feel, and you start to make decisions in a different way.  I knew I would have been disappointed in myself had I chosen the fire.  I knew I would be rewarded with that, now all too familiar, feeling of pride at heading out there no matter the weather.  What I didn’t know, is to what degree.

Van Buren, Maine

I decided that the product in my head required entirely too much time to research, much less write about.  Running was getting kind of lost.  So I decided to make a change away from the in depth city profiles and focus on running.  I will tip my cap to the cities as I pass through with a much reduced profile and some pictures.  I will also beef up the linkage to the city sites.  The focus, though, is going to come much more around to running.

The gap in posts is due to A.)time, and B.) my three year old decided it would be a good idea to get up at three am three nights in a row and refuse to go back to bed.  I have still managed, though bleary eyed, to get out there.  Three recovery and four tempo.

I wrote this on July 31^st.

Yesterday I was ruled by heat, pain, and general exhaustion.  Today I was in control.  There was never a question of how am I going to finish this.  I controlled the pain with an efficient stride, I controlled the heat with an earlier run, I controlled the exhaustion with a better pre run meal.  I didn’t let anything stop me today; not even getting to Van Buren.  I never stopped, right through the center of town, continuing on US 1, ending five and a half miles into the trip to Caribou.

Van Buren, Maine

By the numbers Van Buren is an exceedingly small town 2,300.  The median income here is just over 20,000 with house values on the rise, but the median value is in the low 70,000’s.  All of maps make it look downright provincial.  So does Google Maps.  According to their website, I am a week early…

The Fort Kent – Van Buren Muskie Tournament is next weekend!  Three day fishing tournament going after some really big fish.  42” 18 pounds won last year’s tournament.  There is also a $10,000 cash prize and a $25,000 draw prize for the first 300 entrants.  Almost makes me want to take up fishing.  Associated with this tournament is a Ploy Festival and street dancing.

For a town that is so small they have a pretty extensive website.  Including a large promotion of their downtown that states they have “tasteful signs.”  I wonder what brought that phrase to their website.  

I think shrinking the scope will improve the quality...At least that is the plan.