Ego Trip

One of the hardest decisions I am currently making regarding this run is not whether to run – I've already passed that hurdle – or what to do if I can't run the whole way.  

The hardest thing for me is to share it.

The whole idea of a run to me is enjoying the solitude.  I do enjoy the occasional run with another human being, but my ideal run is long, quiet, and being completely alone.  

I don't have any presumptions that I will be joined by anyone along the way.  I have had an offer or two, but have always politely declined.  This run is all about me.  And the choice I am still considering (as of today) is to keep it that way.  

Outside of the random reader who stumbled onto this blog (my sincere apologies), maybe five people outside of the interwebs know about my plans.  Two or three know my intended route.  Only I have thought about more than that.  And I could run, anonymously, ignoring the honks and waves from passing drivers, enjoying the scenery and then later the agony, and getting completely absorbed with myself and my inner thoughts.  And part of me would be very happy with that knowledge, passed along to no other person.

If I execute this blog to completion, posting about my thoughts and feelings regarding this run and other distractions, and moreover, publish it for the world to see, do I lose that intimacy?  What do I gain from letting anyone into what is essentially a long workout?  What do they (you) get out of it?  And worse yet, in the moment of my proving myself to myself, what if no one cares?  Is what I know enough?

If a man runs 40 miles and doesn't blog about it, does it make a sound?  What if I ran in the forest?  What if I ran in the forest and saw a tree fall, heard the sound, and then fell into a giant hole, never to be heard from again – did the tree still make that sound?  Is there a blog about falling trees somewhere?

Pseudo-philosophical questions aside, the question still deserves asking: am I willing to make this run by myself, for myself, or do I need some external validation?  I am still asking this to myself, even as I type another post.  I've wrestled with pulling the plug on this project on more than one occasion, out of disgust with my own ego trip.  And yet, I find my way back here, typing again.  Maybe the writing and running are just different forms of catharsis.  Maybe I am just a vain narcissist who likes writing smug blog posts.  

I'm off to find a blog about falling trees.  I've got to give that person some love.

The Jealous Runner

I was browsing Facebook when I saw an old friend from my days stationed at Great Lakes.  He had a short post: "25 miles done.  Halfway feeling ok."

I immediately looked where he was posting from, and then Googled ultramarathons in that area.  Sure enough, there was a local ultramarathon called the "Ice Age Trail" that was going on that day.  But I wasn't satisfied - I asked if that was the race he was running.  He liked my post.  I still wasn't satisfied.  

Later on he posts, "More later but 50 miles in the books.  Roughly 10 hours 16 minutes."  Question answered - my first friend to run an ultramarathon.

Turns out that this wasn't his first, but his SECOND ultramarathon.  Two fifty mile runs, as I imagine him gently striding through his own fortieth year on the planet.  And I find myself intensely jealous.

Of what?  There are plenty of square miles on the earth, and by no means am I the first person to contemplate running longer than marathon lengths.  But why this reaction?  I love this guy, who has gone with me to rock concerts, and awful Matrix sequels, and introduced me to Rockabilly (or was it hillbilly punk?).  I should have nothing but admiration for his efforts.

And yet I think I already know the answer to that question.  Not only is he running further, he's not boasting or bragging.  Two quick lines on Facebook, is all.  And this wasn't even his first race.  I have a blog dedicated to one run, a year from now.  Hell, I had an idea to dedicate every mile of my run to a different person, posting it all to Facebook and this blog.  Why the fanfare?  What am I looking for?  What am I running for?

I have to run on that one for a bit.

One Step, One Day, At A Time

I have found myself recently in territory that I haven't traveled in some time.  One Friday morning, my supervisor pulls me aside when I first got in and asks to speak to me in private.  In the hallway, he tells me that the promotion results came out, and I didn't make the cut.

I was in zone for a promotion to O5, a full commander.  I was the only one in zone in my community, and it was a small window of people chosen to be looked at for promotion this year.  I knew it was going to be tough.  I thought that I had a competitive record, but it was not a perfect record.  I even deployed with the dreadful anticipation that I would not get picked up, and was therefore already looking to improve my chances.

None of these things, however, eased the pain of that news.  I scanned his face, thinking he was pulling one over on me.  Now weeks later, and I still want to believe that.  But it was no joke; I checked online as soon as I could to verify, and he was telling the truth.   

I've been told that there are phases to getting news like this.  Of all the emotions that I have gone through, the one lingering is bitterness.  I am still very bitter about the results.  For one, it makes me think that the United States Navy doesn't want me.  Their own system filtered me out, along with the rest of the undesirables that Big Navy did not think could lead their Sailors.  Of course, this is nonsense.  Not the system, which should work to weed out non-leaders, but the idea that an organization is deliberately, and with great prejudice, denying my stated abilities.  Big Navy is like any other large machine.  We are designed to be used as the critical cogs to help the machine run, but ultimately, we will be replaced and not a shit will be given.  Someone once told me another good analogy, one of shark teeth.  A shark's teeth are pointy and dangerous, but if they get stuck on something the tooth is discarded, and another one moves to take its place.  The shark smoothly sails on, none the wiser.

The other sting is to my ego.  Prior to this, I had no trouble with promotions, although I had only one promotion under my belt.  I was already an O3 when I started active duty, thanks to all of my schooling.  I didn't have a perfect record for O4 either, but I made it in the first round.  I guess in my hubris, I began to see people that couldn't be promoted while they were in-zone to be unworthy, dirtbags that the Navy was weeding out - which caused a nasty feedback loop with my other thoughts.  

The blow to my ego was rough, but now I have had time to heal and think and meditate...and run.  In the end, I will keep on trying, keep on pushing ahead, keep on working on my fitness reports and making good career choices and forging forward, no matter how painful it gets.  I like to think that this resilience will work for me during my runs, as well.  I'll let you know as I continue to put feet to pavement, and words to print.

Autopilot

Today I was thinking and running, and realized that I wasn't really giving my feet any commands whatsoever.  My motor cortex was operating smoothly, without any higher thought processes, and one leg followed the other in an easy pace.  

I watched my legs for a bit, marveling at the mind's ability to partition that complex movement and choreography, while allowing me to just enjoy the ride.  I realized that if I am I'm dreaming at night, it's hard for me to start running.  My legs feel like they're encased in quicksand.  The motor cortex is inhibited during R.E.M. sleep, so I wonder if my daydreaming brain, the one that looked on while my legs cranked away, just doesn't know how to run?

It's an odd feeling to become so self-aware, so in the moment, when you realize that your body is moving, and will continue to move, without any further objections from me.  It's a different kind of self-awareness, free of the self-examination, self-judgement and self-criticism that I feel when writing, at least to my imaginary audience.  It felt good, and it was a good run.