Running Man Challenge

Apologies on how sporadic I am at maintaining a blog. Haven't had a functioning laptop in a while. I could also note other numerous excuses, but for now I am just going to dive into the recent running activities.

I ran the Richmond Anthem Marathon this past November, 46-seconds under sub-4:00. First and probably only time running with headphones on. To say 26.2 miles showed me the 'gas face' would be an understatement. After being almost two minutes late to the actual race, I reached a hiccup during the run. 

I despise running over 10 miles. Oops.

Only running 20 miles twice in my life and expecting to qualify for the Boston Marathon off of that may have been a potential problem. This thought first occurred as I gobbled down multi-flavored gels like it was some chicken pad thai I bought with a Groupon. It's as though my body knew I had only ran a certain amount of mileage. So besides getting my third I mean thirteen wind, besides producing all that lactic acid, besides summoning Chief Keef to get my body through this self-inflicted pain, it hit me. No, I mean it literally hit me.

 

First in the inner quads then outer quads then calves and then feet and then stomach. The unsolicited cramps, ouchie. My body told me it was time to go home, but my ego said only a tiny, little, 10k left. Then we can go home and buy more pasta off of Groupon. I ran to about the half marathon mark at 7:30 pace, finished the race at a 9:30 pace. I hit every 'Power-up' button poster, every candy joint, every high five from toddlers; I would have summoned Shenron if Krillin was running with me. 

Despite my ill-preparedness for yet another RVA-based race, the vistas surrounding the James River looked as though they were forged from The Joy of Painting. The mild gusts of wind carried the water down the stream, making its way down and through Belle Isle. The roads and back-roads took runners through the West End, which I never went to as a child. They had me thinking about moving back one day. Homes and houses caught my eye, distracting me from the eventual ensuing pain I would have a mile 20.

An old lady (I only say she was old because she told me she was 75) caught me at 23 miles. She said "woop-woop, woop woop woop, woop woop woop, woopity, I'm 75, keep woop-woop-wooping," because I could only hear her through the pauses in a Solange melody. My old 7th grade gym teacher was there, giving out medals. Still had the same goofy smile and frizzy hair, dabbed with a little bit of gray. She was nice to me. At mile 9, a young man had Domino's and beer for each person willing to sacrifice pit-stop time. I hung out there for about 5-minutes before I realized I still had to finish a race. 

And as I crossed the finished line after whizzing by Grace, Broad, and Cary Street while running like I had a penny stuck in my arse because of leg cramps, I thought only one deafening notion as I walked back to my Honda.

"Only 54 minutes to shave off my time... I'm going to have to try again next year for Boston Qualifier, don't I?"

Port-O-John

From the endless red clay dirt trails of Rock Hawk in Eatonton to the endless cement patches of Ghent in Norfolk.


From watching the sun peak over loblolly pines to watching the sun hover over the ocean.

From running at 5 am with no one out-and-about to running at 5 am with the people already through half their day.

Deer prancing around low shrubbery vs. crackheads weaving in and out of corner stores.

From Bartram Forest to Mount Trashmore.

From Milledgeville, Georgia to Portsmouth, Virginia.

Something is to be said about running in cities versus running in the forest. I’m 23 and unemployed, so obviously I know what I speak of.

I’ve been residing in the Hampton Roads for a few months now. I feel fairly acclimated to the 757 (which nobody besides newbies call it that) which is comprised of the P-town, Virginia Beach, Hampton, Norfolk (where I spend most of my exploring), Chesapeake, Newport News, and Suffolk (it seems no one cares much for Suffolk) with a few other cities sprinkled in. While almost two million people live in a density of 3,300/square mile, the area I’ve spent for the past few years running in Georgia has a density of 177/sq. mi. in almost the area. SO odds are I’ll see some young jock once-in-a-while.

The reason these statistics are brought up, which I didn’t use Wikipedia as a reference, is the space Jonny long-legs can spread his strides.  In middle Georgia as long as it wasn’t “open season,” I wouldn’t be accidentally shot on one of the gravel trails I would meander on most mornings. But I haven't learned this city well enough. It's intimidating; it's not an place people are used to seeing other people running. I'm not in the nice suburbs where you see a band of stay-at-home moms walking alongside freshly cut Kentucky bluegrass. This lesson was learned abruptly when I first moved here:

It was 5 am and Ellie Goulding was blaring in my Bluetooth wirelesses. My routes included anything that was well-lit and that was only a neighborhood that was recently built up around a recently built up golf course that was across from a recently built up community college that was recently built up across a bus station. I could get a few miles out there but wanted to venture out, naturally as a runner and grand voyager.

The decision was made to take a left instead of a right, and I was out of my comfort running zone (yay!). But that’s not the end of what happened (boo!). My eyes connected with glimmering lamp posts that sputtered out the remaining watts it was trying to sustain. Familiar sights of ’79 Coupes sitting on 24s with candy paint with the butterfly doors and run-down shacks somehow kept me at ease. These places I ran around in Milledgeville but the area was so small that I knew people, at least people who know the person I knew. I used to pick of trash once once a weekend around the area. There were only about 18,000 people there. There was 100,000 people here. And they don’t know me. Doubt they would want me to do a community trash clean-up.

What would expect with a man the size of a hybrid running at you in the dark?

I think I got maybe a quarter of the mile off from my route. Ellie Goulding still belting out lyrics. My feet approached a fellow who resembled Redman in his prime. I began to cross the boulevard about 1,000 of my size 14 Aasics away from him, as not to startle the sir. I reckon he had heard my steady breathing and made an brash 180 degree turn; with one hand in the air pointing at me, with one hand grabbing towards his waist, which was somewhere around his mid-thigh apparently. I did a 180 myself and went back home, not looking to even try and see what he was trying to fiddle with down there. Similar to when I ran to close to that skunk off Bartram. Right?

Okay, lesson learned. Back home to try again tomorrow morning.

Side note: Look for construction equipment on long runs to use the bathroom. There's normally an unlocked port-o-potty. I'm sure they don't mind.

Dance Party on a Tuesday Morning

Recently I moved out of my parent's Richmond home and relocated to the port city of Portsmouth. Haven't posted much in the past month due to this transition. There's something about moving out of your parent's home and beginning a new job in a new city with crippling student loans that will keep a Jon on edge.

BUT

Of course there are the runs (not those runs) that keep my emotions and thoughts stable as I began my adult life $58,000 in debt. I live in a nice neighborhood; my landlords cook me dinner every once in a while. Charted out a nice route to run before work (4:30 am cardio sessions are a bit of an adjustment) which leaves me passed out by 8 or 9 at night. Been running about 25+ miles/week along with upping my weight training back to 3 times a week. My fitness goals goals right now is to get down to 195 FOREVER. Maybe getting in a marathon by November. Knowing that my mom's showstopper meals will help me keep off the pounds.

Source: giphy

There's the subject of running and exercise that I talk about when it comes to being me staying mentally and physically complete. But without positive/distract(ive) reinforcement of music, I wouldn't be able to get far. As stated earlier, I run based off those feelings of uncertainty. Morning before a big final? Run. Stepping back into a state of depression? Run. About to ask a Nubian Princess out? Run. Evening before a new DC/Marvel movie coming out that has mixed reviews? Run. Just had a bad race? RUN! My anxiety levels peak over the simplest of tasks, and the little things I do can counteract those negative aspects go a long way.

How does an emotional bastard even get up before an exam go for a 45-minute run? Wouldn't that add more frustration? What's the incentive? For one, Running groups are great for people. Finding a good paced group and hanging out with new people while discussing a whole spectrum of topics is great.. Unfortunately for me I'm in a weird spot. I'm not exactly a casual runner but I'm not align with someone who does a marathon in 2:30 hours. I also only run before or after the sun sets due to strict personal preference. That's where the beats, rhythms, and rhymes come in.

My running playlist is as highly maintained as my running shoes. I'm constantly swapping out songs weekly and painstakingly on the hunt for good songs. Some people listen to audiobooks on racial diversity or listen to scientific journals or informative podcasts. Most people listen to upbeat or energetic songs that keep them at a certain rate of intensity during a workout. The emotion may be empowering or techno-y. I definitely have that type of music on my playlist, but I have a mix of emotions. Songs can be menacing and Debby-downers or songs can match the intensity of a RATM mosh pit. A song I can listen to that makes me cry over a romantic movie soundtrack can as easily be in my playlist as a song by The Black Eyed Peas. The common theme is tempo. Whether it's half-time or full-time; that beat has to be in alignment with my stride. In addition ot has to grab my emotions and I need my imagination to capture the song. I need to be consumed by it or the song has to be scrapped. It's not a technical as it seems. Here's an explanation of my current top 4 running songs.

Get Away

The Internet
A break-up song about a couple who want to go on a trip but their relationship is too turbulent to even leave the house together. This neosoul-indie mixed with R&B-infused group is backed by a persistent bass that keeps my running tempo high. The guitar melody gently covers the singer's voice that keeps a serene atmosphere.

My emotion: Relaxed. It feels as though I go back-and-forth between drinking warm milk and vibing out in a small club with a few close friends.

They Reminisce Over You (T.R.O.Y.)

Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth
This early '90s hip-hop group samples some jazz using a saxophone and upright bass that helps the rapper effortlessly spit lyrics about past family members and friends. It reminds me of why hip-hop is my favorite genre, as I am fully invested in hearing this story I've heard over thousands of times over the past two decades.

My emotion: Nostalgic. The song came out around the time I was born. A lot of my earliest memories come from hearing this played in the background of my initial thoughts as a toddler. 

Paint It Black
The Rolling Stones

This song hits me right in the face whenever it plays. It overwhelms with this psychedelic, almost melancholy feeling. But with enough aggressiveness to where if I was at a funeral, I would immediately want to kick the ass of the person who murdered a loved one. Even if cancer killed them. I normally have no business listening to '60s rock music, but this song aligns right into a mood I rarely try to feel. Which is...

My emotion: Anger. This song puts me in delightfully angry mood. It's as though I'm warming up my car to go to work. But I drive a 1968 Plymouth Road Runner Hemi. And I need the avenge the death of my father. (He's still alive right now but just saying)

Radio Ladio

Metronomy
This indie-electronic band is one of the few bands I keep up with on a regular basis. During a time I despised the existence of electronic music, this group combined the up-tempo rhythm with a repetitive but ever-changing-melody. It's hard to explain, due to the fact I lose my mind every time it pops up.

My emotion: Enthusiastic. I first heard this song on a video game and instantly begin irritating like a inebriated barista. 

source: lolworthy

Thanks for reading! Share if you would like. Here's the URL of my everchanging playlist on Spotify. Or you can search it. It's called Loretta Devine.

https://open.spotify.com/user/1216617677/playlist/2giHCRxBZbSxeipvcGqBGB

The date was July 12^th, 2014.

The place was Coldfoot, Alaska. 60 miles above the Arctic Circle.
The Whiting was Jon.

I was working up in the boreal forest as a Wildlife Interpretation Intern one dreary, dreary season. Over the course of the summer, I hosted wildlife programs, provided travel conditions along the Dalton Highway leading up to the Arctic Ocean, and sarcastically relayed to many visitors that there was no cell phone service. By this time of the year along the Middle Fork Koyukuk, the eternal sunshine had given me a new-found sense of happiness. Irrational, ignorant happiness. Must have been all that “D.” Okay, bad joke.

My 21^st birthday was upon me, and I wanted to do one of those planned “unplanned beautiful moment” moments. So I had (un)planned a birthday party with the 20 or so, 20+ year-olds that kept “Coldfoot Camp” from across the highway running. Even though I didn’t tell the Coldfoot Campers it was my 21^st birthday, I still expected to be letdown by no one remembering it was my birthday.

High expectations, low common sense.

As I made small talk with my Alaskan Amber about the WNBA All-star game in the bar, I was approached by a grizzly patron. It was 3pm and of course, he was inebriated. I was trying to follow suit. We began talking and spoke of everything one may conjure up. From climate change to folk music to a recent moose tramplings to jelly on pizza, you name it. Before half-time, a few more campers had swung by and made a 6-person fiesta.

Musk Ox don't have time for games

After hooping and hollering for a couple of hours (we played basketball for a couple of hours), I decided to send my carrier pigeon off to retrieve my designated driver and get back to my cabin. I subconsciously spoke of my birthday, and the man was delighted but upset he didn't buy me a cookie or another round earlier. 

I told him I wanted to plan an unplanned significant event in my life. Even though the man was absolutely dazed, he had to reconsider if I was all-time toasted or a damn idiot. I have no idea the man’s name, or what he did for a living, or even if he was real. But I remember him saying this:

“Why don’t you run to the ocean? People do that for fun. Even pay other people to let them run on street where they can run on for free. Morons. Either that or shots. 21. 21 shots.” And with that irregular contrast in advice, we parted ways.

Fast forward to July 13th at 9pm. The other intern was driving me up the Dalton Highway to Milepost #196. Our cabin was at #175. I quadruple-checked to make sure I had my iPod, headphones, protein bars, and bear spray in possession. Age 21, time 2100, in most likely $21 running shoes (which I would regret later) for a 21-mile run I did not properly train for. But birthday spirit was by my side. The other intern’s instructions were to pick me up if I wasn’t back by 1am.

"Put it on social media or it never happened"

After one last photo for the ‘gram, I clicked my playlist entitled “John Muir” and began. I would speak of what was going through my mind through that run, but I wouldn’t be able to recall. No distractions, no one passed by me on the road, no bears thought of a late-night, 200-pound snack, no cramps. I ran straight and flat through the valley, down the utility corridor. Low 50s, light drizzle, overcast, slight breeze. Big ups to Zeus.

It’s as though I was riding on a flying red panda over a waterfall. Completely comfortable. And I am sure at that time my body was riding a serious “running” high and it will be excruciating when I stop. But for now, weeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I didn't time myself. Like a dozen of my mystic friends recited in college as they failed their chemistry exams, “it’s the journey, not the destination.” By the time I got to my gravel lot at MP #175, I slowed down to a slight jog to cool down and eventually stopped. I did my post long-run routine* and slowly walked up to my cabin. Paris had hit my heels. My colon was trying to evacuate before I packed all my luggage. My stomach began gnawing on my intestines. The lack of oxygen content in my body was lower than Perez Hilton's fan club.

Ask me about my self-inflicted pain. source:hexjam

Probably should have took the day off after my birthday besides the day of.

--

*A dance learned from NBA star “Vince Carter” who would twirl around while pumping his fists as he ran upcourt.

A Fat Boy's Guide to Running*

Recently, I ran my first 10K (6.2 miles) this past Saturday in Richmond, Virginia. This event is the annual Ukrop's Monument Avenue Race, with almost 25,000 participants on a gusty Saturday morning. With a posted time of 39:46, I was disappointed in my quest for a 37-minute PR. I failed to live up to the expectations of my CW Flash t-shirt; in all actuality should have not been worn unless I had a legit chance of running this race in the sub-35. Not 35 minutes but in 35 seconds. Or maybe 3.5 seconds,

Anywhoooooooooooooooo, I thought of something. A thought, plucked from the dusty cabinets of my corner office from a company that's owned by Delhaize. I wanted to jot it down on a notepad, but then again it would probably be good to finish this race first. But during that brief moment of inexplicable pain from my thighs and the pain from letting Wally West down, there was a theory. The Theory of Why?

This is the 1st race my uncle and I have completed together. According to him it'll be the last

Why am I running this race?
Why do I feel happy that my uncle is here in this self-elected suffering?
Why did that girl not to go to the middle school dance with me?

Enter: 5 Philosophies I have about Exercise. As a self-described extreme fitness-minimalist and semi-narcissist, I compiled my own list of reasons why running has stayed in my routine. Why did I list 5 reasons? Because I love the number 5 dammit. Now these aren't thee set of guidelines for an extreme fitness-minimalist/semi-narcissist, these are my guidelines for an extreme fitness-minimalist/semi-narcissist.


1. Food I don't want to imagine the amount of food I swallow on a daily basis. Yes, I said swallow. I don't chew. The food quantity may be high but so is the quality. Not a fan of salads, but I veggie boast all of my meals. Grilled cheese sandwich? Sprinkle some spinach leaves and sweet peppers in that thang with flax seed bread. Generic box-pasta dinner? Take all the veggies, yes all of them and throw it in. Minus the left foot.

Source: Tumblr

I do eat out 1-2 times a week because I am firm on the belief of "treating yo' self." I have no idea what a cheat meal is to be honest. Cooking in bulk for two or three days definitely turns me off from getting cardboard pizza from Lil' Caesar's. But I will consume cardboard pizza from Lil' Caesar's.

2. Schedule My daily agenda always incorporates exercise. Whether I'm sweating or not. I keep a general schedule of going to the gym or doing yoga or running because that's what I programmed myself to do. Do I want to exercise this much? Hell no. There's no specific routine I follow; I don't time myself on my runs or log how many sit-ups I do. On certain days, I will go to gym and hangout or just put on workout clothes but watch SportsCenter. And leave.

So this doesn't mean I'll peer review scientific journal articles on an elliptical. At the height of my workload in college (18 credits), I would spend no more than 45 minutes exercising. Most people halt their Pilates session due to cramming for an exam their undoubtedly going to fail or a hangover from one too many St. Ives at Snoop Lion's house. But that time was blocked out, due to my...

3. Emotions 30-minutes a day. 5-6 times a week. I'm a fervent little shrew. If I'm not doing a violent movement or activity every day, I'm extremely irritable. Never been able to figure out why. If I don't release that energy onto a tangible structure then it is as though someone told the ill-est yo' momma' joke and it will pester me the whole day. It's only a brief amount of brief amount of agony.

Source: Tumblr

4. Breaks 30-minutes a day. 5-6 times a week. But not every week. I'll take a break due to food comas, exhaustion, laziness, revamping my entire existence, etc. It's important to know your limitations. You don't have to go Dwayne Johnson or Sarah Paulson's tempo. Take your time; reward yourself and your temple. It's the only one you have, normally.

5. Music I don't know how people get through a workout and not listen to Flava Flav blaring in your ear. Do they enjoy the potential cramps and shortness of breath and dizzy spells without a little Shakira to move their tailfeather? Or maybe Daft Punk isn't enough to help them to do that yoga? Perhaps Katy Perry doesn't have enough hot sauce in her veins (swag)?

I could go on all day, but music one of the biggest reasons I can get through 4 sets of push-up rows. How it can help me finish that last 400 meters. Or breakdance when hitting that downward dog. A personal preference that has been plenty essential to round out my philosophies.

As a recent fan of CW's The Flash, I decided to rock it with my ever-present zebra headband

No matter how terrible a race or how upset I am with myself for any reason or how much I don't want to do what I need to do, there's always one thing that is constant. One thing to look forward to. I may go about it an alternative way, but I am still able to reap the bounty.

Like a saying I overheard in a conversation outside a middle-Georgia Bar between two Donald Trump Supporters:

There's more than one way to skin a cat

--


*The reason for the title is because "technically" I am considered overweight for my age and height.

I recently ran my first half-marathon at Virginia Beach for the Shamrock Weekend.  At 7 in the morning, it felt like low 30s with the wind whipping at the heels. Rain was steady but consistent as I made my way over from the Farm Fresh Parking Lot to the Corral 3 starting line. The sun was rising but had yet to make an entrance. I trailed a group of people, assuming they were some of 7,000 people up in the morning to run in these dreary conditions. Here are my thoughts as I came upon 42^nd street.

Mile 1: Okay, phew we got this Jon. One foot in front of the other. One step, two step. Hey look, a non-African black person! He up here in the front, making these gainz. Damn that dude looks upset. Is he about to cry? I’m going to say “hello.” [I say “what’s up”] Oh he don’t see me? Wow, I thought we were in this together. He probably doesn’t season his food and follows Stacey Dash on Twitter.

Mile 2: Hmm, I wonder what mile I’m on? Probably 6. Ya’ boy is coasting, ya’ boy got that speed. That speed, I said I got, I got, I got-got-got that SPEED. Half-marathons are a joke, I could do this in my s(ch)leep. Oh there’s a “cheer station” lemme’ get some high-fives. [I extend my hand out to high-five the two dozens of people cheering on their loved ones.] Yes, high-fives for the win. I have been rejuvenated. Tavon is fake for not waking up at 4:30 in the morning to cheer me on for two hours in the cold rain. Probably should find a new favorite cousin.

Mile 3: Wait mile 3? Wait, hold up. I’ve been running for like 30 minutes. This can’t be right.

Mile 4: Wait that’s the 2:45 pacer passing me. Oh no. Oh god. What have I done. Oh that girl is cute. Imma’ look cool passing her. Wait, is it frowned upon to flirt with someone during a half-marathon? Maybe I’ll wait, only 7,000 people are running this race. I’m sure I’ll see her again.

Crossing the finish line on the Virginia Beach boardwalk. 

Mile 5: Okay about 8 miles to go. That’s 4 miles twice. 2 miles four times. That’s a mile, eight times. That’s running about 13 kilometers. Wait how many feet is that? Crap, Dr. Mutiti would have killed me if he knew I forgot about my unit conversions. Another cheer station! Sweet!

Mile 6.5: I hate everything that has ever lived. Who invented the high-five?

Mile 7: cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp cramp.

Mile 8: Oh yeah Dusty Baker and Glenn Burke started the high-five. Duh Jon.

Mile 9: [I start crying and singing internally] Rock it, don't stop it, [gasps for air] everybody get on the floor…crank the party up [wipes away eyes to frustration] we about to get it on…let me see you 1, 2 step, I love it when you 1, 2 step… [stuffs water, Gatorade, bananas, and Gu energy gel into face while temporarily and simultaneously choking/blinding myself]

Mile 10: I can’t believe I spent $123.46 on this race with a $10 parking fee. My money better be funded to cure AIDS that’s all I’m saying. Oh wait it’s going to Children’s Miracle Network. Never mind…

Mile 11: I definitely have totz mcgoatz more energy than I thought I did. Two miles? That’s almost nothing. I think it’s time to activate ‘twin turbos’ [I quicken my pace to a slow sprint]

Mile 12 &13: runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run : runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run runny run-run-run. IF Y’ALL DON’T GET OUT THE WAY, I NEED TO END THIS SELF-IMPOSED TORTURE.

Mile 13.1: I can’t feel my fingers, my thighs are in limbo, I’m wet from the rain and sweating, I don’t remember where I parked my car, it feels like 30 degrees out here, I’m not sure if I need to poop or pee or throw up first, but hey:

I get 6 beers, Brunswick stew, and a 90s R&B cover band is playing. Leh’ get it.

Later I saw that I finished 250 out of almost 7,000 people with a 1:35:28. Maybe I’ll get it another try later on? Try to get some 1:20 action? Ugh.

Runs From Trolls & Jim Crow

I was running, running, running,

Through the forest, forest, forest,

And it was pretty, pretty, pretty,

But then I saw Horace, Horace, Horace,

I love trail running. In college one of my preferred areas to frolic around in was Bartram Forest. It is a network riddled with trails right off US-441. Miles and miles of dirt, trees, rocks, and the occasional naked hippy*. One of those areas where somebody could fall asleep in and wake up unscathed.

Bartram Forest Entrance (GWS Gallery)

But my favorite reason to run out in nature is when I get into a certain elation. I catch a third wind**. For background, second wind is what most people feel at a certain point of distance running. When your body switches metabolic processes. This anaerobic metabolism becomes that best friend at a bar who you only call when you want to completely ruin your life for a couple of hours. But third wind. That’s when limbo presents itself to me. Time isn’t a priority nor is my body exhaustion an issue nor do I care where I am going nor do I realize where I am. Or who I am.

I just run.

Did I mention, mention, mention,

That I stole from Horace, Horace, Horace,

He was a troll, troll, troll,

Who’s face was bleh, bleh, bleh

Loblolly pines served as inebriated High Overseers. Always physically imposing but essentially inept. My agenda had been clear that cloudy morning. To take back a relic my possession from the nasty, horrid-looking, disease-ridden, no nipple-having, mud-troll.

Once I mustered up my will, I crept up to a seemingly-lifeless cobblestone bridge. Tiptoeing up to the unprotected item, I made an unnatural noise and lunged for it. Once it pleased my fingertips, I fell backward. The troll did not make one grunt, grumble, or mumble. 

Then I left.

These pines were often burn to reduce hazardous fuels

I wove in-between the burnt timber as though I was Thomas Saint. My toes provided traceable footprints, but it would take the troll a fortnight to catch me. That is if I were to stop moving. My bare feet trampled over stones, acorns, pine combs, red clay, smoldering ashes. The calluses on my feet were that thick to where I could have had a footbath at the crest of Orodruin. One foot, two foot, big toe, small toe. Rain drops falling off the tip of a leaf. Not on-beat but perpetual.

By the time the troll had consumed his late-morning brunch, I was already grabbing a pint at The Green Dragon Inn.

By the time the troll figured out his relic was not with him anymore, I was grabbing my fourth pint at The Green Dragon Inn. 

648 kilometers from where the troll got hit.  And he screamed out to the heavens, I mean he screamed to where all the creatures and critters who had functional eardrums. My  own ears caught his tone and along with the black muck in his pupils. It was as though he was sitting in the stool right next to me. Listen, he told me:

“You get back here you f*cking n*gger.”

My mind collapsed from my fugue state of strenuous activity. I fell through the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th stages of limbo. My wireless headphones were at 0%. Somebody woke me up.

There were three humans in the cab of a modded pick-up truck. The trail route in Bartram I normally take had been washed out, so my bare-feet had to hit the Vinson Highway pavement. Only for a few minutes. The action and reaction only took a few seconds. I didn’t yell back or throw a rock at their windshield. Maybe they were unaccompanied minors attempting a prank or maybe a white supremacist group or maybe some of my college associates. Maybe I could have even set myself up for an outdated slave joke since on occasion I run without Asics. But maybe is for the indecisive.

Whatever the maybe was, I didn’t have time for it. I had 5Ks to run.

I glanced back at that troll, troll, troll,

Who called me a derogatory term, term, term,

But I did not stop, stop, stop

Because I was not done running, running, running,

--

*A story for a different time.

**A third wind is a term I made up to refer to a euphoric feeling. In this state, I imagine a daydream sequence of me running in an imaginary environment. In for this fictional setting, I’m a hobbit running through The Shire.

My Name is Jon and This is a Blog about Running Because a Kid Called Me Fat in 7th Grade

Let me be clear, I sucked at running during grade school. Okay it wasn't that bad but pretty much.

2015 was the 10-year anniversary of when I first started running. Twelve years-old when I strapped on my Asics and started running before Carver Middle School's first bell. Fortunately my parents forced me to go to bed at 10 p.m. on weekdays, so I didn't mind waking up 6 a.m. to run a mile or two. If I didn't run in the mornings, I would hop on over to my best friend's house about 1.5 miles over in the neighboring hood. Don't get me wrong, I operated a number of adolescent vehicles. Mongooses, Razor electric scooters, Schwinns, the occasional Heelys. 

First race in my life when I was 13, being supported by my family. I cried like a Denzel Washington.

But hitting that stride, 1-step, 2-step. Took me maybe five minutes to get to my friend's show on a bike, 20 minutes to jog. One may be asking why I took the time out of my 7th grade life to take that slow, exhausting trip. All of the PBS kid's showtime I was missing, all of the homework that could be completed, all of the girls to daydream about. What amazing origin story has got me running consistently with competitive times at the age of 22?

My ten year affliction with running was an outcome from one of my vertically-challenged peers calling me fat. One kid. Who's name I can not recall at the moment. "Hey, you're a fat-a**." I will never forget that feeling because it was pooped-out processed hopelessness. Gullible and emotional as I was, that one phrase in particular pierced me. It's that one thing that got me trippin'. Such an arbitrary reason to start one of the longest and most structured hobbies in Jonny's modern life. 

Now,  this blog is for me to express underlying vibes and such from this process that I have developed, as well as explaining to people how I view exercise in general as a chronic wienie, understanding body image, my battles with semi-depression, my obsession with geography, and being a fitness minimalist 

Don't show my mom.