Chapter on Track & Field

So I'm writing a book. Yup, another one. But nothing like the other one.

And similar to what I did a decade ago, I'm going to use this very same blog to drop some excerpts from what I'm working.

Even if no one reads this, it still holds me accountable to get this thing done.

Introduction to the Chapter on Track and Field:

 

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Intro

What does ‘track’ mean to me? Everything.

And not in the sense of the crazed idea of a delusional sport (ahem Maple Leafs fan), but the fact that I move through my life the same way that I run a 400m:

Power

Pace

Position

Pray (well I don’t do much praying, but you will understand what I mean in a hot second)

 

Power:

I come out hard with everything that I do. When I say hard, I mean hard. Relentless. Tunnel vision. Without fear.

If you’ve ever run a 400m before, I mean sprint, not run, you understand it is not a race but a test of will.

And it takes a just a side bit of masochistic madness to do it.

You fully well know that by the end (or near the end) of the race a few things are guaranteed to happen: your legs will feel like your blood has coagulated into red cement; you will vomit; and, you will tell yourself that you will never run that race again. Ever.

You will be at the line in those blocks knowing that if you come out 1% too hard, it’s game over for you. Might as well crawl to the finish line. But you know what you do every single time that gun goes off? Blast off like you’re running a 100m.

I remember at Junior Nationals in 2002, I was in lane one. Mind you, I was a 15 year old running against grown hardback 19 year olds. Lane 1 is arguably (next to lane 8) the worst lane to run a 400. If you come out too slow, the rest the field will walk away from you. The game plan? Come out hard. Power. No fear.

And that’s what I did (and the cement started mixing at 200m in).

 

Pace

The next phase of the race, and my life, is about pace.

The question was asked, at times subtle and others explicit, why I wanted to finish my PhD so quickly. People also would question my ‘read a book a day’ comprehensive exams studying and ‘type 500 words a day’ dissertation writing (full disclosure: some days I just mashed the keyboard and hoped 500 words came out).

Why the rush?

It wasn’t about rush, but pace. You come out hard in the 400, then you settle in. You get comfortable on the back stretch, and let your legs (and training) do the work for you. You get in a groove. It is so much harder to play catch-up on the backstretch (and in life) if you came out slow. You need to expend that energy when the rest of the field is in cruise control, preparing to hit the 200m mark and get in position for the finish.

Sidenote: what most folks also don’t know, is that I came out so hard with my PhD and with that work ethic for a couple big and bigger reasons: 1) I only had 4 years of funding, so had to get it done (which I did in 3.5 years; 2) my Father had kidney disease and the doctors gave him X years to live. I really wanted him to see me graduate, but unfortunately, that didn’t work out as he died unexpectedly from ischemic bowel.

 

Position

This is where the race, and life, gets interesting.

You are over half way done, can start feeling the cement mixer roll onto the job site, but you know this is where the hard work begins.

You hit that 150m mark knowing that the race is won or lost right here. All those hills, all that studying, all those push ups, all those job interviews, all those mega 2s, all those ‘we found a better candidate’ conversations, all those runs in the snow, come down to this.

Really, the position portion of the race has already been settled many months and years in advance. It’s not just the position in that race or moment, but how you put yourself in that position to be there. In that race. In that moment.

But, this is where the dog eat dog comes out. You make the decision that you are going to win or you are going to lose. You could be running against your BFF (which I’ve done many a times), but you’re going to try and crush their will like their middle name was Kunte.

 

Pray

If your race went according to plan, this is where the hurt comes in.

My Mother used to tell me all the time, always be alert when you get near home, cause that’s when you relax and bad things happen.

You came out with no fear: power.

You paced yourself, planned the race, got in a groove: pace.

You settled in for the win, got in the right spot to take it: position.

Then when you can see that finish line inching closer towards you, the cement truck does its best Dave Chappelle impression and says “gotcha bitch!”

And this where you make a decision. A business decision:

Do I fight it, and go slower?

Or do I relax into it, trust the training, trust the plan, and trust the process?

I’ve done both in life and on the track.

When I was younger, running those 400s with the thoughts of the nearest garbage can, I would fight it.  And win. I believe that attitude has made me fearless to confront any situation.

Western History’s Department tried to fail me (twice) out my PhD? I said fuck you, bring it. If I go down, I’m going to go down swinging. I fought back, pushed through the lactic, and won.

Waterloo doesn’t want to give me tenure? Fuck you. I’m good doing my thing.

Now that I’m older, I’m trusting the plan. I see situations for what they are, know that I’ve run the first three phases of the 400 the way that I wanted, and know that I have the strength to finish.

And Finish strong.