Part II: Furman Elit(ist)
Six weeks have passed and with it, six unique perspectives on
Furman Elite life. A collaboration of incoherent ramblings and character
studies that have hopefully provided our audience with some loose connections
to each of FU Elite’s athletes. Six weeks later and I must follow in the
footsteps of each of my comrades, giving you all something fresh, hip, and at
the very least, something to distract you from your vexatious (that’s right, I
said it. Where’s my hundred dollars?) lives for four to seven minutes, depending
on your reading level.
Six weeks have seen FU Elite start up our outdoor track
season at various meets around this big, beautiful world. And even with much
excitement already in the books, things are only really now getting rolling.
The schedule of a post-collegiate runner is a bizarre one. Months of training
and preparation, with a few races tossed in, from October to about April, at
which point the real competitive season actually commences. And even then, and
now speaking a little more personally, everything I do, each workout, each core
session, each race, lays the foundation for my real focus—the National
Championships in June. This might be a bit of an oversimplification. I’ll
certainly spend much of this season chasing a time, specifically the World
A-standard. But the motivation to hit that time lies in the power that it
carries—the opportunity to compete at the World Championships if, and only if,
I can qualify at the USA
championships. All the mileage and strides, the ice baths and kettlebell lifts,
all that just for 3 minutes and, hopefully one day, 35 seconds of running.
And it certainly doesn’t end with the National
Championships. Summer has a different meaning for a runner. We don’t associate
the Summer with vacation time, with all night benders or, for the PG-crowd, with
family trips to the OBX. The Summer is a season, yes, but not in the
traditional sense. It’s the competitive season. It’s the season of the runner.
The USA Championships, races scattered across Europe, road miles up and down
the East Coast, those few, rare opportunities for an elite runner to try and win
a couple of Benjamins so that he/she can afford one’s own health insurance
after having been ostracized by one’s parents and left to fend for oneself on
the streets of Greenville, dumpster diving for a mattress, or a worn Starter
jacket, or maybe a kitty for some company… could just be a personal problem, but
I think you get the point. So while you and your buddies take a week’s paid
vacation to Myrtle Beach in hopes to relive high school spring break with a
perpetual hangover and a bunch of stories no one will remember, know that FU
Elite is on the track under the heat of the Summer sun, grinding through a set
of 400s in preparation for the next race, for one more coveted chance at
greatness.
So where does that leave us? Reading this, I feel like I
might come off as somewhat pretentious when it comes to running. And I want to
take this chance to justify that by saying simply, it’s because I am and I can
be (pretentious). I swear I’m a good guy. Just ask my numerous ex-girlfriends.
But I guess when running is on the table, manners are forgotten and I’ll tell
it as I see it. So hopefully, after reading this, all we have is a deeper
understanding for one another’s passions. I don’t judge you for your exotic vacations
and lavish summer lifestyles (I may or may not be a bit jealous) and you can
respect an elite runner’s definition of “Summer.” The Myrtle Beach hooligans, however, are exempt
from this agreement. You know who you are. Consider yourself judged.
For more fun tidbits expressed in 140 characters or less,
follow me on twitter @jackbolas87
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