Mama Kitty's Back, This Time With a New PR.

During my life I have been faced many times with the daunting task of convincing others I am good enough – to get jobs, to receive scholarships, to keep friendships, to run. I’ve promised future achievements and boasted of success in my past, but this demand to ‘sell yourself’ has always been a particularly difficult concept for me to grasp. Unless of course there is the opportunity for sarcasm, then all of a sudden I am the world’s greatest.

As a child I was told to be modest and fair. “Don’t be conceited, too vain or too proud,” my dad would say. “Be good at what you do, but do it humbly.” As an impressionable child, this advice was well received. But now, with “an elite athlete” being my ambiguous profession, people come to expect a little bit more ‘show pony’ from you.

There is one major problem with this though…

 I could never be a show pony.

A show kitty maybe, but never a show pony.

Although this sounds like a frivolous comment, it really made me think about what things in my life I am most proud of. But lets be honest, anybody that knows me knows that I’ve had far too many triumphs for me to list in just one blog post. So instead I will share with you the story of “The Battle of the 1500m Barrier”, staring Four Minutes and Twenty Seconds.

In March 2005, I ran 4.20.30 in the 1500m at the Sydney Track Classic. I was 15 years old. Before last weekend at UVA, that race in Sydney was the second fastest 1500m I had ever run (the fastest was in 2010 in 4.19.17 – a one time pathetic taste of what it might be like to run under 4.20).

For eight years I had been stuck. Literally, stuck between a two second span of 4.20.1 and 4.21.9. Whether I was tired, excited, anxious, confident, scared, sick, under-trained, or over-trained I would somehow find a way to produce the same result.

This weekend I finally ended this agony - Four minutes. Thirteen seconds. Bout. Bloody. Time.  I ran a second faster for almost every year I had been stuck, and the first thing I felt when I heard my time was relief. For a brief second I thought that moment couldn’t get any better, until I looked up in the sky and saw a double rainbow, and heard Taylor Swift feeling 22 through the speakers of the stadium.

The ups and downs of being an athlete can be ruthless. Deciding to continue to pursue this dream beyond college and putting off a “real job” only makes things more complicated, producing more and more situations for me to explain my worthiness. We can feel pressured to impress in fear of being swept aside by those who are naturally arrogant and egotistical. Nonetheless, I will continue to resist this pressure, and just do my best to let my results do all the talking.

Besides, real kitties don’t talk smack… they just purr.

Meow.

You Don't Know... Bolas

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

Femezy

I've been told that I'm a man who needs no introduction, and am only recently realizing that's just what people say when they can't remember my name. I've also come up against a barrage of horrid nicknames which I can only assume are a feeble attempt at making me more memorable in the minds of others. They most often consist of a last-name pun or a take on my terribly short femurs, but no matter what, they don't seem to stick. In this Game of Names I've decided to take on a new name for every post, this weeks obviously referring to my limb discrepancy, but hopefully as the weeks wear on someone stumbles across a name as ingenious as Bag Lady.

It's that time again, another week, another blog,  two days late, don't hate. Nevertheless, I digress. Without further ado, here's what we're up to...

Heidi broke a national record at the Penn Relays, Jack lost to his sister in cribbage, Nicole ran faster than she has in 2 years and also drove me somewhere for the first time ever, I got crushed in the 5K but also had a huge PR, Lee read Wikipedia all weekend, and Cory is likely sleeping. Now lets talk more about me...

So about this 5K... the experience was not one of the more inspirational memories of my track career despite an 11-second improvement to my PR. Having only a slight idea of what my goal should have been, I told myself that I'd be ok with anything under 13:30 and very happy with a 13:20. I made a Jeff See Guarantee to coach that I'd roll through 3k at around 13:25 pace and "go from there". Phase 1 of the plan went smoothly, but to quote Lee who once quoted the great Mike Tyson in saying, "Everybody's got a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth", I got punched in the mouth as I entered Phase 2 and there was no "going from there". Things got ugly, I fell off the pace and just barely rallied on the last lap to make the race good enough. Nevertheless, the conclusion of this weekend meant that it was time to narrow the focus for the 1500m and concentrate on being ready for the US Championships in June, so no matter what it was a good weekend.

I love the weeks leading up to the US Championships because it's the culmination of all that we've done to this point. We get to spend more time on the track and see the fruits of our labor a little bit at a time. The hope is that in a little over 7 weeks we will all be toeing the line for our respective events in the best shape of our lives (save for the Aussie). So much can happen from now until then and its pretty amazing how quickly it will all be over. BUT WAIT, what if you could see what happens every step of the way as if you were a fly on the wall here at Furman Elite?! Read on little birds, and see why you're in for a wild ride...

This first year in Greenville has been an amazing opportunity and we owe so many people our thanks for the privilege of being able to train at Furman University. We've all come here because we think it has something special that the world of elite running isn't typically privy to, and we'd like to do our best to show what exactly that entails. So without further ado (two ado's in one post - sorry), I'd like to announce that we will be documenting our progress towards what is hopefully a special showing at the US Championships in Des Moines. Here's what you can count on from the future Greenville Film Festival Documentary of the Year:

Riveting interviews
Some beautiful Carolina scenery
Gut-busting workouts
Tan bodies
Frail bodies
A trip to Japan
Shoe-tying 101
LeeLee Lemon Factoids
And full disclosure: There will be an inordinate amount of kitty-cat footage included in this documentary, it will be posted to YouTube after all.

So in case you didn't already have enough reasons to stay up on the happenings here at RunFurman, there's another one for you. See you in 5 and 1/2 weeks (Follow me on Twitter @JCSee for an equally sporadic posting schedule).

Siempre Adelante-- Always Forward

I have acquired, deservedly or not, a reputation for talking too much and for making comments that elicit collective groans from my teammates. In their defense, I’m an avowed dabbler in sophisticated talking points lacking any real substance. In my defense, silence can be rough. I am, however, quite grateful for their encouragement and support, especially as I continue to learn both proper pacing and shoe tying techniques. With that disclaimer in place, I feel compelled to reflect seriously and somewhat substantively on the Boston Marathon bombings.  

It shouldn’t have taken a national tragedy to put my training with Furman Elite in perspective, but as I sat at my office desk brooding over a disappointing Blue Shoes Mile performance, the sight of a smoke-filled Boylston Street and blood stained concrete brought me to my senses. Beyond the four-hour mark, time was of little concern to most marathon finishers, and their friends and families, those among the wounded and killed, joined them not to cheer competitive excellence, but rather to celebrate some of the things that make our sport so exceptional:  unyielding persistence, passion, and courage, from the slowest to the fastest. And whether we’re talking about seconds under four minutes or minutes under four hours, the fact remains: we want what we do as runners to matter, to mean something more than just times and places. To be sure, times and places aren’t just part of our sport, they are our sport. But when you lose yourself in the sport, you lose sight of the lifestyle at its core.

It’s easy to ride waves of success, to realize the gains of training, momentarily liberated from the fear of stagnation, of injury, of failure. There’s no need to explain uncertainty or rationalize difficulty when you’re on top. But when the hard times come, and they most certainly will, every runner must recognize the value of the journey itself.

I want desperately to break the four minute mile, and I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen, but on April 13^th, in front of dozens of my friends and family and countless Furman fans, I tried and failed.  If I were to lose my ability to run tomorrow, would all of this time and energy have been in vain? Instinctively, we want to justify the loss, the sunk cost. But only when we start seeing what we’ve gained does the balance sheet tilt back in our favor. Running has made me who I am and who I am becoming, every single ground out 1k repeat, golf course loop, hurdle drill, and DuPont hill climb. No injury or disappointing performance can erase those lessons in discipline, courage and resolve. You could’ve turned back, cut it short, hit the snooze button, gotten the 9-5, but you didn’t. You didn’t because no matter what, what we’re doing matters. In a world often content with efficient mediocrity, fragmented attention spans, and weak bodies, we’re striving for excellence, focus, and strength. And though I’m sure I’d see it a bit differently if I had a shoe contract, those things are priceless. 

Perhaps this is the loser’s consolation, the story we tell ourselves to dull the pain of defeat, or at least to sidestep it. But I’ve told it to myself on my fastest days, too. Regardless, it is certainly the antidote to obsessive fixation and has carried me through the highs and the many lows of my career. I have a tendency to retain song lyrics the way some might basketball stats or move lines, so I’ll dispense with some about stock car racing from Mike Cooley of the Drive-By Truckers: 

“It ain’t about the money or even being number one/ you’ve gotta’ know when it’s all over and you did the best you could’ve done/ ‘cause knowing that it’s in you and you never let it out/ is worse than blowing any engine or any wreck you’ll ever have” 

If I’ve learned anything from this sport, it’s this: We will all be called upon to toe lines in life, and there’s no backing out when the gun goes off. When you’re already ahead, it’s easy to take the risk.

Let the chips fall where they may.

Siempre Adelante,

Lee

Dear Mr. Henshaw,

Or, just kidding. You can call me Nicole. Or, Ms. Nicole (but only in South Carolina). Or you can call me by what I’m more used to: my last name, Bush. OR one of its various morphs: bushy, bushels, B, Bizzl, or the ever stretching Bushtopher. I’m mostly baffled it’s surfacing that I have a first name (see being on sports team). Which I guess is better than Feemzy or Nicki <3<3<3!

Uh anyway, only time will tell if Mr. Cory/Lifestyles of is in fact the most scattered Furman Elite blogger…

When I’m not doing kettle bells and deep squats with my fellow Furman Eliters or enjoying meals at the “P-den” or the “dh” (or the “d-h’tch as Ms. Heidi/Mama Kitty Meow fancy-reckons to say it), I enjoy a good walk, sit or swing by Furman Lake. Furman Lake has a lot to offer someone like me. First, a beautiful view and then, of course, the bird watching. Waterfowl frolicking.

Between trying to get the swans to do something more interesting than terrifying and watching the ducks, geese and the birds I’ll call “submarines” get silly on bread crumbs, I can stay pretty entertained. Unless of course I see a baby duck get caught and confused in a puff of algae. Because obviously, then, my week is made. Because I am absolutely that cool. And my IQ may have been altered by a bad root canal I had a few weeks ago.

Speaking of root canals, I had one a few weeks ago. It went something like this:

ENDODONTIST

Let’s take a look. You might just need a medicated filling. That’s easy. I could have you outta here in 15 minutes. 20 tops.

(DRILL STARTS, SMALL JOLT, DRILL GOES SILENT)

Oh man! Wow! How could you not need a root canal??!?!?!??!!???!!!^^&&^**

(YELLS OVER DRILL)

This is the worst one I’ve seen in a while! Sorry if this hurts!

(CUT TO: ENDODONTIST SHOVING SHARP PAIN SWORDS INTO TOOTH)

          It still hurts?

     (ADMINISTERS 5^TH NUMBING SHOT)

If this doesn’t work we’ll put you on heavy antibiotics for a week and then you’ll come back and we’ll try again.

     (CUE: DUBSTEP)

When all was said and root canal done, I was kindly given this little guy to hold tentacle with:       

Thanks Mama Kitty!

But anyway, before this gets more weird and my post deadline gets too close, I’m going to wrap this up very abruptly with:

A shout out to my Furman Elitemates in this weekends Blue Shoes Mile. Nicely done Mama Kitty Meow, Mr. CJ Styles, You Don’t Know Jack, Bolas, and those who remain unblogged Lee and Jeff. 

Kbye. 

Lifestyle of the (not) rich and (almost) Famous

Chapter 1

First, before we go too far with the bio and blogging here we should probably clear up a few things regarding those who have blogged before me:

Mr. “fresh meat” Bolas – the man behind the pretty face you see on the FE website?  Don’t trouble yourself trying to explain it to our followers – they all get that it’s me!

You can call me Mama Kitty – here’s my little rhyme about the Raleigh experience:

While FE’s most eligible bachelor may be Mr. Cory

His 5K history is definitely going to be a short story.   (The End…That’s all folks!)

My final words about Raleigh:  I like to take in a movie if possible before a race and in Raleigh my parents made the trip to watch and decided to accompany me.  When this is the case I try to make it a comedy (don’t need blood and guts or sex scenes when my mom is sitting next to me).  However, there was no way to avoid the gore in this one.

Movie Review from Raleigh:  Olympus has Fallen. (or - Who needs North Korea?) Pretty cheesy and far-fetched, but entertaining enough to take my mind off the race. I’ll give it 3 of 5 stars.

Moving on.  Most (All) of the people who know me well would probably say that I am a person of few words and that no way are you getting Cory to blog.  An occasional tweet, but no way is he writing more than 140 characters in one sitting.  Truth be told – this will definitely be the most I’ve written since I graduated just months ago. And yes, like college, I’ve waited until the last minute to write this (I’m at my best in crunch time).  You’d get even fewer words if you were looking for my opinion on OSU and my March Madness bracket.  That being said I will, no doubt, be the blogger who jumps all over the place and doesn’t stick to one topic too long. 

Currently, we are all gearing up for Furman’s big meet – the Blue Shoes Invitational which is just a few days away.   Obviously (or maybe not) I am a former Buckeye and while I was in college we had our big outdoor meet – the Jesse Owens Classic at “home”.  It was a meet where you could count on a few things – friends and family there to cheer you on, Coach Gary pacing and suffering from lack of sleep, rain and great races!  Minus the rain, those staples are the reasons I am looking forward to Furman’s Blue Shoes meet. Coach Gary will be hyped up and running on caffeine, the sun will shine and you can count on great races.  The group is training hard and PRs are going to be recorded – how many is yet to be determined. This is going to be my first Blue Shoes and I am banking on it being memorable.

Finally (I don’t want to say too much on my first blog – that would be like running a 3:50 mile early in the season and having to live up to some unrealistic expectations). I do want to say that I am enjoying the Furman Elite experience.  Don’t mistake that for its all fun and play.  We work hard. We have goals we intend to reach.  Someone famous (or semi-famous) said something along the lines of “When I think of work, it's mostly about having control over your destiny, as opposed to being at the mercy of what's out there.”   Furman Elite is in control.

Obviously, some of you won’t be able to wait six weeks until my next post (where you’ll get an in-depth look into what has made me Greenville’s most eligible bachelor). In the meantime, feel free to follow me on twitter (cory_leslie) for a less insightful, less entertaining look into my everyday life.

Curtains. -CJ

I go by Heidi, but you can call me Mama Kitty if you want...

Post One: Raleigh Relays - The 5K

So now it's my turn. I will apologize in advance for not being as charismatic as "fresh meat" aka "I like to undo and retie my shoelaces 10 million times before every run" Bolas, however I do think I will be a little more poetic.

Unfortunately, my original idea for a poem was destroyed after Furman Elite ran so damn good on Friday night. I had these ridiculously clever rhymes lined up, like: "What do I say about the 5k? / I say no way, jose!" and "The only one who ran slower than me / Was FE's most eligible bachelor, Mr Cory." And what's worse is that I may even go as far as saying that I actually enjoyed the race. 

Anyway, disappointment aside, I've done my best to put together a poem that reveals the true unfolding of Friday night's races. I call it, "5000 meters, 5000 dreams"

Under the lights at NC State,
It came time to approach the line
Bush came up still holding her gloves?
I came with an open mind

After the gun the race was a mess,
But we both soon found our place
Bush was up front leading the pack,
I became part of the chase

I started by clocking off 78's
And for most of it, felt fine
But my favorite part of this 5k
Was staring at Nicole's behind ;)

We ended up in second and third,
And both under 16.10
The 5k was great, I'll have to admit
I might even do it again

Next up were some good looking men,
Jeff, Cory, and some fresh meat
The rest of the athletes in the race
Would be no match for Furman Elite

Lee Lee Lemon took on the lead,
And became a speedy rabbit
Cory wore a shirt under his singlet
Lets hope he won't make this a habit

The men finished a sweep: 1,2,3 
Never afraid to keep fighting
The last lap left them with some sore legs,
While coach had sore cheeks from smiling :)

I hope you all enjoyed my post. I don't have any ideas yet for my next one, but like coach always says, "Ideas are like kittens. First you get a couple and learn how to handle them, and before you know it you have a dozen!"

Until next time --- 

meow.