The good days can never fully be appreciated without the bad days. And the bad days are necessary for learning.
This has been the summer of the trail. It's been a series of calculated misadventures and mishaps. When you're off in uncharted territory, you're bound to make mistakes along the way.
Over the last month, I've experimented with some longer-than-usual runs, some epic-mountain passes, and some total busts. A two-hour run used to be a "long day." Though, I've now successfully changed the definition for myself. Two hours of running is just another day. And it no longer prompts an intense nap of similar time.
In these experiments, I've bonked nearly every time save one long run — a 28 miler in and around Gunnison that spanned a dry and hot morning. In an attempt to try new things and find what works, I even took a brief pit-stop and chugged a Pepsi. Ironically enough, it went down like water. But what I've learned (through trial-and-error), is that when you're running for hours (and hours), anything will burn, and everything tastes good.
Along with nearly doubling the length of my long runs, I tested my ascent/descent skills last weekend in Crested Butte at the 31st annual Grin and Bear It trail race. It's a mostly single-track course that leaves town at 8,900 feet and climbs nearly 1,700 vertical feet to Green Lake at 10,600 feet over the span of 4.3 miles before turning around and scorching back down to Crested Butte.
The insane views of course are entirely lost upon the competitor, as you're too focused on forward-momentum than the treeless mountain-tops that still hide snowy crevasses. Despite the extreme lack of oxygen, I made sure to take a few glimpses of my surroundings, which undoubtedly caused my good day to turn bad.
(This is where the whole "bad days" things comes into play.)
The day was going rather well — at first. I was sitting in second on the initial climb up the steep sides of Mount Axtel, just seconds behind the leader. Feeling good and patiently biding my time until the ascent — which I figure to be my strength — I fell into a rhythmic stride of low-gear running; survival running.
But as it would be, my lack of technical-running skills and desire to occasionally lift my eyes from the sketchy trails and catch a brief glimpse of the mountains around me caused not one, not two, but three awkward spills. The first two were more "roll-overs" that didn't kill momentum much, but they did cause my glasses (Trail rule #1: Don't wear glasses - I'm out of contacts!) to leap from my face, prompting a half-blind search along the rocks and roots before finding them and popping up in a impatient sprint. The third fall was much more of a "bust." Over rocks and down nearly 10-feet, I rolled, slid, and eventually came to a stop on my back somehow. With blood gushing from my knee, bruised down my legs and back, and all momentum lost, I actually considered throwing in the towel this time.
But I couldn't.
I'll admit — it took several minutes of walking and hobbling before my knee felt okay enough to run on, and my useless goals had melted away. Expectations always create definitive results, and sometimes — most times — you really just need to throw any of those away and just run.
With the win clearly out of my scope now, I realized that I was still in second place. The three falls forced an insane amount of caution over the sketchy trail sections over the remaining three miles, but on the softer, more-suitable-for-running sections, I was able to open up and run.
Knowing that the pain would come rushing back once I finished, and probably last for days, I resolved to the "screw it" mind-set, and just hammered.
Like some of my experimental long runs in previous months — the ones where I'd bonk hard after two hours and finish starving and with enough salt on my arms chest to add flavor a spicy flavor to rice — I learned something.
In life, as in races, when the going gets tough, oh well. There's no cop-out. You just endure. You can't run away from a loss, you can't run away from a bad day. You simply have to get back up and keep plugging away, at however slow and enduring a pace.
Granted, just about everything that could've gone wrong almost did, I still managed a second-place finish, and experienced what it was like to attempt to race up a mountain at high altitudes along single-track and sprint back down. The lesson here (among the many): Don't look around, and LIFT YOUR KNEES!
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Confessions of a Rookie Trail-Runner
Was it the best idea? Probably not. Was it certifiably insane? Not fully. Was it the right thing to do? Perhaps. Was it enjoyable? Hell yeah!
Racing a distance that you're fairly under-trained for has it's perks. Like approaching the race with extreme amounts of naivety for example. Such recklessness typically garners one of two outcomes: you either endure an embarrassing bonk of epic proportions, or you emerge out of the ashes with some samples of victory, whether physical, emotional, or mental.
Either way, by the end of the race you're bound to know something about yourself; you're an idiot, or you're on to something.
At least this is how I'm looking at my intro in to trail-running.
Several weeks ago I signed up for and raced my first trail race, which also happened to be the longest distance I've competed in since 2009. Despite the fact that I hadn't finished a run over 1hr 45min in months, and despite the fact that I hadn't run workouts or even run over 40 miles a week in well over a year, I decided to dive into the deep end of the pool with hopes of swimming.
It was the Sage Burner Trail Race— a mostly single-track trail for "25k" at elevations just over 8,000 feet. With undulating terrain (3,000ft + worth of elevation gains) and mountainous views, it was sure to be a real burner.
Just to make a few thing clear, I wasn't entirely ignorant in this pursuit. I had run the last few miles of the course fairly regularly for the month prior the race, so I knew what was coming. Though one thing I did entirely under-estimate was my inability to run technical trails.
On the more difficult (rocky, uneven slopes etc.) I nearly stumbled to a walk in attempts to escape the race unscathed. First and foremost, I wanted to finish the race, and hopefully without busting or bringing any physical bruises or scars back home with me.
This of course meant I was probably moving at rates much slower then competitors twice my age (I did get passed quite a bit early on during these dicey sections). At times, I'd estimate my speed at over 12 minute miles. Though, I made up for it on the less-technical sections of the course, where I'd let loose and let my legs fall into a much more familiar clip, around 5:30 mile pace.
The track-runner/road-runner in me enjoyed these brief moments of opening up my stride to a much quicker pace. And ironically enough, the race itself felt more like a fartleck, which was a workout I'd grown familiar with over the years. Some sections you'd fly at paces more in-tune to shorter distances, other sections you baby-step your way forward just to keep the momentum rolling.
Either way, it was fun. Plain and simple.
Another (among the many) "lessons learned" included hydration. It was my first "cup-less" race as well, which meant that you'd have to either A) bring your own fluids, or B) put your head under the coolers at the aid-station.
After blowing by the first two aid-stations, I was nearing the expected "bonk" by 11 miles. I hadn't consumed any sort of nutrients — not even water. By the third aid-station, I decided to put my head under the cooler and get some electrolyte-heavy fluids all over my face. This of course made for an interesting final four miles, which not only included some beastly climbs, but also the challenge of enduring the discomfort of running with the sticky drink that I spilled on my face and all over my arm.
My patience and course-knowledge eventually paid off, and I was able to bring a lot of runners back. Despite my extreme lack of aerobic-fitness, the pure joy of winding along the trails and occasionally bringing my eyes up to check out the scenery kept things interesting enough for me to continue plugging away.
I finished fourth, against some solid competition. The run totaled 2hr 4min, which incidentally was my longest run in over a year, so I was pumped just to survive.
So I didn't bonk. Didn't bust. Didn't puke.
I did, however, have a great time, and the itch to enter more trail races has only become more prevalent. Now I find myself looking to other crazy challenges to test out. Distances under my longest (26.2) don't seem as appealing anymore. And the terrain — can we get some more single-track trails over mountain passes?
With a few more months worth of aerobic-building and some honing of the technical-running skills, the ceiling can only be raised from here.
If there's any "lesson-learned" that I can use to sum up the experience, it'd be that sometimes you have to do what appears irrational, insane, and obviously a bad idea, just to know where you stand.
If you're not pushing the limit, they what are you doing?
Racing a distance that you're fairly under-trained for has it's perks. Like approaching the race with extreme amounts of naivety for example. Such recklessness typically garners one of two outcomes: you either endure an embarrassing bonk of epic proportions, or you emerge out of the ashes with some samples of victory, whether physical, emotional, or mental.
Either way, by the end of the race you're bound to know something about yourself; you're an idiot, or you're on to something.
At least this is how I'm looking at my intro in to trail-running.
Several weeks ago I signed up for and raced my first trail race, which also happened to be the longest distance I've competed in since 2009. Despite the fact that I hadn't finished a run over 1hr 45min in months, and despite the fact that I hadn't run workouts or even run over 40 miles a week in well over a year, I decided to dive into the deep end of the pool with hopes of swimming.
It was the Sage Burner Trail Race— a mostly single-track trail for "25k" at elevations just over 8,000 feet. With undulating terrain (3,000ft + worth of elevation gains) and mountainous views, it was sure to be a real burner.
Just to make a few thing clear, I wasn't entirely ignorant in this pursuit. I had run the last few miles of the course fairly regularly for the month prior the race, so I knew what was coming. Though one thing I did entirely under-estimate was my inability to run technical trails.
photo credit: Will Shoemaker
On the more difficult (rocky, uneven slopes etc.) I nearly stumbled to a walk in attempts to escape the race unscathed. First and foremost, I wanted to finish the race, and hopefully without busting or bringing any physical bruises or scars back home with me.
This of course meant I was probably moving at rates much slower then competitors twice my age (I did get passed quite a bit early on during these dicey sections). At times, I'd estimate my speed at over 12 minute miles. Though, I made up for it on the less-technical sections of the course, where I'd let loose and let my legs fall into a much more familiar clip, around 5:30 mile pace.
photo credit: Gregg Morin
The track-runner/road-runner in me enjoyed these brief moments of opening up my stride to a much quicker pace. And ironically enough, the race itself felt more like a fartleck, which was a workout I'd grown familiar with over the years. Some sections you'd fly at paces more in-tune to shorter distances, other sections you baby-step your way forward just to keep the momentum rolling.
Either way, it was fun. Plain and simple.
Another (among the many) "lessons learned" included hydration. It was my first "cup-less" race as well, which meant that you'd have to either A) bring your own fluids, or B) put your head under the coolers at the aid-station.
After blowing by the first two aid-stations, I was nearing the expected "bonk" by 11 miles. I hadn't consumed any sort of nutrients — not even water. By the third aid-station, I decided to put my head under the cooler and get some electrolyte-heavy fluids all over my face. This of course made for an interesting final four miles, which not only included some beastly climbs, but also the challenge of enduring the discomfort of running with the sticky drink that I spilled on my face and all over my arm.
My patience and course-knowledge eventually paid off, and I was able to bring a lot of runners back. Despite my extreme lack of aerobic-fitness, the pure joy of winding along the trails and occasionally bringing my eyes up to check out the scenery kept things interesting enough for me to continue plugging away.
I finished fourth, against some solid competition. The run totaled 2hr 4min, which incidentally was my longest run in over a year, so I was pumped just to survive.
So I didn't bonk. Didn't bust. Didn't puke.
I did, however, have a great time, and the itch to enter more trail races has only become more prevalent. Now I find myself looking to other crazy challenges to test out. Distances under my longest (26.2) don't seem as appealing anymore. And the terrain — can we get some more single-track trails over mountain passes?
With a few more months worth of aerobic-building and some honing of the technical-running skills, the ceiling can only be raised from here.
If there's any "lesson-learned" that I can use to sum up the experience, it'd be that sometimes you have to do what appears irrational, insane, and obviously a bad idea, just to know where you stand.
If you're not pushing the limit, they what are you doing?
Friday, May 9, 2014
Escaping March
If there's any certainty, it's that time is consistently flowing. No matter how much you want things to remain the same, or at least stall, it's hopeless. You'll always be moving - forward.
This thought came to me a few days ago as I was cruising down a gradual single-track trail called "Broken Shovel at Hartman Rocks in Gunnison, Colorado - my new home (I'll come back to this later).The trail is soft and descends among the vast sage from south to north.
Like a mountain-biker, I run wide on the banked turns and shift through my stride like a race-car driver. In the distance, Carbon Peak is visible to the north, and the southwest has snow-capped views of the San Juan Mountains. I'll skip the history lesson for the time being, though words and pictures really can't capture the natural beauty of the landscape in the Gunnison Country. It's something that can only be experienced.
So you'll find these words as just a teaser.
Needless to say, and back to my point, I was enjoying yet another day running under the sun.
The physical aspect of running has been challenging over the last year, though the motivation is currently speeding towards an all-time high. I'll credit my picturesque surroundings. In recent months I've had to abandon any speed-oriented track work, which explains why I've taken to the trails.
Like most aging-tracksters, the question always is: when is it time to "Move Up?" Now, I'll go ahead and tip the hat at BRC/Adidas teammate Alisha Williams for prompting this blog entry. Her entry from several days ago (found: here) spurred the idea in my head - or more specifically, it gave direction to the nonsense that usually floats around up there.
I've been battling this thought for quite a while now, and only recently has an answer been visible. At last year's Mt. SAC Relays (against common sense), I spiked up despite months of achilles issues. Having worn spikes for track 10k's in the past, I thought nothing of it. The result of such recklessness however, would have a lasting affect.
I spent the next two weeks after the race hobbling around - not running. Walking was painful. I resembled an old man without a cane, awkwardly shuffling his way across the street to get coffee. Curious onlookers probably assumed I was adjusting to a new prosthetic leg. Surely, a 28-year-old man had no other valid reason for hobbling with such stiffness.
This was the beginning of a years worth of "40ish" miles per week of running. Notice the quotations around "40"; some weeks were much less. Anything more and the rebellious achilles would return for another round of battles.
Rehab didn't seem to alleviate much of the pain. Nor would complete rest. It appeared that if I wanted to continue training at all, it would have to be in a constant state of screaming pain gravitating from my heel. The only real differences from a day to day basis was how much screaming was going on.
This of course raises the question (circling back to Alisha's blog post) of when to 'hang them up'. It's crossed my mind - multiple times. When you're in a perpetual state of injury, it's hard not to say 'screw it' (edited version) and resort to sleeping in, eating unhealthy amounts of buffalo wings, and staying up late to watch episodes of Cougartown with a 1-poind bag of gummie-bears.
Without a boot, or a doctors positive result of some serious injury, it's hard to find that middle ground. Some days, I felt that a fracture of sorts would at least allow an exhale. You can't do anything about that except wait it out.
But a nagging achilles injury that varies in pain from day to day is always getting your hopes up. It's the physical equivalent to the month of March. Some days are warm. Some days are cold. It could still dump a foot of snow. Or it could be 70 degrees and sunny.
A fracture would be January. It's always cold. And it's always snowing.
Over the span of the last few months I've had my high moments of staging a "Ali"-style comeback on the running world. And I've had my moments of just quietly hanging them up for good and walking away from competitive running. But then something happened.
Spring in the Gunnison Country.
For you outsiders, I'm sure this rounds ridiculous. But if you've never been to Gunnison in the Spring (or the Summer), it'll be hard to understand. With the sun out, the trails dry, and the sky blue, it's hard not to want to be outside.
I took to the track in attempts to whip myself back into shape. And with every toe-off between the white lanes, the raging battle with my achilles ensued. This just wasn't going to work.
Not this way at least.
With the return of a competitive fire, I've been forced to get creative with training. Somehow, someway, trail running presented itself as the answer. And it does help that I've got the most beautiful trails I've ever run on at my disposal. Now, don't be mistaken, I'm not fleeing the roads and track. This is just a current mode of training. For whatever reason, my achilles seems to prefer the soft, uneven trails over the track, or the roads. Which makes some sense, in an uncommon sort of way.
So here I find myself, tapping lightly on the dusty trails with mountainous views. Change has been inevitable. And with each passing day we're only getting older.
I've come to the conclusion that the battles with my achilles isn't an indicator that I'm nearing my physical limits, it just means I've got to get creative and try alternate ways to get something done. Because when there's still passion, you don't give up, you just try another route. It's important to continue flowing with the current.
I'll admit, I've always had an itch to take to the trails and traverse high mountain-passes. And the current seems to be taking me there.
I might be scratching that itch soon...
This thought came to me a few days ago as I was cruising down a gradual single-track trail called "Broken Shovel at Hartman Rocks in Gunnison, Colorado - my new home (I'll come back to this later).The trail is soft and descends among the vast sage from south to north.
Like a mountain-biker, I run wide on the banked turns and shift through my stride like a race-car driver. In the distance, Carbon Peak is visible to the north, and the southwest has snow-capped views of the San Juan Mountains. I'll skip the history lesson for the time being, though words and pictures really can't capture the natural beauty of the landscape in the Gunnison Country. It's something that can only be experienced.
So you'll find these words as just a teaser.
Needless to say, and back to my point, I was enjoying yet another day running under the sun.
The physical aspect of running has been challenging over the last year, though the motivation is currently speeding towards an all-time high. I'll credit my picturesque surroundings. In recent months I've had to abandon any speed-oriented track work, which explains why I've taken to the trails.
Like most aging-tracksters, the question always is: when is it time to "Move Up?" Now, I'll go ahead and tip the hat at BRC/Adidas teammate Alisha Williams for prompting this blog entry. Her entry from several days ago (found: here) spurred the idea in my head - or more specifically, it gave direction to the nonsense that usually floats around up there.
I've been battling this thought for quite a while now, and only recently has an answer been visible. At last year's Mt. SAC Relays (against common sense), I spiked up despite months of achilles issues. Having worn spikes for track 10k's in the past, I thought nothing of it. The result of such recklessness however, would have a lasting affect.
I spent the next two weeks after the race hobbling around - not running. Walking was painful. I resembled an old man without a cane, awkwardly shuffling his way across the street to get coffee. Curious onlookers probably assumed I was adjusting to a new prosthetic leg. Surely, a 28-year-old man had no other valid reason for hobbling with such stiffness.
This was the beginning of a years worth of "40ish" miles per week of running. Notice the quotations around "40"; some weeks were much less. Anything more and the rebellious achilles would return for another round of battles.
Rehab didn't seem to alleviate much of the pain. Nor would complete rest. It appeared that if I wanted to continue training at all, it would have to be in a constant state of screaming pain gravitating from my heel. The only real differences from a day to day basis was how much screaming was going on.
This of course raises the question (circling back to Alisha's blog post) of when to 'hang them up'. It's crossed my mind - multiple times. When you're in a perpetual state of injury, it's hard not to say 'screw it' (edited version) and resort to sleeping in, eating unhealthy amounts of buffalo wings, and staying up late to watch episodes of Cougartown with a 1-poind bag of gummie-bears.
Without a boot, or a doctors positive result of some serious injury, it's hard to find that middle ground. Some days, I felt that a fracture of sorts would at least allow an exhale. You can't do anything about that except wait it out.
But a nagging achilles injury that varies in pain from day to day is always getting your hopes up. It's the physical equivalent to the month of March. Some days are warm. Some days are cold. It could still dump a foot of snow. Or it could be 70 degrees and sunny.
A fracture would be January. It's always cold. And it's always snowing.
Over the span of the last few months I've had my high moments of staging a "Ali"-style comeback on the running world. And I've had my moments of just quietly hanging them up for good and walking away from competitive running. But then something happened.
Spring in the Gunnison Country.
For you outsiders, I'm sure this rounds ridiculous. But if you've never been to Gunnison in the Spring (or the Summer), it'll be hard to understand. With the sun out, the trails dry, and the sky blue, it's hard not to want to be outside.
I took to the track in attempts to whip myself back into shape. And with every toe-off between the white lanes, the raging battle with my achilles ensued. This just wasn't going to work.
Not this way at least.
With the return of a competitive fire, I've been forced to get creative with training. Somehow, someway, trail running presented itself as the answer. And it does help that I've got the most beautiful trails I've ever run on at my disposal. Now, don't be mistaken, I'm not fleeing the roads and track. This is just a current mode of training. For whatever reason, my achilles seems to prefer the soft, uneven trails over the track, or the roads. Which makes some sense, in an uncommon sort of way.
So here I find myself, tapping lightly on the dusty trails with mountainous views. Change has been inevitable. And with each passing day we're only getting older.
I've come to the conclusion that the battles with my achilles isn't an indicator that I'm nearing my physical limits, it just means I've got to get creative and try alternate ways to get something done. Because when there's still passion, you don't give up, you just try another route. It's important to continue flowing with the current.
I'll admit, I've always had an itch to take to the trails and traverse high mountain-passes. And the current seems to be taking me there.
I might be scratching that itch soon...
Friday, March 21, 2014
Decisions, Decisions.
Some say life happens to you, and that you're powerless to change a thing. The good things, and the bad things in your life are all part of some external "plan" that exists outside of you.
I'm sorry. But that's lazy.
That's like saying you shit your pants because nature is rebelling against you. You had no control. It just happened. It clearly had nothing to do with the can of chili and beans you ate for lunch. You didn't know your stomach would rebel and try to clean you out in this fashion. In fact, you didn't think about it at all. You just ate the can and licked it dry. It tasted so good, that's all that consumed your mind.
The consequences of your midday meal didn't occur to you. And they still don't. Despite the fact that you had to dive into the bushes and drop your pants as quickly as possible. But some times you can't get this done quick enough, and the flavor you've just added to your wardrobe isn't inviting.
And this happened, to you?
Call it rocket science, but eating chili and beans before a run is never a good idea. But that's not exactly my point here.
My point is Choice.
It's the decisions we make on a daily basis that are our own. If I shit my pants, it's because I made a bad decision on what to eat for lunch. There's no external factor here, and there really isn't anywhere else in life.
You can say you were dealt a band hand of cards, but lest not forget who decided to sit down at the table and play the game in the first place.
It's our own personal decisions that decide our fate, not the other way around. It's weak to think otherwise (that life happens to you)
The most successful people in the world, whether business tycoons, master inventors, or world class athletes all have one thing in common: They believe they decide their fate.
Their success is a personal choice that they alone make. They decide to believe they are capable of something. They decide that they will do something. Success didn't just fall in their lap as they opened there eyes to a welcome surprise. That's not how life works.
While the mediocre personalities of the world are sitting and waiting for their big break, the believers are busy making it happen.
Some people will forever be dreamers. And that's because they're too busy waiting for life to happen to them that they don't realize it just flew right by. While they're asleep, others are awake.
We create our own realities. Our perceptions of the world around us play a much larger role in our lives then anything external. It's an internal view that matters most. If you believe you can do something, you're more likely to do it compared to someone who's just waiting for something good to happen to them.
Life doesn't happen to you. You happen to life.
Life exists because you perceive it to be so. And with this, washes away the excuse that things you claim you're powerless to stop, happen to you.
When people quit making excuses about life happening to them, they'll finally step up and take credit for their current state.
Whether success, or failure, we are where we are, because we chose to be here.
It's a decision to impose your will on the world. And to not be some pathetic victim of your own perceptions.
If you get hit by a car while walking across the street, it's because you didn't look both ways. If you lose all your money in investments on Wall Street, it's because you decided to invest in the first place. If you fail Advanced Algebra, it's because you chose not to understand it.
You can't control the world around you, but you can control how you perceive it. And you can control your own decisions. Sure, you can be persuaded to do things you don't want to do - but you're deciding to be persuaded. Thinking otherwise is just the weakness of your own will. It's an excuse. It's lazy.
Life is a decision. You either enjoy where you are because you chose to be here, or you don't.
I'm sorry. But that's lazy.
That's like saying you shit your pants because nature is rebelling against you. You had no control. It just happened. It clearly had nothing to do with the can of chili and beans you ate for lunch. You didn't know your stomach would rebel and try to clean you out in this fashion. In fact, you didn't think about it at all. You just ate the can and licked it dry. It tasted so good, that's all that consumed your mind.
The consequences of your midday meal didn't occur to you. And they still don't. Despite the fact that you had to dive into the bushes and drop your pants as quickly as possible. But some times you can't get this done quick enough, and the flavor you've just added to your wardrobe isn't inviting.
And this happened, to you?
Call it rocket science, but eating chili and beans before a run is never a good idea. But that's not exactly my point here.
My point is Choice.
It's the decisions we make on a daily basis that are our own. If I shit my pants, it's because I made a bad decision on what to eat for lunch. There's no external factor here, and there really isn't anywhere else in life.
You can say you were dealt a band hand of cards, but lest not forget who decided to sit down at the table and play the game in the first place.
It's our own personal decisions that decide our fate, not the other way around. It's weak to think otherwise (that life happens to you)
The most successful people in the world, whether business tycoons, master inventors, or world class athletes all have one thing in common: They believe they decide their fate.
Their success is a personal choice that they alone make. They decide to believe they are capable of something. They decide that they will do something. Success didn't just fall in their lap as they opened there eyes to a welcome surprise. That's not how life works.
While the mediocre personalities of the world are sitting and waiting for their big break, the believers are busy making it happen.
Some people will forever be dreamers. And that's because they're too busy waiting for life to happen to them that they don't realize it just flew right by. While they're asleep, others are awake.
We create our own realities. Our perceptions of the world around us play a much larger role in our lives then anything external. It's an internal view that matters most. If you believe you can do something, you're more likely to do it compared to someone who's just waiting for something good to happen to them.
Life doesn't happen to you. You happen to life.
Life exists because you perceive it to be so. And with this, washes away the excuse that things you claim you're powerless to stop, happen to you.
When people quit making excuses about life happening to them, they'll finally step up and take credit for their current state.
Whether success, or failure, we are where we are, because we chose to be here.
It's a decision to impose your will on the world. And to not be some pathetic victim of your own perceptions.
If you get hit by a car while walking across the street, it's because you didn't look both ways. If you lose all your money in investments on Wall Street, it's because you decided to invest in the first place. If you fail Advanced Algebra, it's because you chose not to understand it.
You can't control the world around you, but you can control how you perceive it. And you can control your own decisions. Sure, you can be persuaded to do things you don't want to do - but you're deciding to be persuaded. Thinking otherwise is just the weakness of your own will. It's an excuse. It's lazy.
Life is a decision. You either enjoy where you are because you chose to be here, or you don't.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
The Journey of a Writer
It all started with a Facebook post.
Well, sort of. I'll go ahead and warn you ahead of time, this post will be unlike anything I've previously blogged about. This post will be about as real as I get here. I'll blame the New Year as reasoning for this sort of public reflection, but sometimes you have to look back to truly appreciate how far you've come. It's been a long year, full of many highs and lows, but mostly full of transition. There's been a longstanding tradition that on New Years Day you create resolutions, and if you're lucky, you'll see them out. This post is about my resolution for 2013.
To start, let's go a little further back.
When I was a pre-teen I lived in the suburbs of northern-Virginia. In 1996, the area was a hotbed for high school distance running. There were three guys (Shariff Karie, Eric Post, and Eric Kweder) who were national-calibur athletes. I remember watching Karie try multiple times to break the 4 minute mile (unsuccessfully). A sportswriter by the name of Pearl Watts wrote vivid descriptions of the races. Despite the fact that I was usually there, slapping hands with the winners at the end of the finishing shoot, his descriptions brought me into the the race. My mom would read his stories, and clip them out. His writing became the standard for my article-writing. Somewhere in his words, in one of his stories about some race, I wanted to do the same. I wanted to connect the reader to the story.
Around the same time, I had the opportunity to befriend a guy named Freddy Hall. We'd spend afternoons air-jamming in his living room, pretending to be rock stars. To spare you too many nostalgic moments, I'll skip ahead a bit. As it turned out, Freddy went on to become an awesome singer-songwriter in Brooklyn. Last year he launched his first album with his band: Freddy Hall & The Best Intentions The Wander Years. Knowing him over the years, watching him grow and his music progress, his career became a huge inspiration for me to do the same - in another genre: writing.
Several years ago Freddy was in Denver, touring with the Broadway-Off-Broadway musical Spring Awakening as a guitarist. When he was in town we had the chance to catch up. At the time, I was taking some writing classes at a local community college, attempting to find my voice. Though, I didn't like anything I wrote, and figured it all pretty much sucked - ironically, the thought still holds true with my writing to this day. I did what I could, but figured my writing would remain just a hobby. As it was, I had been writing off and on for years, but entirely in the private realm. Most people had no idea, and I preferred it that way. But, at this time in my life, much of my writing became a release. It was an outlet I could use to express inner thoughts, like music.
Freddy had many questions about my writing, and reminded me of our fictitious rock albums. After all, he's a writer himself; of lyrics and music. Before he left for another show, in another town, he bought me a journal - I joked the previous day that it was for "real writers" (of which I obviously did not consider myself at the time). Inspired, I spent the next few months filling its' pages, playing the role, but never fully bringing the ideas out of the journal. I'm almost embarrassed to the admit the inspiration eventually faded months later, and 75% of the journal remained blank for another two years.
Now, we're about up to January 1, 2013.
When you're really passionate about something, it never fully leaves your head. The flame may fade a bit from time to time, but it never fully blows out. This is pretty much what happened with my writing. After nearly two years of ignoring the words floating around in my head, I couldn't look the other way anymore. I knew it was something I had to try, otherwise I would always wonder what would have been - and I do not play the what-if game. So, I added a little weight to the goal of pursing my writing again. Rather than quietly try, then walk away, I decided to really swing for the fence, something I do from time to time when I really care.
Despite publishing only one fictional story in a small, literary journal at a community college I once attended (this almost doesn't count), I decided to take my shot at magazine writing. I was living and running in Boulder, Colo., one of the most prominent spots for distance running in the US. I met a variety of elite athletes, and immersed myself well within the running community. I finally came to the conclusion that this was the gold-mine I had been needing to find stories. This was really interesting stuff, and I was living in it. I didn't have to look far for stories, all I had to do was listen.
Enter: Fernando Cabada.
Cabada was a friend, and we had shared just a few miles on the roads. He was a enigmatic figure, with an insane amount of potential. Early on January 1, 2013, I saw a Facebook post by him. On this particular morning, I was nursing a hangover, but fully ready to dive into this pursuit. I wasn't looking for a story at the time, but I saw his post, with picture and workout splits from several hours early. I remember thinking, "What 20-something adult does a hard workout on New Years Day?" (A professional athlete is the correct answer).
Though, from what I had known about Cabada, he was the kind of person that lived in the moment, and enjoyed life to the fullest. (He once told me he had 7-beers the night before he set the American Record in the 30k). Staying in on New Years Eve to prepare for a workout was uncommon for him - at the time. I was impressed with the dedication to the his goals, and began researching his previous year. I noticed a trend: a change in approach, a newly minted dedication that included a variety of sacrifices on his part.
This is right around the time the lightbulb went off in my head. Here was a story worth telling, a man in transition.
Within days I was putting together an article proposal to send out to any major running publication. Like I mentioned early: Swing for the Fence. Having never published in any major (or minor) publication nationwide, I first sent it to Competitor Magazine. I figured I'd wait a few days, and if I heard nothing, or got denied, then I'd try a few other options.
Surprisingly, I wouldn't have to send it anywhere else. In an extreme act of faith, Senior Editor Mario Fraioli went with it. And just like that, I was contracted to write a 2,500 word article on the Evolution of Fernando Cabada for Competitor. It was my first real attempt at getting published, and my first attempt at even writing a sports article. The pace picked up from here.
The article released on Competitor.com in April, the week before the Boston Marathon. A few days later, ESPN ran the article on their site, and Cabada's story made the front page of letsrun.com (the most popular running-news website in the world). It was hard at this moment not to feel like I was on to something. I was convinced it wasn't a fluke, and was determined for it not to be.
I began looking all around me, searching for stories of challenge, stories of transition. Several months later I landed another story - this time for Colorado Runner Magazine. My own training partner (Tyler McCandless) graced the pages of my pen this time. With the emergence of Run.com, I was able to land a multiple stories on their site. Colorado is rich with distance runners, so the topics weren't hard to find, or track down.
By late fall, I began accumulating short stories that I had been privately writing on the side. These were much different from what I was publishing in the sports-world. In an attempt to mix some philosophy, theory, and social commentary, I created fictional stories of multiple dimensions. The rhythm of the pen just flows sometimes, and I found my voice by writing daily, and reading the works of others. I'll admit, the unfiltered grittiness of Chuck Palahniuk became a huge influence on these short stories. Eventually, I came to the natural decision to swing for the fence again, and create a collection of shorts stories and poems for publication. (Currently, Coffins & Cradles is in the manufacturing stage, and should be available for purchase mid-January). But this year-long story doesn't end there.
Somewhere in the midst of writing daily, and searching for stories, the desire to be a full-blown staff writer for a newspaper still lurked in my shadows of my mind. Connecting Reader to Story - consistently - was still a goal. I could do my best Pearl Watts impression occasionally as a freelancer, but a newspaper is a more consistent outlet. So, once again, I swung for the fence, and applied for a Sportswriter position in December 2013. Several interviews later, I accepted a staff writer position for the Gunnison Country Times. Just like that, 11 months after deciding to pursue writing, I made it a full-time gig.
And to think, with heavy eyes and a pounding headache, the year started with a Facebook post.
Well, sort of. I'll go ahead and warn you ahead of time, this post will be unlike anything I've previously blogged about. This post will be about as real as I get here. I'll blame the New Year as reasoning for this sort of public reflection, but sometimes you have to look back to truly appreciate how far you've come. It's been a long year, full of many highs and lows, but mostly full of transition. There's been a longstanding tradition that on New Years Day you create resolutions, and if you're lucky, you'll see them out. This post is about my resolution for 2013.
To start, let's go a little further back.
When I was a pre-teen I lived in the suburbs of northern-Virginia. In 1996, the area was a hotbed for high school distance running. There were three guys (Shariff Karie, Eric Post, and Eric Kweder) who were national-calibur athletes. I remember watching Karie try multiple times to break the 4 minute mile (unsuccessfully). A sportswriter by the name of Pearl Watts wrote vivid descriptions of the races. Despite the fact that I was usually there, slapping hands with the winners at the end of the finishing shoot, his descriptions brought me into the the race. My mom would read his stories, and clip them out. His writing became the standard for my article-writing. Somewhere in his words, in one of his stories about some race, I wanted to do the same. I wanted to connect the reader to the story.
Around the same time, I had the opportunity to befriend a guy named Freddy Hall. We'd spend afternoons air-jamming in his living room, pretending to be rock stars. To spare you too many nostalgic moments, I'll skip ahead a bit. As it turned out, Freddy went on to become an awesome singer-songwriter in Brooklyn. Last year he launched his first album with his band: Freddy Hall & The Best Intentions The Wander Years. Knowing him over the years, watching him grow and his music progress, his career became a huge inspiration for me to do the same - in another genre: writing.
Several years ago Freddy was in Denver, touring with the Broadway-Off-Broadway musical Spring Awakening as a guitarist. When he was in town we had the chance to catch up. At the time, I was taking some writing classes at a local community college, attempting to find my voice. Though, I didn't like anything I wrote, and figured it all pretty much sucked - ironically, the thought still holds true with my writing to this day. I did what I could, but figured my writing would remain just a hobby. As it was, I had been writing off and on for years, but entirely in the private realm. Most people had no idea, and I preferred it that way. But, at this time in my life, much of my writing became a release. It was an outlet I could use to express inner thoughts, like music.
Freddy had many questions about my writing, and reminded me of our fictitious rock albums. After all, he's a writer himself; of lyrics and music. Before he left for another show, in another town, he bought me a journal - I joked the previous day that it was for "real writers" (of which I obviously did not consider myself at the time). Inspired, I spent the next few months filling its' pages, playing the role, but never fully bringing the ideas out of the journal. I'm almost embarrassed to the admit the inspiration eventually faded months later, and 75% of the journal remained blank for another two years.
Now, we're about up to January 1, 2013.
When you're really passionate about something, it never fully leaves your head. The flame may fade a bit from time to time, but it never fully blows out. This is pretty much what happened with my writing. After nearly two years of ignoring the words floating around in my head, I couldn't look the other way anymore. I knew it was something I had to try, otherwise I would always wonder what would have been - and I do not play the what-if game. So, I added a little weight to the goal of pursing my writing again. Rather than quietly try, then walk away, I decided to really swing for the fence, something I do from time to time when I really care.
Despite publishing only one fictional story in a small, literary journal at a community college I once attended (this almost doesn't count), I decided to take my shot at magazine writing. I was living and running in Boulder, Colo., one of the most prominent spots for distance running in the US. I met a variety of elite athletes, and immersed myself well within the running community. I finally came to the conclusion that this was the gold-mine I had been needing to find stories. This was really interesting stuff, and I was living in it. I didn't have to look far for stories, all I had to do was listen.
Enter: Fernando Cabada.
Cabada was a friend, and we had shared just a few miles on the roads. He was a enigmatic figure, with an insane amount of potential. Early on January 1, 2013, I saw a Facebook post by him. On this particular morning, I was nursing a hangover, but fully ready to dive into this pursuit. I wasn't looking for a story at the time, but I saw his post, with picture and workout splits from several hours early. I remember thinking, "What 20-something adult does a hard workout on New Years Day?" (A professional athlete is the correct answer).
Though, from what I had known about Cabada, he was the kind of person that lived in the moment, and enjoyed life to the fullest. (He once told me he had 7-beers the night before he set the American Record in the 30k). Staying in on New Years Eve to prepare for a workout was uncommon for him - at the time. I was impressed with the dedication to the his goals, and began researching his previous year. I noticed a trend: a change in approach, a newly minted dedication that included a variety of sacrifices on his part.
This is right around the time the lightbulb went off in my head. Here was a story worth telling, a man in transition.
Within days I was putting together an article proposal to send out to any major running publication. Like I mentioned early: Swing for the Fence. Having never published in any major (or minor) publication nationwide, I first sent it to Competitor Magazine. I figured I'd wait a few days, and if I heard nothing, or got denied, then I'd try a few other options.
Surprisingly, I wouldn't have to send it anywhere else. In an extreme act of faith, Senior Editor Mario Fraioli went with it. And just like that, I was contracted to write a 2,500 word article on the Evolution of Fernando Cabada for Competitor. It was my first real attempt at getting published, and my first attempt at even writing a sports article. The pace picked up from here.
The article released on Competitor.com in April, the week before the Boston Marathon. A few days later, ESPN ran the article on their site, and Cabada's story made the front page of letsrun.com (the most popular running-news website in the world). It was hard at this moment not to feel like I was on to something. I was convinced it wasn't a fluke, and was determined for it not to be.
I began looking all around me, searching for stories of challenge, stories of transition. Several months later I landed another story - this time for Colorado Runner Magazine. My own training partner (Tyler McCandless) graced the pages of my pen this time. With the emergence of Run.com, I was able to land a multiple stories on their site. Colorado is rich with distance runners, so the topics weren't hard to find, or track down.
By late fall, I began accumulating short stories that I had been privately writing on the side. These were much different from what I was publishing in the sports-world. In an attempt to mix some philosophy, theory, and social commentary, I created fictional stories of multiple dimensions. The rhythm of the pen just flows sometimes, and I found my voice by writing daily, and reading the works of others. I'll admit, the unfiltered grittiness of Chuck Palahniuk became a huge influence on these short stories. Eventually, I came to the natural decision to swing for the fence again, and create a collection of shorts stories and poems for publication. (Currently, Coffins & Cradles is in the manufacturing stage, and should be available for purchase mid-January). But this year-long story doesn't end there.
Somewhere in the midst of writing daily, and searching for stories, the desire to be a full-blown staff writer for a newspaper still lurked in my shadows of my mind. Connecting Reader to Story - consistently - was still a goal. I could do my best Pearl Watts impression occasionally as a freelancer, but a newspaper is a more consistent outlet. So, once again, I swung for the fence, and applied for a Sportswriter position in December 2013. Several interviews later, I accepted a staff writer position for the Gunnison Country Times. Just like that, 11 months after deciding to pursue writing, I made it a full-time gig.
And to think, with heavy eyes and a pounding headache, the year started with a Facebook post.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Coffins & Cradles : Dive
A Review of the short story Dive
from Coffins & Cradles
"The events and descriptions are bizarre"
"It's super well written in that the descriptions are so good, you can really see the story unfold"
- Shannon Payne
Reserve your copy of Coffins & Cradles TODAY
and find out what's being compared to Steven King, Chuck Palahniuk, and Edgar Allan Poe
Friday, December 6, 2013
Coffins & Cradles
Coming January 2014
Coffins & Cradles
Pre-Order TODAY
Contact me at bobby7reyes@yahoo.com for more information
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