college. oh, college.
i was a walk-on for UMBC's div.1 women's cross country team. i hadn't been scouted. nobody had called me, nobody sent me mail, nobody wanted me for my legs. it's only because my dad insisted on that december visit day that we try and see the coach. just ask him. what's the worst he can say? no? then we have nothing to lose.
have to say, dad was right. not only was the coach amenable to me running on the xc team as a late addition, but as my javelin skills were an unexpected boon, he waived my application fee with his magic coach's stamp right then and there, if only i would agree to throw competitively. i ended up being granted in-state tuition in lieu of any athletic scholarship that my future teammates would receive, and that amounted to a $20,000 savings for my family. the whole arrangement pleased me. not only were my parents relieved of a significant financial burden (my academics would help take care of the rest), but i'd be able to continue my now-beloved running career in a competitive vein. what more could i ask for?
upon receiving the summer training regimen to be completed before the august pre-season camp, i blanched. seventy miles per what now? a week? i had never run that much before. ever. i read the workouts over and over again. it seemed unreal. cruel. draconian. this man who'd given me the keys to a bright running future had attached torturous chains, and now i was bound.
to my surprise, though i didn't quite make the level of summer training planned, i still ran well in those early weeks. our first time trial was the two mile loop around campus, hilltop circle. my team consisted of former and current maryland state track champs, new york state qualifying runners, etc. however, i'd grown up on the inner side of a valley, and because i desperately loved running hills, i managed to take the inclines more strategically and come in fourth overall. i was stunned; i'd beaten girls who had trophies and ribbons and titles galore. i couldn't believe it. it wasn't possible. running had become my life, and here i was, little girl from little nowhere, pennsylvania, finishing a workout not just ahead of expectations and teammates but also in a PR. this was huge. i could barely handle it. how many amazing runs like this did i have in me?
too few, it seems. because of my lack of preparation, my muscles weren't able to keep up. my IT band flared up something vicious, and trying to simply walk with inflamed ITs is a bitch. practice was out of the question, as were races. as time wore on and my injuries lingered, i began to worry. my teammates were improving, running fantastic times, breezing through workouts, while i sat there. i couldn't bike, i couldn't swim, i couldn't anything.
my vision suffered too. i saw the other girls as fast, way too fast for me to keep up with, and fast because they were skinny. no 18 year old woman who is 5'6" and 135 pounds has any cause to call herself fat. but i did. and i called myself slow. and a cow. and pathetic. and horrible. and lazy. in my mind, i had to do all that i could to change that, and since exercise was out of the question, severe calorie restriction was my only option. i remember days and days where my sole meals were a small plate of rice and a little salad. those days and days were more likely weeks and weeks, and here's why--i was finally able to run again, but in order to build up my base again, i was told to go on multiple runs of at least an hour each. mind you, i'd been out of commission for at least a month. put distance runs like that together with an unsuspecting body, one not nourishing itself, and the result is a disaster. i didn't get injured again. i did get mono.
i cried and cried and cried. as was said earlier, running was my world. if i couldn't run, then who was i? that was my thing. that had been my thing for six whole years, which, at the time, was a third of my existence on this planet. everything i did had been informed by running--do i eat this or that, do i go to this party, do i go to bed now, do i light up--everything. if i didn't have it, how would i figure life out? then it got worse. when i thought about putting my Nikes back on to prepare for the indoor season, i wanted to throw up. that fall semester had stained running so completely for me that the thought of getting out there again gave me headaches. when i realized my burgeoning resentment for the sport that i'd loved for so long, i was thrown into a tailspin. when it came to running, i didn't want to do it, but i had to do it because without it, then i was nothing, but with it, i was falling apart and destroying myself, but take it away and the person leftover isn't even worth worrying about, even if she is Super... Messed... Up.
i emailed my beloved high school cross country coach, Anne Boyer, a woman i will admire and respect for the rest of my days. she, like most people who love me best, called me on my bullshit. her trademark common sense--"joanna, if it hurts, don't do it."
don't... do it?
i wanted to scream at the computer.
"but that's not how runners operate! we of the long distance tribe thrive on challenges and indeed glorify our sport through the very pain it causes, reveling in each defeat of human limitations! that's the whole point, to endure! you, of all people, should know that! my coach, my trusted mentor, my teacher who took me under her wing and protected me for so long! how can you say that?!"
those are words i never shared with Anne, but ohhh did i think them. and i thought them hard. i don't remember how i replied to her, but i eventually bowed to her advice out of self-preservation. though i wanted to keep on in spite of it all, i knew that it'd be the death of me if i did. i went to my college coach, explained the situation, and, fortunately, was able to reach an understanding. i'd be able to retain the financial benefits already granted me, and all i'd have to do was stay on the track team as a much-needed javelin thrower.
that spring, my mom ordered me a javelin, a beautiful, bright orange, lethal missile. and it was all mine. and it would help me keep my identity as a track and field athlete. at least, it would for a time.
i was a walk-on for UMBC's div.1 women's cross country team. i hadn't been scouted. nobody had called me, nobody sent me mail, nobody wanted me for my legs. it's only because my dad insisted on that december visit day that we try and see the coach. just ask him. what's the worst he can say? no? then we have nothing to lose.
have to say, dad was right. not only was the coach amenable to me running on the xc team as a late addition, but as my javelin skills were an unexpected boon, he waived my application fee with his magic coach's stamp right then and there, if only i would agree to throw competitively. i ended up being granted in-state tuition in lieu of any athletic scholarship that my future teammates would receive, and that amounted to a $20,000 savings for my family. the whole arrangement pleased me. not only were my parents relieved of a significant financial burden (my academics would help take care of the rest), but i'd be able to continue my now-beloved running career in a competitive vein. what more could i ask for?
upon receiving the summer training regimen to be completed before the august pre-season camp, i blanched. seventy miles per what now? a week? i had never run that much before. ever. i read the workouts over and over again. it seemed unreal. cruel. draconian. this man who'd given me the keys to a bright running future had attached torturous chains, and now i was bound.
to my surprise, though i didn't quite make the level of summer training planned, i still ran well in those early weeks. our first time trial was the two mile loop around campus, hilltop circle. my team consisted of former and current maryland state track champs, new york state qualifying runners, etc. however, i'd grown up on the inner side of a valley, and because i desperately loved running hills, i managed to take the inclines more strategically and come in fourth overall. i was stunned; i'd beaten girls who had trophies and ribbons and titles galore. i couldn't believe it. it wasn't possible. running had become my life, and here i was, little girl from little nowhere, pennsylvania, finishing a workout not just ahead of expectations and teammates but also in a PR. this was huge. i could barely handle it. how many amazing runs like this did i have in me?
too few, it seems. because of my lack of preparation, my muscles weren't able to keep up. my IT band flared up something vicious, and trying to simply walk with inflamed ITs is a bitch. practice was out of the question, as were races. as time wore on and my injuries lingered, i began to worry. my teammates were improving, running fantastic times, breezing through workouts, while i sat there. i couldn't bike, i couldn't swim, i couldn't anything.
my vision suffered too. i saw the other girls as fast, way too fast for me to keep up with, and fast because they were skinny. no 18 year old woman who is 5'6" and 135 pounds has any cause to call herself fat. but i did. and i called myself slow. and a cow. and pathetic. and horrible. and lazy. in my mind, i had to do all that i could to change that, and since exercise was out of the question, severe calorie restriction was my only option. i remember days and days where my sole meals were a small plate of rice and a little salad. those days and days were more likely weeks and weeks, and here's why--i was finally able to run again, but in order to build up my base again, i was told to go on multiple runs of at least an hour each. mind you, i'd been out of commission for at least a month. put distance runs like that together with an unsuspecting body, one not nourishing itself, and the result is a disaster. i didn't get injured again. i did get mono.
i cried and cried and cried. as was said earlier, running was my world. if i couldn't run, then who was i? that was my thing. that had been my thing for six whole years, which, at the time, was a third of my existence on this planet. everything i did had been informed by running--do i eat this or that, do i go to this party, do i go to bed now, do i light up--everything. if i didn't have it, how would i figure life out? then it got worse. when i thought about putting my Nikes back on to prepare for the indoor season, i wanted to throw up. that fall semester had stained running so completely for me that the thought of getting out there again gave me headaches. when i realized my burgeoning resentment for the sport that i'd loved for so long, i was thrown into a tailspin. when it came to running, i didn't want to do it, but i had to do it because without it, then i was nothing, but with it, i was falling apart and destroying myself, but take it away and the person leftover isn't even worth worrying about, even if she is Super... Messed... Up.
i emailed my beloved high school cross country coach, Anne Boyer, a woman i will admire and respect for the rest of my days. she, like most people who love me best, called me on my bullshit. her trademark common sense--"joanna, if it hurts, don't do it."
don't... do it?
i wanted to scream at the computer.
"but that's not how runners operate! we of the long distance tribe thrive on challenges and indeed glorify our sport through the very pain it causes, reveling in each defeat of human limitations! that's the whole point, to endure! you, of all people, should know that! my coach, my trusted mentor, my teacher who took me under her wing and protected me for so long! how can you say that?!"
those are words i never shared with Anne, but ohhh did i think them. and i thought them hard. i don't remember how i replied to her, but i eventually bowed to her advice out of self-preservation. though i wanted to keep on in spite of it all, i knew that it'd be the death of me if i did. i went to my college coach, explained the situation, and, fortunately, was able to reach an understanding. i'd be able to retain the financial benefits already granted me, and all i'd have to do was stay on the track team as a much-needed javelin thrower.
that spring, my mom ordered me a javelin, a beautiful, bright orange, lethal missile. and it was all mine. and it would help me keep my identity as a track and field athlete. at least, it would for a time.
 |
| spring meet at UNC Wilmington in `98 i learned that, though it may be chilly, one still ought to wear sunblock if she is going to be outside for eight hours. i got some pretty vicious sun-poisoning because my face was unprotected, then had to ride the bus home from NC all the back to MD. i haven't felt that kind of vilely sick in a long time, thank goodness. |
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| `00 Northeast Conference Championships turns out, this would be my last track meet ever, though it was only my junior year. my health fell apart in an even more sinister fashion the following year, and i was barely able to keep it together and go to classes. sports were out of the question. i still have that javelin that's climbing the air in the picture. i know that someday i should get rid of it. it's just a pointy stick taking up space. but for some reason, i can't bring myself to let it go one last time. |
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