Christmas

Christmas time is family time. I suppose this makes sense, because Jesus' birth was accompanied by family in a story in which everyone had to return to their hometown, where they likely had family. So it comes as no surprise that even today people travel to visit family. I still wonder how Mary and Joseph completed the journey without Clif Bars or GU Energy Gels to keep them replenished, but I digress.

I just got back from a visit to my girlfriend's family in central Minnesota, and during it we made a slight excursion to Grand Rapids, MN to visit her brother. I had never been to this part of Minnesota before, and it really is a different world compared to most (if not all) of North Dakota. It was nice to see large evergreen branches hanging over the road with snow holding on to them as long as they could. Even cooler was seeing all the different trails and protected forest areas that were up there. It seemed like every few miles there was another public trail with access from the road, and while those would be amazing for cross-country skiing right now (something I literally have no experience with), I can imagine them in the summer being quiet dirt trails great for running. It opened my eyes to why those who come to UND from out-of-state complain that we have nothing to do- there were so many recreational opportunities there in northern Minnesota, even in the winter. 

Anyway, once in Grand Rapids we went for a short run together on some of the snow-covered trails around the area. Even though we were slipping and sliding around trying to find any traction, it was a simply beautiful sight. The recent snowfall rested on the trees still and the wind wasn't blowing because of all the protection. We had to take some time to soak it all in. In a world where it is so easy to see all the bad things around us (grab literally any newspaper or go on literally any news website if you live under a rock and don't believe me), we need to realize how beautiful this Earth is. I wonder to myself sometimes what Jesus thought of the natural beauty of the Earth when he physically walked here. If you allow it to, every hill, tree, rock, field, cloud, and mountain can be stunning and breath-taking. I'm well aware that considering the beauty of this Earth is not sufficient proof of the existence of a God, but I really do wonder how such a beautiful, perfectly-arranged planet could have simply 'happened'. I guess my main point is that the woods were beautiful!

The next day I found myself doing a workout on Highway 27 in central Minnesota. Now, to my surprise, this state highway had more traffic than interstates in North Dakota usually do. Cars, cars, cars, noise, noise, noise, haste, haste, haste- this is our world. We are always in a hurry; we are always trying to shove way too much into our already busy schedules; we are living in a world where noise is the norm and quiet is unusual, rather than the other way around; we live in a world where everything is lit because we are collectively afraid of the dark; we call ourselves more connected than ever before due to social media, but I lament at seeing folks staring at their phones and ignoring the world around them. I think this is why I try to seek out quiet places to run. On this workout I was listening to my iPod, because I can't stand the sound of constant traffic; if no cars were on the road, I wouldn't have my iPod. Am I a hypocrite? Probably, but so is any person reading this. We all are. 

I'm back home now. I've fought through the fiercest of battles, including not eating copious amounts of food and trying to fit in two runs a day with church, present-opening, eating, visiting family, and sleeping. The weather this year on Christmas day is about as good as it's going to get, with temperatures in the 20s, as opposed to the last few years when wind chills have been approaching -20. I've been able to go back to my home church and recollect with some of the kids I grew up with (3/8 of my confirmation class was at my service- that's a record!) We've been able to watch A Christmas Story and get the whole family together. Last night when we were singing 'Silent Night' at church, I couldn't help but get some goosebumps and think about the fact that even in our crazy, violent, fast, technological, and global world, it will be alright. The baby Jesus is born and He is here to be our blood sacrifice that we as sinful people need. As we gather together with family, we remember that salvation has come- everything will be ok. 

Merry Christmas!

Mandan High 1983: A Short Profile

Mandan Studs

It's time for some research posts again! Today I'll be looking (well, trying to anyway) at perhaps the best high school men's cross country team this state has ever had. I'll tell ya- this has been a fun article to write, because I've learned A LOT. For example, did you know that what we know now as Bismarck State College once had a JuCo (Junior College) cross country team? Me neither. Let's get started....

In 1981 Leon House assumed the reigns of Coach of the Mandan High School Cross Country program. [Mandan is located in central North Dakota on the west side of the Missouri River- the only thing separating them from neighboring Bismarck.] In 1981, 1982, and 1983, Mandan won the State Class A Boys XC meet, marking the only three state championships the school has had in the boys class A race in school history, even up to now. 1983 seemed to be the culmination of a growing program hitting its peak, with a dominating season, winning every race they competed in and finishing off the season with their 21st consecutive win at the state meet, and the next year they brought the total up to 31 before losing at state. (Down at the bottom of this article is a link to a milesplit page that has an EXCELLENT write up on this team). Perhaps the most dominating performance of the season came at the WDA Championship Meet, where they placed 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 17th, with 5k times of 15:03-15:10 (1-4) and 15:57 (5). That's absurd. Bismarck High has been tearing up the state XC scene up for years now, but even they have not had that much depth on their team. Consider at the state meet in 1983 Mandan's top three ran 16:13-16:14 after taking a wrong turn and actually going off course at one point. Afterwards Coach House, calling it one of the worst-run state meets ever, said that his athletes ran "about 20 steps the wrong way with an official right there asleep at the wheel." It still blows my mind that through the whole season they never scored more than 61 points as a team!

So who were the top three guys who ran on the team that season?

David Meuchel was the 1983 WDA Champion and State 4th place finisher (after taking a wrong turn recall). He was the school's the team's first-ever WDA individual champion. So, he was one of the leaders of the 1983 team. In the 1984 state track meet, he took 3rd in the 3200, with a time of 9:42 (the winner was the man who broke the state record at the time, Jeff Dick from Jamestown, who ran 9:10 and won by 30 seconds) and took 5th in the 1600 in 4:32 (J. Dick won 6 seconds with a 4:22). Fun fact: the guy who took second in the 800 that year, Mike Toy from Williston, would later go on to break the Minot State outdoor 800m record with a 1:51, at the same time Meuchel was later at Minot State. Last fun fact about state track that year, in the 110 hurdles, the 4th place runner, Greg Limke from Bishop Ryan, later coached basketball at West Fargo, my high school.

After high school, it seems as if he spent time at Bismarck Junior College and Minot State University. In 1984 at the NJCAA (National Junior College Athletic Association) National XC meet in Twin Falls, Idaho, David Meuchel from Bismarck Junior College placed 45th with a time of 28:11.27 in what must have been an 8km race, as the NJCAA mandated that distance for nationals starting in 1975. I wonder if the course was difficult and the altitude led to slower times. Additionally, the only teammate of Meuchel's to place ahead of him was Lars Smeenk. Now, in 1982, the year before Meuchel won the WDA title, a man named Lars Smeek from Bismarck won the WDA title, so I'm going to assume that the Lars Smeenk listed as the 39th place finisher overall for Bismarck Junior College is the same one that won the WDA title a few years before, and I'll admit I have no idea which spelling is correct. Anyway, a David Meuchal also appears on rosters for Minot State University in the late 80s ('87-'89 I believe). After that, I have no idea.

Darrin Boehm was the #2 runner for Mandan High School while they were tearing it up. He was a junior during the 1983 year, and as mentioned above, he finished 5th at State XC, less than a second behind teammate Meuchel. At the state track meet that spring of 1984, he placed 5th in both the 1600 and 3200, running times of 4:30 and 9:44, respectively. In 1984 XC season, he won the WDA individual title and placed second at the state meet. He also broke a few course records throughout the season.

After high school he went to VCSU (Valley City State University, NAIA at the time, now DII) and ran XC and track. He had a successful career, including being part of the school-record 4x800 relay that ran 7:57. He also is top 10 in school history in three other events: the 1500 (3:56.82), the 5k (15:47.40), and the 3k Steeple (9:35.30), even though I'm 99% sure some of those aren't his absolute fastest times, since he just told me this morning he ran 3:52 for the 1500. He was two-time conference champion and 4-time national qualifier in cross country,  Last year, 2014, he was inducted into the Valley City State Athletics Hall of Fame. He was also a two-time national qualifier in track, once in the steeple and once in the 1500. If I may, I would also add that he was a pretty darn good high school government teacher and track coach!

Boehm!!

Gary Schafer was the third runner for the Braves that 1983 season. He was also all-state in cross country in high school, placing 3rd at the WDA meet and 6th at the state meet in 1983, and supposedly ran 4:44 and 9:56 for the 1600 and 3200 his freshman year of high school. He was another one of the athletes that took a wrong turn at the state xc meet in 1983.

After high school he also went to VCSU and had a great career as well. In 2001 he was inducted into the VCSU athletics HOF, and has the distinction of being a national champion. Out of the all the different levels of college in the US, only the NAIA has the marathon as an event in which the collegiate athletes compete. Schafer, in 1989, won the NAIA marathon title, running 2:29. He also is ranked in the top ten in VCSU school history in the 5k (2nd, 15:12) and the 10K (5th, 31:33).

After college he worked in business as a manager and vice president at Great Plains Software in Fargo (which later was acquired by Microsoft for a good chunk of money), and then worked for LANAC company in Chicago.

So overall, this was an amazing high school team that sent runners off to relatively successful post-high school careers. It's not surprising that many of the state's best teams come from the Missouri River Valley region with how rugged the terrain can be out there. It's simply another example of people who were fast even though they trained exclusively in North Dakota.

As always with these posts, let me know if I messed up anywhere or seem to be missing facts!


Links that aided my research:
Milesplit Article About Mandan High
Mandan High Hall of Fame Article on Coach House
Cross Country Journal w/ College Nationals Results
Some WDA XC History
State XC History
'88-'89 Minot State Yearbook Thing
'87-'88 Minot State Yearbook Thing
1984 Class A Boys State Track Results
VCSU Track Records
Boehm Broke Course Records
VCSU Hall of Fame Announcement
Gary Schafer- ND Runner
NAIA Marathon Champions
Business Announcement About Schafer

Reflections on the Semester

I'm done with my ninth semester of college. I have learned that abstract mathematics is a little absurd and non-relevant, but in a 'this is actually kind of cool to learn, but impossible to take a test on' kind of way. Ok, maybe that's a little pessimistic, but I've learned that historians in universities don't exactly study the cutting-edge material that the average Joe cares about either. Oh well, I digress (can you digress in the first paragraph of a post?)

It's a relief! I brought a load of 6 books (monographs is the proper academic term) back to the library, and for good measure deposited my stress with them- hopefully the librarians can find a good place for that. I haven't shaved in weeks, and I even started wearing sweatpants to class because, well, putting on jeans is sometimes a little too hard. My work table, once scattered with assorted syllabi and necessary student teaching information, now simply hosts pens, pencils, an overused water bottle (courtesy of UND dining services), and my Ethernet cord-dependent computer where I watch ultra running documentaries while eating apples with peanut butter. You could say I'm living the dream.

I suppose I should mention something about running. I raced three times this semester. Back in September I raced unattached (unaffiliated with UND because I didn't have cross country eligibility) at the famed Roy Griak Invitational at the Univeristy of Minnesota, running at probably a 90% effort level and having a lot of fun! In October I raced at the UND home cross country meet, placing second and running a big pr of 24:37 for the 8km (5 mile) race; it was a super fun race where I got race side by side against a stud from the University of Manitoba. Then, a little more than a week ago I raced the mile at South Dakota State, this time in the UND jersey, and ran a 4:13 solo and felt pretty good.

My overall plan remains unchanged: I will be at UND for another semester to finish out my track eligibility (ahem, I mean my education) and chase some of my dreams. This next summer I will be out at Camp of the Cross Ministries near Garrison, ND again, coordinating fun trips on Lake Sakakawea and in the Badlands (along with numerous Vacation Bible Schools). Next fall I will be student teaching somewhere, hopefully away from Grand Forks and likely training as hard as ever, for what event I've yet to decide- that'll come later.

Moving to the meat and potatoes of the post, I've learned some more serious lessons this semester when it comes to running and training. Here they are:

1.) If you want to be a better runner, you have to run  more. It's literally that simple. People can overcomplicate all they want, but good writers practice writing; good researchers practice research; good shooters practice shooting; good cooks practice cooking- the list is endless. I've upped my weekly mileage to around 80 this semester, and it helps.

2.) Rest and nutrition are vital. I used to think I took care of myself, but I'm finally learning how to actually do it. Minimum of 8 hours of sleep every night, healthy eating, and not doing anything strenuous on recovery days have me feeling strong on workout days. My easy days rarely dip under 7:00 pace anymore, and that's perfectly fine. Never push an easy run.

3.) No single workout will make you fast. It seems that people are always looking for that one killer workout. They scour the logs of fast runners to find those workouts that leave people kissing the ground afterwards, dreaming of destroying their opponents because they made it through that one workout. This is immortalized in the famous "Once a Runner" book in which the main character completes an idiotic 3x(20x400m) workout and no longer gets tired when he runs afterwards. This is not true in the real world. Training is an accumulation of miles and workouts over time. The more consistent the training, the more fit the runner. The more fit the runner, the better the runner performs. Each workout is important, and no workout should be pointed to when success is achieved, but rather the weeks of workouts added up over time.

4.) Trust in team and coach is more important than than the individual. There are scores of running philosophies that can be found everywhere nowadays (it seems that Daniel's Running Formula is the current flavor of the month), and this can actually be harmful to a team. When reading a training book, it could be easy and tempting to ditch the philosophy of your coach and team and try to better yourself by training like the 'elites'. However, to go even further with the bullet point before this one, precise workouts are not that important. If a team has developed an atmosphere where everybody buys into the team philosophy and believe that the coach(es) can get them to achieve their goals, they probably will. If athletes turn their backs on the team or coaches in search of something 'better' to make them 'faster', the dynamic will fall apart and success will likely not appear. I'm fully transparent to my coach, we tailor my weekly workouts and schedules to what I need to try to be successful. I'm not going to sit down and say "I really think we need more I-paced interval this week", because my coach has more than 25 years of experience. If he says I'm running 400s today (full disclosure: I ran 400s today), I'm running 400s today. We can look at paces and recovery, but honestly it doesn't matter that much what the tiny details are. If I finish and I'm starting to run low on fumes, that means I worked my body hard, and that's all I need to get better. Like I said above, running can be complicated or it can be simple. You can make every run a certain exact pace with exact rest and plan out how much of your weekly mileage will be at certain paces, or you can just listen to your body and roll with the punches. I'll choose the latter.

5.) Some people are simply more naturally talented than others. However, talent is a little bit different than I originally thought. Talent isn't necessarily that a person can go run for the first time and beat everybody. In fact, many of the best runners started out mediocre or even unwilling to try out track or cross country. Talent is how people respond to training. If ten people who run races at the same exact paces are given the exact same training for the exact same amount of time, one person of the ten will be the fastest by the end, and one person will be the slowest. What this means is that every person needs training tailored to them. Just because a friend runs some ridiculous workout doesn't mean you should too. Believe it or not, people are in fact different.

6.) Watching passionate coaches that have the respect of their athletes is addicting.

7.) Watching passionate athletes that have the respect of their coaches is addicting.

8.) My blog posts are too long.

That's all for now! With winter break coming up, I'd like to throw up a couple of research posts like I did last winter break. We'll see what happens.

Peace

When Work Becomes Rest

beep beep…beep beep….beep beep….beep *click*

Still groggy, I rolled over and looked at my watch. Yup, 6:15 am. I was so pumped for this last night, but holy cats was my bed warm right now. I fished out my phone and checked the weather: 6 degrees with a wind chill of -3. Ugh. Well, I guess I gotta burn off this pie somehow.

I began the tumultuous process of putting on layers for a cold run: socks, two pairs of long pants, a long-sleeve shirt, a running jacket, a warm hat, gloves, watch, and certainly a pair of shoes that were just as tired as I was. I turned on the light and examined my room. I was sleeping on a futon in the basement where just two days previous my family and I had made about 10 dozen lefse (hard to accurately gauge because we ate a bit while cooking); I was the one who added the flour to the potatoes and rolled it into small balls, where my dad would then roll them out flat and give it to my brothers, who would watch over them judiciously on a grill. When it was done, the lefse would be placed onto an open towel, sprinkled with water, and eventually was collected by my mom on its way to the garage for cooling. Once cooled, my grandma, mom, and uncle would fold them and put them into bags for storage.

For now, however, I was about to head out the door. My watch had graciously found satellites quickly this morning, and so I was able to focus on closing the door quietly- a much harder task than you might imagine. No one stirred in the house (I was going to bed earlier than everyone else on account of needing to do morning runs), and so I was conscious of the CCCRRREEEEEEEAAAAAKKKKKKKKKK of the giant wood door guarding the house. Fortunately, I made it outside without rallying the troops. In this small town of about 1200 (the biggest town in the county, I might add) I heard nothing but the hum of homes trying to stay warm. Stars twinkled down at me, and local light posts were reflected straight up into the air by the low-laying fog. I wanted to stand there and soak it all in, but thus is the life of the runner. I started off down the driveway.

The first few miles trotted slowly by with no really exciting events. Two vehicles drove past, probably wondering what in the world I was up to, but other than that it was quiet. Even though the sky was clear above me, ahead of me the fog worked in. It became so thick that I could see nothing but the dark road laid out before me, disappearing into nothingness. I couldn’t see where my feet were placing themselves, but I’ve rolled my ankle enough times to not really care. As I exited the pavement and continued on the gravel part of the county highway (spoiler alert: most of this road is gravel), I went past a farmstead with a large light in the front yard. The farm was protected by a row of evergreen trees currently wrapped in fog, and as I ran past, the light shone through the openings in the trees and scattered through the mist in the air- it reminded me of disco ball because the light would shine and go away, shine and go away.

By now I was comfortably grooving along to the scratch scratch scratch of running on gravel. My face was beginning to ice over, and my eyelashes were collecting frost. It was still dark, but then I saw a deer in the ditch! I was surprised that it hadn’t run away yet, but as I got closer I realized it was just a mailbox. Shoot. A little ways down the road I really did see a deer though- even the tail was obvious! But that too was simply false; it was actually a green transformer box sitting at the edge of the field. Gosh darnit anyway. Around mile 6 I stopped to take a quick leak, and I couldn’t help but pause for a moment and enjoy the quiet. I had escaped the embracing arms of the fog, and now I was looking across the landscape while the sun lazily rose behind the clouds. Some stars still fought valiantly for position in the sky, and my higher elevation on this road gave me a view of more than 10 miles east of where I was standing. A coyote forlornly called in the distance, the eternal sound of the saddest sounding animal out there. Nothing stirred and the only sound was that buzzing in my ears that appears only in the absence of noise. I had a chance to reflect on the peace of this place.

Being stuck in the concrete jungle that is academia can have its ups and downs, but it took me until I got out here to realize how badly I needed the release and peace that comes from running out in the country. This week I’ve seen sunrises and sunsets, birds and deer, frost and fog, and hills and flat. I did not see any other runners, walkers, joggers, or bikers. I was able to truly enjoy my training, and even doing workouts was more a blessing than a curse. Sure, I fielded a fair number of questions about the absurdity of my pursuits, but hearing a coyote howl out across a dead quiet, stunningly beautiful prairie at sunrise made it all worth it.

At eight miles I turned around and headed into the workout part of my run. The early morning, hills, and extra layers made the next 8 miles a struggle, but there were times when everything seemed to connect. Sometimes during a run, the runner can reach a certain stage of zen where the line between pain and joy disappears and they enter a stage of simply being. After my first couple harder miles, I hit that point. I would look down at my watch, worried that my sudden joy would be a consequence of slower pace. But it wasn’t. I was trekking on foot perhaps faster than anyone had trekked on this road before; I was running straight into the wall of fog in front of me that never seemed to go away; I was completely exposed in the open with no cover, but also no souls to see me or wonder what I was doing; I was letting the silence flow around and over me, and my mind went blank to enjoy the moment; I was breathing harder, but never once would I consider stopping. As the icicles on my beard grew big enough that I could no longer open my mouth too far, I realized that this would be as close to living as it could come. What I was experiencing cannot be explained to a person who has not yet had it happen to them. All fear was gone and my heart was full. This- this is life.

And so I finished my run. 16 miles worth of ice, frost, and quad soreness. I had already went through more thoughts and emotions than some people will entertain in a whole day. I knew that soon we would have to ship out of Garrison and head back. For me, this means back to school, papers, and proofs. If that doesn’t sound appealing, it’s because it isn't. It means back to paved everything and noise without rest. It means light pollution and going to the grocery store without knowing anybody there. But it also means track season is here. In less than one week I’ll be running my heart out around a track chasing times that I have been training for since June. It means access to an amazing facility and trainers. It means freedom from the relentless attack on my body by pies, lefse, and peanut butter m&ms in the last few days.

Yesterday as I stopped halfway through my afternoon run to admire the enormous sun falling to the horizon, I remembered that through the day I caught up with old pals, stopped by the Bible Camp that I’ll be working at for a sixth summer next year, and spent quality time with my family. I thought to myself: it really doesn’t get better that this. My life is a song of worship. Running is worship. Quiet is worship. Sunsets are worship. Sunrises are worship. I started running back towards town on the empty gravel road.

Scratch scratch scratch scratch

Insecurities #4- Talking

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 4.

-----

Person: “Do you run on the track team?”
Me (oh no): “Yeah I do”
Person: “So do you like run the 400?”
Me (I can see where this headed, and I don’t like it): “No, I’ve been running the mile the last few years, but now I’m moving up to the 3k and 5k.”
(I can predict the next question every time)
Person: “So how fast can you run a mile?”

There it is- the dreaded question. I now know that I have backed myself into a corner enough to where there is no escape. I have two options- try to sidestep the question or tell the truth. I choose the former.

Me: “Well, do we want to include altitude-converted times or not?” I’m hoping that by evading the direct question by bringing up a topic many people don’t know about, I can burn enough time to actually save myself. Usually this doesn’t work, because people don’t care about conversions; they just want to know the answer. We parse back and forth, but eventually it gets back to:

Person: “So how fast can you run a mile?” Checkmate. I brace myself and quickly stammer out:
Me: “Well I’ve run 4:09 at sea level.”

WWWHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTT. Are you serious? I don’t think I could break 8 minutes in the mile right now!

Or

I don’t even think I can drive that fast! Hahahaha

I sit there, turning red. I try to explain how this time is still a full 10 seconds above what I would need to run to even be considered a threat on a stage bigger than the Midwest, but it's too late. I’ve had this conversation plenty of times, and it all jumps back to the fact that everybody had to the run the mile in school growing up. This is a special distance that Americans can relate to, because most people have some sort of an idea how fast their mile time was, and how far a mile is anyway. We speak in terms of miles when driving, for example. This is such an insecure topic for me, because many people find it abnormal.

In many sports, athletes put in BIG hours. Nobody is surprised when the athlete shows up wearing workout sweats with the complementary ice bag, because it is assumed that they just got done with a long practice. Many people even remember those days themselves. Well, 3 hours of practice isn’t that big of a deal, they’ll say, because back when I was in high school etc etc. People can relate with long, hard practices. Many people know about drills, weightlifting, locker room banter, and teammate bonding, and so it’s a lot easier for them to understand the life of that athlete. I have never encountered that sort of understand from a random person.

When I try to describe my training to someone who doesn’t run competitively or didn’t run competitively, I usually don’t get an understanding nod with an interjecting ‘when I was in high school’, but rather wide, speculative eyes. When I say I’m running around 75-80 miles a week, people ask why I would even want to do that. When I tell them about the workout I just finished, they say that’s crazy. When I tell them my races times, they simply shake their heads and remember how much they hate running. I think this is the reason I’ve started spending more time reading about professional and high-level college runners on running websites. There, people talk about training with the full understanding that if you’re reading it or listening to it, you probably care.

What carves away at me the most though, is when people believe that I don’t care about their training or racing because I’m faster. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been talking to someone and they are telling me about some aspect of their training, and they eventually say, “but you probably don’t care about any of this”. It’s almost offensive in a way, because I put all of this time and effort into training, and when I’m listening to somebody share their experiences, they all of a sudden feel like they aren’t good enough. I love listening to people talk about these things, because I personally know how hard it is to find someone who will just listen to you talk about your training without getting googley-eyed. I enjoy listening to my little brother talk about his high school training, because maybe he doesn’t get to do that often. (completely unrelated, not in any way associated with my little brother’s high school team sidenote: if you’re a high school coach and a bunch of your athletes have shin splits and are exhausted from your training, you’re probably overtraining them. If they don’t run well at a meet, don’t make them run more in practice the next week)

So what am I getting at? Well, the insecurity I’m writing about this time is the fear I have of discussing my training with people who don’t run or train. The reactions I get from people, either non-caring or astounded, are actually disheartening. It’s refreshing to have someone who I can sit down with and talk training without expecting some crazy reaction. Maybe this post sounds really whiny, and maybe I sound like a high-and-might type that’s a little out of touch with reality, but the words I write are still true. My thesis is this: Be excited to talk about your passions without fear, and be equally excited to listen to others talk about their passions without fear. Not only will you learn a lot from each other, but you might have a reignition in your passion because of seeing a friend chase theirs. I get a fire burning in my soul whenever I talk about my passions, and I’m willing to bet you do too. Just let it out; I promise it’ll feel dang good. 

Blessings,

Nate

Insecurities #3- Comparison

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 3.

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Have you ever tied your self-worth to a meaningless statistic? I have.

There was about a time frame of almost two years in which I didn't have a facebook account. I had been using it often, but I decided to take a break and deactivate it for awhile. I had noticed a disturbing trend in which I would connect my feelings about a topic with how many likes or comments I could get on a post about it. If a post wasn't garnering much attention, I would delete it. If it was only getting a few likes, I would sit embarrassed, especially when compared to friends who were racking up hundreds of likes simply because they loved their cat or something. On the flip side, I would puff out my chest in pride if I had a bunch of likes, because not only were other people validating how awesome I believed my posts to be, but they must have marveled at my popularity. Well this was completely and utterly unhealthy, so I got rid of it and prayed for a time. The end result was that when I finally did get my facebook back, I noticed that my posts were different. I was trying to uplift others, and not myself; it no longer mattered what the blue likes bar said or how big the red number in the top right corner of the screen was. It felt...good!

As a math guy, I'm a big fan of numbers. I can analyze a group of numbers in more ways than I'd like to admit, and running is much the same. I can memorize a list of someone's personal bests and times they've ran that season. I can recall my times from years previous, who I raced, what their times were, and what they eventually ran later. In fact, I have a memory from high school when I was talking to a teammate about a time he ran, and I was a little taken aback at the fact that he didn't know what race I was talking about- it really wasn't that important to him. Actually, I've found many people don't live and die on times.

I do.

Now again this isn't healthy. I've defined myself by my times. I routinely check my profile on undsports.com or my tfrrs.org page and wonder inwardly what people think of me when they see my times. Do they think I'm a scrub? Do they think of me as competition? Do they think of me as an unattainable goal? It literally consumes me. I see people at meets and my brain wants to think of them in terms of their times, not their personality. I might be talking to teammates about another runner, and if they say 'who is that?', I might respond with 'well, he's the guy that ran X time in Y race'. There has been times where I've been able to run a significant PR (personal record), and I feel a burden lifted simply because people won't think I'm slower than I actually am. It's pathetic. It reminds me of fantasy sports, in which the main goal is to depersonalize athletes in order to see them as statistics in order to accomplish your goal. I see other runners as their best times in order to judge my ability to race them.

One of my favorite professional athletes is Sara Hall. She is currently a long distance runner trying to make the U.S. Rio Olympic Team in the marathon, and she just this last weekend took 2nd place at the U.S. Road 12k Championships behind unarguably the best female distance runner in America right now, Molly Huddle. Sara and her husband, US half-marathon and marathon record holder Ryan Hall, talk often about the 'comparison trap'. The main idea behind this is that we get so caught up in comparing ourselves to others that we fail to see the joy in simply being at peace with our own performances. Who cares if somebody is better or worse than you? The best you can do is to do your best, not someone else's best. It's so easy to let our minds be dominated by the stats of other runners and how we stack up against the group, but in reality it doesn't matter. We need to take joy from what we do and compete at our best at all times. If we beat someone, great! If not, it's not the end of the world.

As I've mentioned in a previous blog post, I've started doing something that is both uncomfortable to me and to most college runners: approaching people on other teams and trying to get to know them. It sounds crazy, but I've come to enjoy it A LOT. The more I get to know another runner on a personal level, the more I find myself cheering for them, and the less I find myself stuck in comparison. I see other college guys chasing some of the same dreams as I am, and with their hearts set on working hard to get there. Suddenly it doesn't matter to me how fast they were at some meet hundreds of miles from where I am at a place I've never been to. Sure, seeing people run well motivates me to train hard, but I don't run a workout envisioning my rival right in front of me, sucking air as I confidently pass them down the final stretch, victoriously stretching out my arms to receive the reception from the crowd at my triumph. No, that was the old me. The new me loves what I do, not what others do.

My last point is the worst of all comparison but perhaps the most common: comparison among teammates. It is my firmly-held belief that we have all done this at some point whether we've been an athlete or not. We've compared test scores and been jealous of a classmate getting a better grade; we've compared jobs, some getting higher pay than others; we've compared stats, some teammates clearly doing better than ourselves. I will never forget the time a teammate that I trained and raced with looked me in the face and told me that it really bothered him when I beat him in a race. That's not what running is about. If we worry about teammates beating us, we miss the joy of being able to race and train at all! I know that there is pressure to make travel squads, conference teams, etc, but the moment you make a teammate into your competition, you've lost. Teammates can push each other towards new heights, but not fight each other about who gets there first, or who gets the best view at the top.

So this is my worst insecurity. I am every day fighting off the urge to compare myself to others. I instead try to live in joy and try to remember the words of the famous passage from 1 Samuel 16:7, "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." What a world we would live in if we saw people's hearts rather than outward appearances. But we don't. So, instead I have to fight and pray to love people for who they are, not what their best 5k is in comparison to mine. We all should do the same.

Blessings,

Nate

Insecurities #2- Injury

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 2.

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Before the beginning of my senior year of track in high school, I found myself grinding out miles on a stationary bike while staring at a predictably bland-colored wall in the backrooms of West Fargo High School. I honestly can't even remember what the injury was, but I came into the season far less prepared than I wanted to be. My first individual race came at the Bison Sports Arena in Fargo (an indoor track that isn't used for indoor track anymore), and I was able to stick with the leaders for a little bit, but my lack of strength caught up with me and I tanked the second half of the race, finishing with a disappointing place and time. It was devastating. I had aspirations of being a conference champion, and here I was sucking wind against guys who I had beaten before. My coach, fine-tuned to high school athletes in a way I have yet to ever see bested, assured me that I would be fine once I got back into shape, and furthermore that it wouldn't take as much time as I thought. His words attempted to lift me out of a pit and set me someplace that I could see clearer and breathe easier. Well, the short version of the story is that two weeks later at the same place and running the same distance against the same competition, I won a convincing victory at the indoor conference meet with a time that even surprised me. My first injury had been endured.

As luck would have it, the week leading up to the outdoor conference meet that same year, I found myself in the empty hallways of my school, head resting against a locker, sadness pulsing through my body. I had sustained a small strain in my calf a few days before, and it was the day of conference and I wasn't 100% healthy. I had been stretching and foam-rolling (well, I was using a rolling pin my parents borrowed me, isn't that a North Dakota family for ya?), but to no avail. When nobody was looking, I would bounce on my toes a few times to see if the pain had completely subsided. Nope. We were hosting conference, so I sought refuge in the school, where I continued to stretch and try jogging to see if the pain would go away. Nope. My races that day were terrible by my standards.

Less than a year later I found myself sitting on the floor of the UND locker room, stretching after another boring pool session, wondering what I was doing with my life. After getting handily beaten in all my cross country and track races, I sustained another injury, and this time I was told it was simply because I was weak and inflexible basically everywhere: hips, quads, back, etc...It was tearing me apart. I recall writing in my math notes one day: "Where would you be right now if not for running?" The question teased me for weeks. Did I really have a place running for a university when my body continually gave up on me? Could I not be doing much more good someplace else? I was still doing that thing where when nobody was looking, I would try jumping or jogging slowly to see if the pain had gone away. Nope. (By the way, I know that other athletes do that too- torment themselves by constantly testing their injuries when they KNOW it's not going to be healed, but they hang on to some sort of false hope. When they realize it still hurts, it only adds to the mental pain)

But then I became healthy enough to run a couple laps as part of my rehab exercises. It was only a few laps, but it was a huge mental relief for me. I literally felt the weight lift off my shoulders. You know, an injured athlete is quite an interesting creature. Sports and training are what they know, and teammates/training partners are their social groups; both of those disappear with injuries. The athlete is no longer in the 'in' group and likely doesn't understand inside jokes among teammates anymore. Their method of exercise and physical well-being is taken away from them, and they can torment themselves in many ways. Their appetite will lessen, their sleep patterns won't be as fluid, and their head will be filled with questions that had never taken hold there. It's especially worse for scholarship athletes, because those signed papers represent something that can't necessarily be filled when injured, and that can contribute to the helplessness they feel. For me, the worst is when I'm injured but go to a meet to cheer on my teammates. I get to field questions about why I'm not racing, and simply walking around in street clothes is enough to make me feel like everybody is looking at me, knowing. Sometimes it makes me just want to leave, because I feel so uncomfortable. I hear the gun go off at the beginning of every race, and a part of me simply dies. That could be me on the track.

Soon I was running more and more, and I even did some workouts. Unfortunately for me, I came back too quickly and re-injured the same spot, but I wasn't crushed as bad this time: I had remembered the joy of hobbling around the track when I had been waiting in want for months. The oft-quoted cliche held true: I didn't really know what I had until it was gone. Injuries can be a source of increasing sadness and discontent. Separation from team, long and grueling rehab exercises, and an unchanging full-time class load are all weighing down heavily on the athlete. The athlete may watch teammates perform outstanding, and have trouble being truly happy for them, because it was their absence that created the void for the teammates performance to even happen. But all that is wiped away when the sport can be experienced again. The joy of reliving the dreams of your past weeks can overcome any previous sadness. Being able to smile with teammates again is a truly wonderful thing.

I have still had other injuries in college, and each time I feel the same way: my world around me seems to crash down and crush my body with it. Smiling becomes harder, and joy becomes less. But I have gotten better over time. I now recognize injuries to be a blessing in disguise. Nothing in athletics can refocus your attention quite like having athletics taken away for awhile. You get to go back to the basics and start loving the game/sport again. In fact, I've started considering myself a lucky person to have had as many injuries as I've had, because every time I learn from it. I learn how to take care of my body in a new way, I learn something about training I had never thought about, and I learn how to endure seeing opponents crush out fast times while I watch. I've even learned how to be truly happy for teammate's success while I cannot run.

Above all, I have a solid foundation. With each passing year I realize how important it is to have a base in my life that isn't running or anything else. I have learned from reading the Bible how unimportant individual success is, and how important loving others and being there for their success is. My life isn't fully invested in running, and it does not serve as an idol for me, because I recognize that the most important part of life is to serve and live and Jesus did. In my most recent injury, it bothered me for a couple hours, but after that I said 'you know what, I know that God has a plan, and good can eventually result from this, whatever that may be'.

Injuries have always been a major stress for me, because it takes away something rapidly becoming an idol and forces me to refocus. It hurts mental and physically, and it truly tears some people apart, but if you keep the big picture in mind, you can actually thrive through them. Don't ever let your self-worth be tied to your success that depends on you staying healthy. Self-worth comes from knowing that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Blessings,

Nate