Limits and Limitless

 By: Unknown    Sunday, February 16, 2014  Boston Marathon, college, david foster wallace, dfw, infintie jest, running, writing   No comments

"THE MAN WHO KNOWS HIS LIMITATIONS HAS NONE" - Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace

As an English student of occasionally the most pretentious variety, I've always wanted to study Infinite Jest at school. I spent the summer before freshman year trudging through the almost-1,100 pages, 388 footnotes, and I can only describe the experience as the best kind of overwhelming. DFW's ability to create the strangest, most captivating cast of characters, convey their interior states, and create his own world so similar (and frighteningly so) to our own is what makes this ambitious novel so successful. Reading Infinite Jest the first time is hilarious and disorienting -- the first 200 or so pages setting up the rest of the book at incredible speed. It's a test of will and attention: IJ requires tremendous trust on the reader's part. The separate stories may not connect clearly or even completely, but everything that the reader needs is in that book somewhere.

This semester I'm fortunate enough to be enrolled in Walking Infinite Jest, in which we're reading IJ and conducting site visits to discover DFW's Boston. Rereading IJ is a time-consuming but incredibly rewarding experience, and I'm already making new connections, tying up more stories, noticing more wonderful ideas. When slowly chugging along through my first assigned reading, I came to a footnote that referenced a mathematical theorem of Georg Cantor that states that between any two numbers, no matter how together they are, there are an infinite number of points. From this theorem comes the motto of the tennis academy in IJ: "The man who knows his limitations has none." During my first read through the book, I hardly noticed it. I had larger worries, like figuring out what the was going on, and who the hell was being introduced. 

Maybe it's because I can now focus more on the language of IJ itself than the plot, or maybe it's because I'm at some meaningful point in my life, but there's something about that idea that has stuck with me these past few weeks. It seems almost inconceivable that no matter how something is bounded, between its limits there is an infinite number of things. As someone involved in a competitive sport and attending a competitive school, pushing your limits seems like the only thing you can do to get to the top. Want that PR or that BQ? Everything tells you that your mileage needs to be higher or the intensity of your workouts needs to increase. Your training schedule looks inflexible -- mileage goals and tempo runs and long runs and intervals already inalterable -- and rest days don't even seem like options. At school sleep sometimes gets deemphasized with readings and papers always due, with places to go and people to see. Pulling all nighters or staying up way-too-late doesn't always produce the desired results. You can sometimes succeed by defying limits, trying to push out the boundaries. Sometimes though you can just end up injured or exhausted or worse off.

Maybe instead of seeing success as breaking boundaries or transcending limits, we can see as triumphing within our confines. Our greatest successes cannot come from ignoring the natural boundaries of our mind and body. Cantor said it in his theorem: there is an infinity within a set of limits. Know yourself, know your boundaries, and anything and everything is possible. It's so incredibly difficult to see the potential from within though. We envision our desired results, the breakthroughs, and the personal bests, and we sometimes think that to achieve it all will require some Herculean effort, something that might very well break us. We set our goals and we sometimes plan the most rigid, most intense path possible. It's valiant and it's inspiring, but it's irresponsible ambitious. Maybe instead of trying to break our bodies down in training, to hit the mileage goals that wear us out, to run our repeats too fast, we can work within the our own bodies and abilities.

It's more difficult than it seems to keep yourself in check though. Many of us bring an unrivaled intensity to our running, for we always hope for faster, stronger, farther. It's difficult to stay within your limits, to train not just intensely but also intelligently. Especially within the past month, I've dealing with respecting my own limits lately. Missing a slew of days with strep throat and dealing with some foot troubles have driven my nearly crazy. The mileage and workout goals I had established had to be adjusted and readjusted, but the goal itself hasn't changed. Instead of more weeks at peak mileage, I'm spending more time building up and getting in quality workouts. I'm learning to take easy days truly easily, listening to my body when it needs rest. I'm trying make smarter decisions, like running inside instead of risking life and limb outside during snowstorms. Learning what the body can and cannot handle has been essential to my marathon training. Running logs and workout plans and lap splits, for as useful as they are, can so often lead us to overtrain and overstep those boundaries. Just because I realize and respect my limits doesn't mean I'm limiting my goals. Within this body and this mindset I'm working to grow. Within these limits there's infinite potential, and if I run smart enough and hard enough, any goal is possible.

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Training at Home

 By: Unknown    Tuesday, January 14, 2014     No comments

Somehow winter break seems to feel simultaneously too long and not at all long enough. The week between Christmas and New Year's seemed to drag on, and I found myself increasingly missing BC. I'm not sure what happened or what exactly I did, but before I could even realize it, the final day of break arrived and there was an overwhelming amount of things I had been avoiding. A mountain of laundry, growing at an alarming speed after shedding way-too-many layers after each run and several shifts at the Gap, needed washing. Books needed ordering for syllabi I hadn't even seen. Late Christmas gifts had to be found and purchased. Three weeks spent at home and all I had to show for it were a few completed books, a few checks, and a surprising amount of empty Chobani containers.

All right, I guess the first two weeks of training I completed were satisfactory. I only had easy mileage scheduled, which meant that most runs were pretty enjoyable. After a fall I had before Christmas, my knee was still sore during the first week. After runs I would end up hobbling around before the soreness would subside, and I would end up icing my knee with bags of frozen vegetables under the light of the Christmas tree in the evenings. During the second week my pain subsided almost completely during the run, but post-run soreness was still a thing. I'm relieved that I was able to only have easy mileage when getting back into the swing of training. Moreover, to begin an important block of training back home felt right. 

For as repetitive as my routes seem or for however many times I've run all of them, there's something significant in that familiarity, the roads, the neighbors, the sights. Running down streets and greeting family and friends. Passing cars driven by people you know. Seeing how things have stayed the same, how some have changed. Surrounding the entire valley, the mountains still astoundingly beautiful no matter the season. The sky as big as it always seemed. Feels like home on the run. The streets on which I've run for years now and the inhabitants who have always waved and the reliable sights. 

Without the stressors of school running is to schedule. I'm able to focus so much more on training entirely, a composite of nutrition, rest, and running that is difficult to maintain at college. As a morning person, there are few things more enjoyable than waking up and being able to enjoy a cup of coffee and the newspaper crossword before a run. Restricted occasionally by accidentally sleeping in and that Polar Vortex and the unplowed roads (which somehow seem to remain uncleared long after storms have passed), the morning run was something I'm able to appreciate more slowly and fully at home then at school. No longer rushed to finish with enough time for eating and class and meetings, more easily I would unwind on the runs, finding a rhythm on hard packed streets of snow, rerunning the routes almost by instinct. 

At home with the access of a car and other friends who run, it's easier to change the dynamics of the run though. Though I've been at BC for two years now, my knowledge of routes at home dwarves the roads I run at school. The trails I've run down with my high school cross country team still feel like home, no matter the season and no matter the race for which I'm training. My favorite trails and roads with the best of views are always a comfort. There's nothing like returning for break though, and being able to run with friends. It's almost like no run is long enough to recap what has happened recently, and running always feels easier with a friend. I usually run alone, but to run with friends is one of the most enjoyable simple pleasures.

Being able to run on the streets on which I grew up (both as a kid and as a runner) feels nostalgic. Remembering the games of jailbreak we would play nightly in the summer. The shorter routes I initially struggled to complete. The walks around town in the summer. On those roads the past seems to be almost in the pavement (even if some potholes have been filled, some roads repaved). There's nothing like being aware of how far you've come. Home has it all -- the support of family, the familiarity of routes, the reconnection with friends, the low level of stress. Unplowed roads and sidewalks, occasionally inconsiderate drivers, negative-30 degree wind chills aside, I guess there really is no place like home (and no place I'd rather train). Except occasionally during those blizzards and Polar Vortexes. 

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Where'd you go, 2013?

 By: Unknown    Thursday, January 02, 2014     No comments

Every adult seems to say it -- that the years pass more quickly, that daily you'll be questioning where has the year gone, that you won't even realize that suddenly it's the second half of the year and you won't know what you've done and what you'll do. Whether time compresses or accelerates I'll never know, but it seems impossible that it's 365 days have passed since I celebrated New Year's Eve with chubby post-wisdom teeth extraction cheeks. I believe it now, that even though we're increasingly conscious of time we don't know where it goes or even how quickly, painfully aware but blissfully uncomprehending. 

Thanks to Alex Gaynor of the Heights for this!

For happening so quickly, for ending so abruptly, 2013 was wonderful. A progression of extraordinary events, easy and difficult. For the first time, I've spent more time at school than at home in Pennsylvania, which means that Boston College has itself become a home. Two semesters have passed, in which I've been twice blessed by the housing gods, moving from Newton to 90, with a lease signed for a house come junior year. In which I've battled exhaustion and endured a somewhat unnecessary all nighter for Macklemore tickets (and chugged a Box of Joe). In which I've learned to appreciate and to enjoy hockey. In which I've continued to meet people, to make friends who consistently amaze and inspire me. In which I've discovered that living on the a floor with fifteen of your closest friends may threaten productivity, but it certainly improves quality of living. In which I've kept and made some of the best friends I ever could have imagined. In which I'm in constant awe of the absolutely remarkable aspects of everyone around me. In which experienced the strength city and the realized the meaning of a marathon. In which I've challenged and been challenged (and hopefully conquered). In which I've realized that everyone is somehow winging it. In which I've never felt so wonderfully lost, but have never felt so much at home. In which Boston College and the people therein emphasized how right of a choice this was.

For those few months I was home during the summer and now during winter break, I've become more appreciate of family and of home. To quote Tolstoy, "happy families are alike"; every family is absurd in its own way. With funerals and family vacations, the change was varied, and it wasn't necessarily easy or pleasant, but it was immeasurably important. Ridiculousness aside, my family has been the support and the familiarity I've needed. Distance has only made me realize how lucky I was to have such a family with traditions and quirks. I've been able to share Boston with my family, to explore and experience new places, to find some fun in getting lost (looking at you, Hilton Head). Even though I usually ache to return to Boston after a few days in Pennsylvania, there is no place like home, with familiarity of holidays and night drives and traditions and friends and family. There's something reliable about home, the people and the things. Time inevitability changes them, but they're essentially the same. How great is it too return to genuine friends, with whom everything still feels real and genuine, despite months of distance and inconsistent communication  A stable familiarity, a sense of and a love for home that never really diminishes. 

Running in 2013 started poorly. After a pain in my foot intensified in late January, I was diagnosed with a stress fracture that had me resting for several weeks. It was my first serious injury, and now I can empathize with the injured, all too well do I remember those even more painfully long weeks of rest. 
I resumed training for my first half marathon in May. After the Boston Marathon, I was inspired to sign up for the Steamtown Marathon in October. I stopped avoiding the marathon, which I had always been eager (if not somewhat anxious) to run, and decided to to give the 26.2 the old college try. My first half in May was less than stellar: I bonked the last three miles, the final mile a cruel death march to the finish line. Maybe it was inconsistent training or maybe it wasn't my day, but it scared the hell out of me. If I could barely complete those 13.1, how could I race double that distance? 16 weeks of training -- early morning miles, solo workouts, stomachaches, exhausted legs, suppressing doubts with trust in my training  -- toughened me, but never did I feel more ready. All those hours and miles for a single morning of racing. Chafed and sore and proud of that effort (and slightly disappointed by missing the BQ by less than 2 minutes), I realized the marathon felt right. It's a race with a heart, with the most interesting of the physical and psychological. And here I am, training for Boston 2014, given this opportunity to run for the Wellesley Education Foundation.

2013, a sum of its challenges and triumphs and difficulties and successes, was the most fulfilling year yet. For passing so quickly, I can't help but be satisfied with the past year - the opportunities and the memories. As frustrating as it is to see time move in an unceasing acceleration, if it means that years pass with all these people and all these moments, I can't really complain. I'm making 2014 about using and accumulating and giving that positivity. A new year isn't necessarily a beginning. If I can't slow time, all I can hope is in this next year I experience those overwhelmingly great moments and actualize all those dreams and utilize all those opportunities, progressing with all that positive momentum. 

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