Taking a break

Wow. Had I known there was such a whiny post sitting on the top of this page for so long I would have done something about it. Then again, if there is one thing that runners (me) can do well it’s whine. Runners – or at least me – can make excuses and complain about just about everything.

It’s too windy. The course was too hilly. The course had too many downhills. The course was too flat. Who can control the weather?

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Anyway, here’s today’s excuse: I haven’t updated this page in so long because I actually took some days off from running. Two days to be exact. The plan was for one, but that morphed into two much to my chagrin.

Rest, of course, is the cornerstone to any solid training program. Muscles and all of that other running stuff work better when they are strong, fit and not fatigued. That’s where rest comes in. At the same time, rest is important to keep one from breaking down or getting hurt. So it makes sense that a smart runner should rest up from time to time.

Right?

Yet for some reason taking a day off is incredibly difficult. Why? Well, runners and athletes, by nature, are obsessive. They know the only way to stay ahead of the competition or to get closer to reaching a goal is to work hard. However, there is a point of no return. A racecar can only spend so much time in the red before it starts to fall apart.

That last sentence was the extent of my mechanical knowledge.

Nevertheless, the day extra day off this week made me bounce off the walls of my house and drive everyone within those confines crazy. Instead of running I did sit-ups on my exercise ball every five minutes. When I wasn’t beating the hell out of my abdominal muscles, I ate all the junk food I made a point to ignore during my training. Actually, I ate the junk food close to bedtime and before and after dinner.

Talk about a mess.

Aside from that, the initial, planned day off was very nice. My wife and I traveled to a swanky oceanfront hotel in Rehoboth Beach, went out for a nice dinner and soaked in the Jacuzzi in our suite. Almost instantly, all of my tired and overused muscles started to feel better. My hip was no longer creaky and my hamstrings felt pliable again.

But after the second day I wanted to put my head through a wall and go run. The problem was that I had too much to eat and I’m one of those guys who has to run on an empty stomach.

I did just that from Tuesday to Friday, cranking out easy, easy 10 to 11-mile runs at 6:50 to 7-minute pace. On Saturday morning I’m supposed to run the Northern Central Trail Marathon as a long run. I don’t plan on racing or taking the pace anywhere past 6:20 or engaging in anything too strenuous. Basically, I’m just going out for a long run with the hope of burning off some of the crap I’ve eaten in the past week of slovenly living and to pad my stats. Fourteen marathons is better than 13.

On another note, I have determined which races I plan on running in 2007. I’ll reveal those later.

Excuses not making the grade

My days as a science cheat were very short lived. Actually, unlike Floyd Landis, Justin Gatlin and now Marian Jones, and the host of athletes nabbed in failed drug tests and a blanket of bad excuses, my dabbling in cheating ended quickly after it began.

Lucky me.

No, this tale has nothing to do with altering my body chemistry to become bigger, stronger and faster, but in the end, cheating is cheating. Right?

Well …

Nonetheless, this story was just as sordid and dirty for everyone (well, just me, actually) caught up in the tangled web of the controversy. Or something like that. Better yet, like one can deduce from following the cases of Landis, Gatlin, Jones and every other notorious drug case permeating sports during the past two decades, my case involves greed, pressure, arrogance and the desire to make oneself look better.

Sounds dramatic, right? It was. You see on the way home on the last day of school in eighth grade, I steamed open the envelope holding my report card, pulled out the red pen from my backpack I had secured just for the occasion, and changed my grade. Yeah, it still makes me queasy thinking about now. What was I thinking? A red pen? In the bushes near my house on the way home from Wheatland Junior High? Science? Cheating?

Geez.

The motive, honestly, was simple. I needed a C in eighth grade science to finish the year on the Honor Roll. Science was never (and still isn’t) my thing, so getting a C was a tall order. With the extra pressure of actually making it onto the Honor Roll thrown in, it was just too much to handle. When I opened my report card and not surprisingly saw that big, round D taunting me from the thin, official-looking piece of paper, I felt as if I had no other choice than to turn that D into a C.

Now I know exactly what you are thinking. Everyone thinks the same thing when hearing about Landis and is 11-to-1 testosterone ratio, or Marian Jones’ positive test for EPO, and every other cheater caught in the web of credibility. The question is why. Why do it and how did I think I could get away with it?

Honestly, with the aid of two decades of retrospect, I never thought it through that much. I saw the glory of the Honor Roll, which for a mediocre student like me, was major. You see, my academic record sounded a shrill, annoying alarm of a classic underachiever when examined. My sister, on the other hand, lacked the diversity of the alphabet sampler on my report cards. She was consistent and never had to worry about getting a B, let alone not making the Honor Roll. And because we are so close in age, the competition was fierce.

But, again with the aid of 22 years to ponder my cheating escapade, it never really made sense. Why did I desire to be on the Honor Roll so much? Isn’t it odd that people were rewarded for doing what they are supposed to do, which is get good grades? Worse, the pursuit of such accolades for doing work you were supposed to do just seemed so… tacky.

Needless to say, my ruse was quickly discovered. The C covering the D in red pen just looked too suspect and unprofessional even in those days before the proliferation of computer databases, e-mailed grades, and easy access to information via the Internet. We were still using pen and paper in those days, folks.

But unlike any other science cheat, I didn’t waste anyone’s time with a series of lame excuses. Unlike Landis, I didn’t use a late-night whiskey binge as an excuse for my poor grade. Nor did a masseuse rub in an illicit steroid like with Gatlin, or was I “framed” like Jones’ camp offered when she failed her drug test.

Framed? Yeah, because Jones’ running is just so vital to our national interests.

But there are many more excuses a science cheater like me could have used. Remember when Ben Johnson ran so fast in the 100-meters finals during the 1988 Seoul Olympics that it appeared as if he was either going to combust into flames or take off in flight? Yeah, well, that speed came from Winstrol, the same steroid reportedly favored by Rafael Palmeiro.

Ben’s excuse? Someone dosed his water bottle. Rafael’s? He thought it was a B-12 vitamin that teammate Miguel Tejada gave to him.

Still, those are better than the excuse Barry Bonds reportedly gave during his grand jury testimony in attempt for prosecutors to glean more information for the star-crossed slugger’s role in the BALCO case. In admitting to using “The Cream” or “The Clear,” two hardcore and ultra-scientific designer steroids, Bonds said he thought he was just rubbing flax seed oil onto his body.

Really?

Suffice it to say, my cheating days ended there. The effort, coupled with the guilt, made it not worth it. Besides, the time put into cheating could better be used for studying, or in other cases, for working out and getting stronger naturally. Honestly, it’s not too hard to do it that way. Then again, it seems as if the big thing for athletes these days is not winning or losing, but not getting caught.

Anyway, the real lesson came from my dad when he told me, “You know, a D turns into a B a lot easier than it turns into a C.”