Running -a history.

Yesterday (Wednesday) I ran 17.3 miles - the longest I've ever run at a go, so far.  The day before (Tuesday), I did 3 sets of 800m sprints + 400m jog at a track practice with Penn Running Club.  And two days before that (Sunday), I ran 17 miles.  Some of my classmates who asked why I was so tired at class yesterday exclaimed, "You're crazy!" when I told them I had run 17 miles right before class.

Am I?

I never used to do so much running.  Back in high school, I was a sailor, and ran for fun.  The cross-country coach tried very hard to recruit me onto the team, and promised that I would shave several minutes off my running time if I joined, but at that time, I already had my plate full with sailing and dance, so I declined his incessant offer as politely as possible.  I was always above average in terms of my running speed compared to the fitter half of my peers, but I was never fast.  It didn't matter to me anyway, since I only ran recreationally.

It was only in the year of military training (right after I graduated and right before I came to Penn) that I started caring about my running speed.  We had to take physical proficiency tests, which included a running component (1.5 miles, or 6 rounds around the track).  In order to get a "Gold" level for the test you had to run within a certain time.  The women's timing was easily achievable, but I felt that it wasn't enough to just get a "Gold" based on women's standards; I wanted to aim for the men's standards (running under 9min 44s for 2.4km or 1.5mi, which is roughly a 6.5 min/ mile pace).  And eventually, after several months of training, I did it - I ran 1.5 miles in 09:43, in a 6.48 min/ mile pace.  That was probably the proudest moment in the running-related aspect of my life.

When I came to Penn in 2008, I decided to try distance-running.  In less than a month of arriving in Philly as a freshman, I decided to sign up for and run the Philadelphia Rock 'n' Roll Half-Marathon at the end of September.  That would be the furthest distance I had ever run; the furthest I had run before that was just 6 or 7 miles probably.  And so, without any training (except going for leisurely somewhat-long runs of 6 to 8 miles on an every-other-day basis), I ran my first 13.1 miles (21 km).  I was so sore for several days after that, but that was the second proudest moment in the running-related part of my life.

At the beginning of my sophomore/junior summer at Penn (2009), I fractured my left foot.  Because I refused to stay inactive and went walking everywhere on my crutches (even going hiking in Japan, up and down a volcano on crutches), I took 4 long months to completely recover (instead of the predicted "3 months at most").  During this time when I couldn't run, I worked out any other way I could think of -- mostly weightlifting.  I gained a lot more muscular mass during this time.  I think that was when my running really deteriorated.  I never really ran quite as fast after that.

Over the past year, I slowly eased back into distance-running again, even though I was now concentrating more on Body Combat, and on becoming certified as a Body Combat instructor.  All the time, I was toying with the idea of pushing my limits and doing a marathon, but I had always put it off, thinking, "I don't need to do this," or "I had knee injuries before, I can't do this, or I'll injure my knees."  But they were all excuses.  In summer, my mom passed away from cancer.  I thought of all the running medals I wanted to show to her, but it was too late.  And for some reason, that was when I decided to do it -- I decided to run my first marathon in memory of her.  I wanted the pushing of my very limits to be meaningful, and this was it.  I decided to fundraise for my marathon.  In the end, I raised over $1,100 for the American Cancer Society.  And now, this marathon is drawing near -- in less than a month (Nov 20), I'd be running the furthest I had ever run.  I'd be realizing one of my dreams.

And now every time I run "the longest run I've ever run" (which for now still stays 17.3 miles), I think of my mom, and I feel close to her.  I know I don't have to do anything to make her feel proud of me, but when I feel proud of myself, of achieving something I didn't know I could achieve, I smile, and I know that she's smiling back at me.

That's why I run, and run, and run.

First Cross-country Meet with Penn Running Club

Last Saturday (10/15) was my very first cross-country meet with Penn Running Club (PRC) at Princeton- the Ivy League Championships/ Heps Club Cross-Country Invite.  It was my very first competitive 6K, so I was naturally very nervous.  Granted, I have run many 5K races before, a couple of 5-milers, a couple of 10-milers, 3 half marathons to be exact, and several 6 - 7 mile trail races.  But those were recreational races, while this was running with PRC's women team.  I definitely felt a lot more (probably self-given) pressure to perform than when I had run the other recreational races.

I met up with the team at 1, and drove with them to Princeton.  The course was beautiful - grassy, sunny, windswept (yes it was chilly!).  After a warmup run and a couple of striding runs, we were ready to begin.  At the sound of the starting horn, a rush of adrenaline surged through my body, and I started striding out with the bulk of the other runners.  It was a huge mistake, beginning at that pace.  My pride and competitive edge made me want to try to keep that fast pace for as long as possible.  But halfway through the course, I started feeling it - the shortness of breath, the heaviness in the legs that only meant I had started faster than I should have, and was now feeling the lactic acid buildup from the anaerobic activity.  I slowed down significantly during the later half of the course, and ended up with a timing of 29 minutes - a 7.8 min/mile pace, which wasn't terrible (for my standards, though I'm sure it would have been terrible for others' standards), but I had run 6 miles at a 7.5 or 7.6 min/mile pace before, so I know I could definitely have done better.  Moral of the story is- always run your own race; never try to just beat everyone you see, just so you have the satisfaction of feeling you're better, because in the end that's not gonna work.

Even though the race itself wasn't a good race for me, I had a wonderful time overall because of the team.  Amongst all the different Ivy League schools represented that day (Penn, Princeton, Cornell, Yale, Dartmouth, Brown), the Penn runners showed the most team spirit.  We tried to run together as much as possible (e.g. if someone else had a similar pace, we tried to keep together as much as possible), we cheered each other on - the guys' team cheered the girls' team on while we were running, and when it was the guys' turn, we ran around the course to cheer them at different junctions; we even did a human pyramid to cheer them on!  In the end, Penn was placed second for both the mens' team and the womens' team; Princeton was first for both.  But personally, I felt that Penn Running Club, won that day- we were not just a group of individuals who each placed high on the rankings; we were a team.

I look forward to running in more upcoming races with Penn Running Club, with my fellow team-mates.  Regionals (Oct 29) and Nationals (Nov 12)- here we come!

An end of a trip is the beginning of friendships

This past weekend, I co-led a Penn Outdoors backpacking trip with Dan to Acadia National Park in Maine, from Fri Oct 7 to Mon Oct 10.  I had been looking forward to this trip the entire week, because Acadia National Park was one place that I had been meaning to go to all along.  Yet, because of school, work, and some complications with the car rental, the trip did not start as smoothly as I had wanted (Dan and I didn't get to the pre-trip dinner until an hour later, when they had all finished dinner).  We started on our drive to Hartford, Connecticut, where we would spend the night.  On the car ride there, we had a really interesting conversation about linguistics, accents, and how certain ways of pronouncing certain words reflected specific regional influences (Aaron was a linguistics doctoral student).   By the end of the 5-hour car ride, I was already feeling glad that I had a bunch of great people on the trip.

The next day, we began on the remaining 6-hour drive from Hartford, Connecticut, to Mount Desert Island, Maine.  Along the way, we stopped by Portland, Maine, for a great seafood lunch.  Again, we had great conversation, though I can't exactly remember about what.

Isn't memory such a frail thing?  
We remember the nice warm feeling of connection, 
we remember the excitement and joy 
of good conversation, 
we remember the sunshine
glowing and melting into our skin,
we remember- 
the smiles,
the laughter,
the twinkle in each other's eyes,
but yet
we don't recall
what words we said,
what we laughed about,
or even what we ate.
Does it matter?
All that matters -to me-
I remember you, and
I remember us.


Finally, we reached Mount Desert Island in Maine.  We only had an hour before the sun set, so we hiked around a little bit near Echo Lake, and did some trail-running on the way back.  It was exhilarating -trail running, hopping from rock to rock, deciding how to land in that split second when our feet still hung in the air.  And then we rushed to Bass Harbor Lighthouse to see the sunset.

It was too late; the sun had already set.  Or was it too late?  We could still catch the dying rays of the already-set sun, trickling like blood across the purple sky, dripping down into the crashing waves below.

Why do we always try so hard to meet certain deadlines, certain times?  Does it matter that we got there by 6:39PM, just to see the sun dipping down into the horizon?  What matters is that we were there, we felt the sunset together, even though we may not have seen the sun physically set.


That night, we set up tent, had dinner by the campfire, roasted s'mores, and had interesting conversations (mostly about linguistics) by the campfire.  Some of the interesting words that came up were: "labial dental glide" and "gluteal injectives" (I think).  No we were not just a rowdy bunch of college kids creating obscene euphemisms; these were actually valid linguistics jargon!  After awhile, we went to sleep, surrounded by the lack of city noise and the soothing sounds of Nature.

The next day, we woke up to see the sunrise.  We couldn't really see the sun physically rise, since mountains obscured our view.  But looking at the pink-tinged sky and feeling -smelling- the crisp morning air of dawn, was fantastic.  Under Justin's guidance, Sean and I even attempted to do yoga (the Sun Salutation).  If only I could wake up every morning to see the rosiness of dawn, to be surrounded by trees and peacefulness, to smell clean fresh air, and to be with friends doing yoga.  I would be so content.  And I was thoroughly content, there and then.  Happy.

Subsequently, we spent the rest of the day hiking amidst the beauty of Acadia National Park.  Pictures speak louder than words, so...

And all too soon, we were coming to the end of the trip.  It was Monday, and we had to leave early in the morning so that we could get back to Philly by the end of the day (it was an 11 hours' drive).  Nevertheless, we were able to go to Thunder Hole - one of the famous landmarks in Acadia - and spend some time feeling the ocean breeze, hearing the gush and roar of the waves, and do some meditation under Justin's guidance.

(This has got to be my favorite trip picture).

And we headed back to Philly.  So long, so long.

What I remember from the trip-
friendships,
deep connection,
spirituality,
insightful conversation,
beautiful Nature,
clean fresh air,
waves,
rocks,
sunsets,
sunrises,
leaves turning yellow,
campfire,
s'mores.

The end of the trip doesn't have to signify the end of interactions; to me, the end of this trip merely signified the beginning of friendships and more adventures together in the future.

Living life to the fullest is not just about filling your schedules

I have always been very concerned with living life to the fullest. Since young I have always had a fear of dying, which was only accentuated with the loss of several close loved ones. Perhaps out of this insecurity (that I may not be living life as fruitfully as I can), I have always tried to fill up my schedule with way too many events, and gotten involved in way too many activities and clubs, so that I feel like I'm not wasting life, that I'm making the most out of my time here. By extension, I always try to fill up my weekends with (mostly outdoors) adventures.

But last weekend, I just stayed at home. I was supposed to go on a weekend-long rock-climbing trip to the Gunks in upstate New York, and was eagerly anticipating it. But on Friday, the trip got cancelled because of the impending storm in New York that weekend. So on Friday night, I went to the GAPSA (Graduate and Professional Students' Association) Gala Party (for all Penn grad students) at the World Cafe Live instead. It was a wonderful party, and I certainly had fun dancing the whole night. The next morning, I ran a 5K race organized by Penn students to fundraise for cancer research. For the rest of Saturday and Sunday, I just stayed home watching movies with my housemate. I guess it felt pretty good- taking it easy and just relaxing instead of being up and about all the time.

Hurrying through life like a child 
Forever anticipating some joy tomorrow, 
Afraid to miss something, 
And missing damn near everything!
Afraid to build a dream step by step
And to wait for all that is destined.

Ready to take that instant pleasure lest we die
And missing all the simple beauty
Of planting in the spring
Harvesting in the summer
And wondering and dreaming and loving all year long.

Who will teach us to walk slowly,
To grasp each moment,
And to understand that what now is
Will never be again?

--From "Maybe If I Loved You More" by James Kavanaugh


"Afraid to miss something, and missing damn near everything" indeed!

Time to take life slow.

Though I'm bound for Acadia National Park this weekend (leaving today and coming back on Monday).

But I'll be savoring each moment when I'm there. Oh I will.