Almost 3 months later, I give you part 2. After kindergarten, running was only something I did when I was trying to run from the cops, or painters who were chasing me because I threw eggs at their truck. Turns out, one of them was riding in the truck bed and was out and running after me and my friends faster than we could say Holy Shit!
Unlike a true soldier of anarchy, I ran in the opposite direction of my friends and painter guy was on me quickly. As I sprinted for dear life through the wooded park , I practically flopped over a chest level chain link fence to a house and spun around. Painter guy was standing there huffing and pissed. He screams, "What's your goddamned name kid!" I was frozen for about 3 seconds and suddenly "Bill Parsons" came out of my mouth. The funny thing is in retrospect, despite the intensity of the situation, my personal monitor in my head was shaking his with a look that said, that is the saddest fake name ever created. The painter then demanded to know where I lived. I gave him a bogus address of a street I knew was close by. Then like a fast forward slap back into reality I yelled and pointed "You're friend is here." The cheesiest use of distraction technique I could muster. This is proof to me of how when humans are under stress and we have no experience or training, we resort to whatever we have which is often comical.
In almost one motion as I threw my distraction card out, I spun round and bolted over the fence leading to the front of the yard. I ran across the street to a house that's side was in shadow from the streetlights. My shirt had been torn in half from the fence. I laid face down in the bushes, doing what seemed like small push ups because I was breathing so hard and so deep. My eye's didn't blink, and all I could think of was getting the shit beat of me or worse... going to jail!
The truck made several passes up and down the street. I could hear their voices grumbling with obscenities. The truck's engine took on a sinister sound that made my pulse rise each time as it came closer. They would pass and look right at me or so it felt like. In those moments, my body was as stiff as a plank of steel. Don't move! Don't make a sound! Keep your head down! I didn't even know where I could run if they came bolting out towards me. After what seemed like 2 hours ( prolly like 45 min) I determined it was time to make a run for it.
I ran back to my friends house only a couple blocks away. Running from shadow to shadow, my heart was racing. I finally made it to my friends house. They had stayed inside for fear of being seen. I was pissed because they didn't come get me, but I knew had I been with them I would've stayed inside too. After a heated discussion on the logic of why we split up and whose fault it was, we calmed down. I finally told my story of escape and the adrenaline rush was released as we laughed our heads off. Bill Parsons? everyone shaking their heads in laughter.
I look back at that and wonder, what was my heart rate though all of that? 200+?!! Also turns out Bill Parsons is actually a well respected name. Go brain!
Anyway, around age 12, I became a bowler. There's no cardio in bowling though. Shhh don't let the college coaches hear me say that. At age 17, I decided that becoming a pro bowler was not the path I wanted to take. Mostly because I didn't really like bowling anymore. Mentally I found it intensely boring to try and produce the same result over and over against ever changing variables. I couldn't find the zen in bowling. It was around this time that my passion for tennis began. I couldn't get enough of it. I wished I had started playing tennis at age 12, maybe then I could have been on the high school team.
Tennis brought me back to my beginnings. Sprint after sprint after sprint on the court. The dynamics of tennis were multifaceted and it was an amazing feeling to be able to run down a ball that the other player thought was too good, only to be returned for a winning shot. It was this perfect meld of mind and body laced with intensity and motion.
Tennis eventually drifted away as well though. I never really burned out on it. I just really liked playing with certain people and my friends. We all moved and shifted and became busy.
It would be years later, around 2001 or so that I would start exercising for health reasons. At this time I was a smoker though which obviously impeded any serious effort at running. I recently went on mapmyrun.com and looked up the distances I used to jog. Whether in Fort Walton Beach or Germantown, they were all roughly around 2 miles in distance. These runs which were mostly walking consisted of a lot of heavy breathing and legs that seemed to ache quicker than my lungs. Riding a bike was much cooler and got me from A to B much easier.
I remember running down Hollywood Blvd in Fort Walton one night, and I thought if I could just run the entire length of the street from bottom to the light, that would be an accomplishment. One night while gasping, cramping, and moving at a pace slower than walking I hobbled to the light completing my goal. There was no elation or mental pat on the back. Just me saying oh shit I'm exhausted. This distance was a little over half a mile.
A few years later in Maryland before I got a moutain bike, I really liked running around Clopper Lake. This is where the Blairwitch was filmed. It wasn't too long and the navigation of roots and terrain kept my mind off of things like breathing which I felt was always a constant voice of fatigue demanding that I walk for a bit. I'll never forget one day at Clopper. I was with Liz running around and I was amazed at my endless energy. There was a steep hill about 45 degrees and maybe 30 feet in length. I felt like I could've sprinted up and down this hill all day. It was uncanny. Only one time playing tennis did I ever feel such a surge of what seemed like unending anaerobic capacity.
I never felt like 'running' was a fair term in describing my efforts. It really was just intermittent little jogs laced together with either imploding lungs or aching legs. It never made me feel very good after I was done either. The reward didn't seem to be worth the struggle. Biking had so much more reward for me. However, I still ran here and there on brief occasions usually in the winter or fall. But again I didn't really run, I just kinda jogged for little bits. That was good enough at the time.
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