Friendly Petition to Implore Father Russia to Come Back


#1
  1. Doc Awesome

#2

2.M.Lange

I will follow anything doc awesome supports.


#3
  1. kick’em.down

#4

Mother Russia was way better though.

  1. Doc Awesome
  2. M.Lange
  3. kick’em.down
  4. Fitzxc27

#5

5.$0.02timmy


#6

alright 5!

Does that mean he comes back now?


#7

Now I’m not usually the type of guy to go on and on, but I’m right at one of those points in my life where I think I can. I don’t think it is necessary, and I don’t expect you to read this, but this is a personal catharsis.

You see, I started running when I was 14. I started running because I was frustrated. I didn’t like myself, I didn’t like anything else, I thought that maybe if I had some physical outlet things would get better. I was never good at sports, I played them as a kid, but I was always the one who wasn’t quite as good as the rest, I was a little weaker, a little slower, a little less coordinated, and I knew it, and that hurt my self esteem. I was a shy kid and I had trouble making friends, and I ended up becoming a little cynical. Maybe that isn’t uncommon for a 14 year old, but all I know I was profoundly unhappy. So I took a risk, one of the first risks I’d ever really taken, I tried out for the basketball team.

And it was a failure; I was still weaker, slower, and less coordinated than everyone else. I remember how dejected I felt, how terrible and embarrassing it was being at practice and not being able to do the drills. I left the first day and walked home, I didn’t take the late bus or call my parents, I didn’t want to see anyone, it was 3 miles to walk. I went home and locked the door to my room and I almost cried. I didn’t cry then and I regret it now, because I struggled not too and I don’t know why I wouldn’t let myself. I wish I had cried but I didn’t, I just lied there on my bed for a while. If I had cried at least I would have felt something, but I couldn’t let myself go like that. I just suffered and struggled and hated myself.

The next day one of my friends suggested I join the indoor track team, it was no-cut. I did.

I was the slowest. Boy or girl, everyone was faster. The first day we went and ran hills. The hill was 1.5 miles away. I was the last one there, I tried to run with my friends but they dropped me, and a half mile in I started walking. My coach ran up to me and said “Hey Pat, no matter how slow you are going, you’ve got to keep running”.

And from there everything was different. I started running and I never stopped. Freshman year I was terrible, a sprinter, I ran the 400 is something like 69 seconds as a PR. But I trained all summer to run XC, I ran more than just about anyone else and the first day we did a time trial, 1 mile. I ran 6:12, and everyone was shocked. By senior year I ran a 4:46 mile & a 10:26 2 mile. I didn’t know anything about training but I tried my hardest and tried my best and I got better.

I remember the day I ran the 10:26 2 mile, it was the best day of my life. It was the conference championships, I had to run 10:50 to make states, I hadn’t ever broken 11:10, and I went out and ran a 5:18 mile then a 5:08 mile, back to back. I closed in 71 seconds, a kick! I shocked people. I shocked myself. I’ve never found anything that could come close to that feeling. Sex, drugs, money, nothing has ever done it for me quiet the way that one race did. It was perfect, I was happy. That was the moment I realized, I had changed, radically. In 4 years I went from a cynical little **** to a kid who was just having fun, doing what he loved, running.

And with that 10:26 I was good enough to run for my college team. I busted my ass that summer, the coach said it would be a 5k time trial, run 17:20 and you’re on the team. Two weeks beforehand I ran an 18:40 roadrace 5k. For some reason I wasn’t even a little nervous. I knew I was going to make it, I knew I had bigger things in me. With good, collegiate training, I thought the sky was the limit.

And at the time trial, I ran 17:15. I was the last kid to make it. I knew I was going to do it and I did. My friend told me later he doesn’t know how I wasn’t ****ting my pants scared. I don’t know how I knew I was going to make it, everything should have indicated I was going to, but hey, sometimes there are bigger plans than we realize.

But the college game was different. As hard as I had worked to get in shape to make the team, the training we did was harder. I got ground down to a stump. I was running 25 miles a week in high school, I got thrown into 70 mpw in college. We did 10 mile tempo runs at sub 6 minute pace, we did ladder workouts that made me want to shoot myself. I got slower and slower and more and more frustrated.

It was still a blast, I loved the team, and the camaraderie during workouts was something incredible. But my races suffered. During Indoor track I rebounded slightly, the winter break had allowed me some rest, but by outdoor the song was the same, slow races, painful workouts. That summer I went to work with an iron will. I was going to throw myself to the lions, and emerge a Spartan warrior. I ran 85 miles the first week of June. Then I tore my quad in a god damn game of pickup football. A god damn game of pickup football… I didn’t run too far or too hard and hurt it, I just did something stupid, and that was all it took.

I wonder. Would things be different now if I hadn’t? The doctor said no running for a month, crutches for 2 weeks.

God damn it…

The first day of sophomore year rolls around and it is the same deal. Run 17:20 to make the team. I run 17:03. Not terrible, but not where I wanted to be. I got to rebound a little after my month off, I worked up to around 60 miles in the middle of august and wasn’t a fat slob when we showed.

But things are different this year, somehow. I’m crushing workouts this year. I’m running tempos at my race pace from last year. I’m working out as fast as any of the best runners on the team. And yet, in races, I can’t do ****. I die 2 miles in, and stumble through 3 miles of hell.

I get a glimmer of hope at the end of the season. I’m not selected to run at NYSCTC, so the coach has us unlucky slow kids do a 3k time trial the Friday before, to let us cap off our season.

I win.

By a Lot.

I ran a god damn 9:15, all alone, at 7 pm, in 30 degree weather. I drop perfect splits, 4:56 to open, then 74s to close. I feel almost like I did that day at Shorelines that felt so far away.

Four days later we did a workout, 9x1k w/ 3:00 rest. For us kids who weren’t making regionals (NYSCTC had come and gone) we were tasked with setting the pace for the faster kids early, then making them go around us. The point wasn’t for us to get a good workout, it was to simulate moving around runners for the kids who needed that skill.
I averaged 3:03. Do the math, 9k of work at faster than 3k pace. My coach was impressed. Only one or two kids had a faster average than me, most of them didn’t even finish.

But that was the worst thing that could have happened. The coach had big plans for me now. I beat a 4:01 1500m runner in that time trial. In that workout I handed a kid who eventually ran 3:57 in the 1500m his jock strap. I looked relaxed, like I could have kept going, and honestly, I felt like I could. We thought I had finally pulled it together, all those great workouts and I had just broken through and gotten on the track I needed to be.

Indoor track rolls around, and I notice my knee is hurting. Patellar tendonitis, who gives a ****. I run through it. Just remember, the backdrop to what happens next is me dealing with pain that is compounding every week.

You know what, let me explain why I ran through it. I thought there were two types of athletes, those who gut it out, and those who ■■■■■ out. I always gutted it out. No matter how bad I hurt I pushed harder. I got every last drop out of myself every time I could. Taking time off sucks. I won’t do it. If I am going to stop it is because I’m broken, not afraid. That is how champions are made. If you are cautious, if you take the time off when you are hurt, if you don’t roll the dice and hope it just “goes away”, you won’t ever win. You will, 90% of the time, be better than you would have been taking the aggressive approach, but that 10% of the time… that is when you are a champion…

Anyway, the first race, my coach tells me “Run 9:05, get the state qualifier out of the way” like it isn’t a big deal. I run the first 2k in about 5:57.

I finish in 9:31.

It is basketball tryouts all over again.

More races, more predictions, more failures, more stress, worse races, faster predictions, worse failures.

So one day, I wake up, and I say, “I’m not happy anymore.”

It was a profound moment. I realized that running had done for me all it could. I wanted to be the best, I yearned for it so badly, but I realized, in that one moment, that I’m not happy. I’m not strong enough to be the best. I don’t know what failing it is but I’m too flawed to make it, and it is unfair to throw myself into situations where I fail, where I won’t succeed.

So I quit.

My coach was shocked, my captains were shocked, my team mates were shocked. I didn’t have an explanation, it is something I can’t put into words, the best thing I can say is I wasn’t happy anymore.

I spent a few weeks training myself, at the end of outdoor I ran unattached and did a solid 1500m, but then things went out of my hands. My knee took a turn for the worst. I went to the doctor and they said I needed surgery, and I’d probably never run again. That was 3 months ago. No surgery still, but no running either.

I look back and I wish things were different. I wish I could have done things over, but I’m happy for what I did get out of the sport. It wasn’t time and effort wasted, but I dreamed too big, and I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t want to be mediocre, I didn’t want to be happy with just qualifying for some meet my senior year, like I was in HS. I wanted to win, and I couldn’t hold myself back, and eventually I pushed to hard and snapped.

I learned a lot, I became a better person. I know only 1 person gets to win, and I wanted that person to be me.

It didn’t end up being me.

So that is why I’m not going to come back.

Because being here hurts, because of what this place meant to me once, because of the time in my life it represents.


#8

I made a long ass post that didn’t get posted for some weird reason.

Edit: apparently I can’t make long as posts.


#9

Now I’m not usually the type of guy to go on and on, but I’m right at one of those points in my life where I think I can. I don’t think it is necessary, and I don’t expect you to read this, but this is a personal catharsis.

You see, I started running when I was 14. I started running because I was frustrated. I didn’t like myself, I didn’t like anything else, I thought that maybe if I had some physical outlet things would get better. I was never good at sports, I played them as a kid, but I was always the one who wasn’t quite as good as the rest, I was a little weaker, a little slower, a little less coordinated, and I knew it, and that hurt my self esteem. I was a shy kid and I had trouble making friends, and I ended up becoming a little cynical. Maybe that isn’t uncommon for a 14 year old, but all I know I was profoundly unhappy. So I took a risk, one of the first risks I’d ever really taken, I tried out for the basketball team.

And it was a failure; I was still weaker, slower, and less coordinated than everyone else. I remember how dejected I felt, how terrible and embarrassing it was being at practice and not being able to do the drills. I left the first day and walked home, I didn’t take the late bus or call my parents, I didn’t want to see anyone, it was 3 miles to walk. I went home and locked the door to my room and I almost cried. I didn’t cry then and I regret it now, because I struggled not too and I don’t know why I wouldn’t let myself. I wish I had cried but I didn’t, I just lied there on my bed for a while. If I had cried at least I would have felt something, but I couldn’t let myself go like that. I just suffered and struggled and hated myself.

The next day one of my friends suggested I join the indoor track team, it was no-cut. I did.

I was the slowest. Boy or girl, everyone was faster. The first day we went and ran hills. The hill was 1.5 miles away. I was the last one there, I tried to run with my friends but they dropped me, and a half mile in I started walking. My coach ran up to me and said “Hey Pat, no matter how slow you are going, you’ve got to keep running”.

And from there everything was different. I started running and I never stopped. Freshman year I was terrible, a sprinter, I ran the 400 is something like 69 seconds as a PR. But I trained all summer to run XC, I ran more than just about anyone else and the first day we did a time trial, 1 mile. I ran 6:12, and everyone was shocked. By senior year I ran a 4:46 mile & a 10:26 2 mile. I didn’t know anything about training but I tried my hardest and tried my best and I got better.

I remember the day I ran the 10:26 2 mile, it was the best day of my life. It was the conference championships, I had to run 10:50 to make states, I hadn’t ever broken 11:10, and I went out and ran a 5:18 mile then a 5:08 mile, back to back. I closed in 71 seconds, a kick! I shocked people. I shocked myself. I’ve never found anything that could come close to that feeling. Sex, drugs, money, nothing has ever done it for me quiet the way that one race did. It was perfect, I was happy. That was the moment I realized, I had changed, radically. In 4 years I went from a cynical little **** to a kid who was just having fun, doing what he loved, running.

And with that 10:26 I was good enough to run for my college team. I busted my ass that summer, the coach said it would be a 5k time trial, run 17:20 and you’re on the team. Two weeks beforehand I ran an 18:40 roadrace 5k. For some reason I wasn’t even a little nervous. I knew I was going to make it, I knew I had bigger things in me. With good, collegiate training, I thought the sky was the limit.

And at the time trial, I ran 17:15. I was the last kid to make it. I knew I was going to do it and I did. My friend told me later he doesn’t know how I wasn’t ****ting my pants scared. I don’t know how I knew I was going to make it, everything should have indicated I was going to, but hey, sometimes there are bigger plans than we realize.


#10

Success!


#11

lol


#12

tl;dr


#13


#14

Troll account or the real deal?


#15

bump