ENDURANCE JUNKIE
Dear Diary, today I am depressed. I have injured my damn leg and I cannot run on it without breaking into tears like a boy without his bubble (cheap Travolta reference). And that is where I realized I am a junkie. I am a troubled, no-good, shiftless junkie, only my drug is endurance, not crack (but there is still time).
How does one become an endurance junkie? What am I really getting out of running and swimming and cycling to train for an event that may or may not take me on a 26.2-mile journey? What the hell am I running from? How did I go from running around the block to running around cities? Well, like all things in my life, it started out of misery and fatness and laziness. Yes, Cruzbomb was not always a mildly in-shape runner. He was once a 25-pounds-overweight, binge-drinking, three-times-a-day-fast-food-consuming, no-water-drinkin’, couch-potato-in-front-of-the-TV-sittin’ chaotic “loser.” Do you think “loser” might be stretching a little bit? Loser may be an understatement. Even as I kept letting out my pants to accommodate my ever-increasing waist size, and the occasional gas expulsion (farting to the layperson), I didn’t try to change one thing. And then it all happened.
Within a matter of a month, my life was turned upside-down. I broke up with a girl who I had been seeing for about three years, I was in a band that was also breaking up, I think I had a nervous breakdown, to name a few things. Then to top it all off I had what some have described as a catharsis. I suddenly started to feel everything that I had never dealt with before along with my newfound “losses” and developed a nice little case of insomnia, and possibly a rash, but that may have come from a dirty toilet at work, but we’ll skip that. I remember looking in the mirror in the bathroom, while crying mind you, and asking myself, “Which way are you gonna go from here?” I believe I had only two choices—to either drown myself in more of the same or reinvent myself, and fast. I chose the latter. Well, I chose the latter the next day. I finished up my 12-pack that night. Waste not, want not.
The next day I got some of my old running shoes out and decided to go for a run. I’m sure the shoes I used were past their prime. Why, if they had been a carton of milk, they would be cottage cheese now with a disturbing sense to the nostril area. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t put off reinventing myself one second more. I only ran around the block, but it felt horrible. After I did it, I laid down for a minute and then ran again. Then something amazing happened. The hangover that was also running in full force suddenly dissipated. I felt like maybe I was doing something right. Something else happened on that run too. I forgot about all the things that were making me depressed as hell. Sure, as soon as I stopped running and my adrenaline backed off, I remembered all those wretched troubles and started crying again. But I knew I had at least started to fight back.
Funny, it is, picking a fight with yourself. How do you declare a winner? It’s not like you can challenge yourself to a “loser-leave-town” kind of match. But I could make no mistake about it. I was in a fight with the Cruzbomb I had become. Later that day I made a list of things I had to change in my life. I figured the only way I could overcome the “loser” that I had become was to make drastic changes and now! I decided to give up eating red meat, not because I thought it was bad for me, but to keep myself from eating at fast-food joints. I loved me fast food burgers. Also, I was going to have to stop sleeping at least 10 hours a day, and sleeping in till 9:00 or 10:00 every day. I decided to start waking up at 6:00 and either going for a morning run or going to the gym. And finally, I decided I needed to cook for myself. By the next day, all these new changes were in place.
It wasn’t easy to implement any of these changes. There were some rough spots in trying to get up that early every morning. The way I did it was once my alarm went off I hopped right out of bed, or else I would never get up. And slowly along the way, I would falter and sleep in, but I would never let one day turn into two or three. The running came along slowly, and the getting to three miles on one run took forever, but once I did it, something miraculous happened. I was able to go from three to four to six to ten to 12 quite rapidly. Something in my body decided to accept what was going on and adapted to it instead of fighting me. I knew at this point I was winning the fight against myself. In fact, I was kicking my ass!
Fortunately for me, my goals were achieved quite rapidly once I put my mind to it. I lost 25 pounds within about three months, my body toned up quite nicely from the weight training at the gym, a new relationship with another woman was on the horizon and I still hadn’t eaten at a fast-food joint. Things were going good, and then my friend called. He said he wanted us to train to run the Chicago Marathon.
My friend was like me—new to distance running and trying to slim down. I thought this would be the ultimate goal. I mean, a few months ago, this was not even remotely possible. In fact, it may have been suicidal. Now it seemed possible. My friend and I went on the Internet and downloaded an 18-week training program. It required us to run a really long run (anywhere from 12 miles to 18) once a week along with other runs during the week. At first we had our doubts, but we stuck to this schedule and did not waver once. We were determined to believe.
After 18 weeks, we were on a flight to Chicago to attempt what we still thought was crazy. I mean, we were both very nervous. I mean, there was the possibility that we could not finish the marathon. I know it is just an achievement to attempt it, but there was a pressure we put on ourselves to complete our goal. Three days before the race, I came down with a fever. I was almost in tears. I knew how hard it was to feel normal again after being sick, and this was going to be the longest run of all. I kept putting an ice-cold towel on my head at night and took in as much medicine as I could. The day before the race came and we had to go to the race expo to pick up our race numbers, and I was still feeling a little feverish. It was here I contemplated not running with my friend. What could I really do?
The next morning our wake-up call rang for us at 5:00 a.m. I woke up and hopped out of bed. The second my feet hit the ground I knew it—I was no longer sick. In fact, I actually felt great! That was it. I was going to run this marathon. We got dressed, had a light breakfast, took our morning constitutionals (crapping to the layperson) and set off for the starting line. Once we arrived at the starting line, with the other 25,000 runners, we were more nervous than expected. We both dashed off to find some port-a-potties (crappers to the layperson). After that, we took our places at the starting line and waited for the gun.
I won’t kid you. The race wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t believe how good I felt for having a fever the day before. There were tons of people on the sides of the road cheering us on every step of the way. When we reached mile 20, the miles got a little harder, but not hard enough to stop us. We carried on, and when we reached mile 25 we knew we were going to finish. Then we saw the finish line in the distance. It approached rapidly. The last 200 yards were run with crowds on both sides screaming and cheering. Then suddenly, all the pain in my legs seemed to disappear as we hit the finish line. I looked at my watch and realized we had run just under four hours. We were both elated! We now felt like we were both legitimate endurance runners.
These days I run about four marathons a year along with numerous shorter races. I average running about five days a week. And last year I recently ran a sub 3:15:00 marathon to qualify for the Boston Marathon, which is the granddaddy of all the marathons. I also have started to venture into the triathlon field. I think ultimately I would like to attempt a full Ironman Triathlon, but we shall see.
It has not been the easiest road to get where I am and it has not been without its bumps and roadblocks. But I am not going to fall back into my old habits or my old self. To go out and test myself with endurance events through running actually gives me peace and happiness. When I am injured and cannot run, I am depressed and hard to live with, so says my girlfriend of five years, but you’re not going to take her word for it, are you? Of course there are those summer days when I am running and I can smell people barbecuing burgers when that craving for a fast-food burger rears its ugly head. Nowadays, though, I just enjoy the smell and then continue on with my endurance test of the day.
How does one become an endurance junkie? What am I really getting out of running and swimming and cycling to train for an event that may or may not take me on a 26.2-mile journey? What the hell am I running from? How did I go from running around the block to running around cities? Well, like all things in my life, it started out of misery and fatness and laziness. Yes, Cruzbomb was not always a mildly in-shape runner. He was once a 25-pounds-overweight, binge-drinking, three-times-a-day-fast-food-consuming, no-water-drinkin’, couch-potato-in-front-of-the-TV-sittin’ chaotic “loser.” Do you think “loser” might be stretching a little bit? Loser may be an understatement. Even as I kept letting out my pants to accommodate my ever-increasing waist size, and the occasional gas expulsion (farting to the layperson), I didn’t try to change one thing. And then it all happened.
Within a matter of a month, my life was turned upside-down. I broke up with a girl who I had been seeing for about three years, I was in a band that was also breaking up, I think I had a nervous breakdown, to name a few things. Then to top it all off I had what some have described as a catharsis. I suddenly started to feel everything that I had never dealt with before along with my newfound “losses” and developed a nice little case of insomnia, and possibly a rash, but that may have come from a dirty toilet at work, but we’ll skip that. I remember looking in the mirror in the bathroom, while crying mind you, and asking myself, “Which way are you gonna go from here?” I believe I had only two choices—to either drown myself in more of the same or reinvent myself, and fast. I chose the latter. Well, I chose the latter the next day. I finished up my 12-pack that night. Waste not, want not.
The next day I got some of my old running shoes out and decided to go for a run. I’m sure the shoes I used were past their prime. Why, if they had been a carton of milk, they would be cottage cheese now with a disturbing sense to the nostril area. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t put off reinventing myself one second more. I only ran around the block, but it felt horrible. After I did it, I laid down for a minute and then ran again. Then something amazing happened. The hangover that was also running in full force suddenly dissipated. I felt like maybe I was doing something right. Something else happened on that run too. I forgot about all the things that were making me depressed as hell. Sure, as soon as I stopped running and my adrenaline backed off, I remembered all those wretched troubles and started crying again. But I knew I had at least started to fight back.
Funny, it is, picking a fight with yourself. How do you declare a winner? It’s not like you can challenge yourself to a “loser-leave-town” kind of match. But I could make no mistake about it. I was in a fight with the Cruzbomb I had become. Later that day I made a list of things I had to change in my life. I figured the only way I could overcome the “loser” that I had become was to make drastic changes and now! I decided to give up eating red meat, not because I thought it was bad for me, but to keep myself from eating at fast-food joints. I loved me fast food burgers. Also, I was going to have to stop sleeping at least 10 hours a day, and sleeping in till 9:00 or 10:00 every day. I decided to start waking up at 6:00 and either going for a morning run or going to the gym. And finally, I decided I needed to cook for myself. By the next day, all these new changes were in place.
It wasn’t easy to implement any of these changes. There were some rough spots in trying to get up that early every morning. The way I did it was once my alarm went off I hopped right out of bed, or else I would never get up. And slowly along the way, I would falter and sleep in, but I would never let one day turn into two or three. The running came along slowly, and the getting to three miles on one run took forever, but once I did it, something miraculous happened. I was able to go from three to four to six to ten to 12 quite rapidly. Something in my body decided to accept what was going on and adapted to it instead of fighting me. I knew at this point I was winning the fight against myself. In fact, I was kicking my ass!
Fortunately for me, my goals were achieved quite rapidly once I put my mind to it. I lost 25 pounds within about three months, my body toned up quite nicely from the weight training at the gym, a new relationship with another woman was on the horizon and I still hadn’t eaten at a fast-food joint. Things were going good, and then my friend called. He said he wanted us to train to run the Chicago Marathon.
My friend was like me—new to distance running and trying to slim down. I thought this would be the ultimate goal. I mean, a few months ago, this was not even remotely possible. In fact, it may have been suicidal. Now it seemed possible. My friend and I went on the Internet and downloaded an 18-week training program. It required us to run a really long run (anywhere from 12 miles to 18) once a week along with other runs during the week. At first we had our doubts, but we stuck to this schedule and did not waver once. We were determined to believe.
After 18 weeks, we were on a flight to Chicago to attempt what we still thought was crazy. I mean, we were both very nervous. I mean, there was the possibility that we could not finish the marathon. I know it is just an achievement to attempt it, but there was a pressure we put on ourselves to complete our goal. Three days before the race, I came down with a fever. I was almost in tears. I knew how hard it was to feel normal again after being sick, and this was going to be the longest run of all. I kept putting an ice-cold towel on my head at night and took in as much medicine as I could. The day before the race came and we had to go to the race expo to pick up our race numbers, and I was still feeling a little feverish. It was here I contemplated not running with my friend. What could I really do?
The next morning our wake-up call rang for us at 5:00 a.m. I woke up and hopped out of bed. The second my feet hit the ground I knew it—I was no longer sick. In fact, I actually felt great! That was it. I was going to run this marathon. We got dressed, had a light breakfast, took our morning constitutionals (crapping to the layperson) and set off for the starting line. Once we arrived at the starting line, with the other 25,000 runners, we were more nervous than expected. We both dashed off to find some port-a-potties (crappers to the layperson). After that, we took our places at the starting line and waited for the gun.
I won’t kid you. The race wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t believe how good I felt for having a fever the day before. There were tons of people on the sides of the road cheering us on every step of the way. When we reached mile 20, the miles got a little harder, but not hard enough to stop us. We carried on, and when we reached mile 25 we knew we were going to finish. Then we saw the finish line in the distance. It approached rapidly. The last 200 yards were run with crowds on both sides screaming and cheering. Then suddenly, all the pain in my legs seemed to disappear as we hit the finish line. I looked at my watch and realized we had run just under four hours. We were both elated! We now felt like we were both legitimate endurance runners.
These days I run about four marathons a year along with numerous shorter races. I average running about five days a week. And last year I recently ran a sub 3:15:00 marathon to qualify for the Boston Marathon, which is the granddaddy of all the marathons. I also have started to venture into the triathlon field. I think ultimately I would like to attempt a full Ironman Triathlon, but we shall see.
It has not been the easiest road to get where I am and it has not been without its bumps and roadblocks. But I am not going to fall back into my old habits or my old self. To go out and test myself with endurance events through running actually gives me peace and happiness. When I am injured and cannot run, I am depressed and hard to live with, so says my girlfriend of five years, but you’re not going to take her word for it, are you? Of course there are those summer days when I am running and I can smell people barbecuing burgers when that craving for a fast-food burger rears its ugly head. Nowadays, though, I just enjoy the smell and then continue on with my endurance test of the day.
posted by Cruzbomb at 6:37 PM
1 Comments:
When I was a high school kid, in gym class, running was always used more as a form of punishment, particularly for those who weren't very good at it. The fast runners got their two miles in and then lounged about on the grass, laughing as the stragglers wheezed and stumbled in through the gates, doomed to repeat the grueling course over and over again until they could do it in under 18 minutes. Guess which group I was in. And I've never really understood why someone might want to drive their body to these kinds of extremes, until now, that is. I've struggled for the past five years trying to keep my chin up, my weight down and my creative sparks crackling, and it's not been an easy road-- right now the creativity is up, but so, again, is the weight. So it's good to read about your struggles, and what this activity, this obsession which has obviously done you so much outward good, means to you on the inside. I'm really glad you wrote this, and even more glad to read it (I think I'm gonna take your fast-food approach to heart). Your post has coincided with a renewed commitment on my part to get serious again about the weight and health goals I set for myself before my first daughter was born, goals which until just a few months ago I'd attained and maintained. Sometimes, as T.M. says, inspiration is hard to come by, and time to act on it even harder. But it can be done. Thanks for showing me how you did it.
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