Saturday Long Run @ Lake Merced (4/4/15)

We're rendezvousing at Lake Merced this Saturday!

Saturday’s Lake Merced Run Course Map!
 
Specifically, we are meeting at the HUGE parking lot on the NORTH SIDE of Lake Merced. Here's a link to the rendezvous point for your reference-

North Parking Lot of Lake Merced

This run is pretty straightforward. EVERYONE will do a full loop around the circumference of Lake Merced in a clockwise direction. There is a path that runs all the way around Lake Merced, so this should be manageable for everybody.

Roughly halfway through the loop around Lake Merced (2-2.5 miles), there is a port-a-potty and a couple water fountains if you need to make a pit stop.

After 2-2.5 miles, there is a decent stretch where you will be running slightly uphill, so pace yourself accordingly.

After completing a full loop of Lake Merced, you will have logged 4.5 MILES. Once you've finished a full loop around Lake Merced, head NORTH on Sunset Boulevard There is a path that runs parallel to Sunset Boulevard on the LEFT. This is where you want to run.

The cross streets are 'roughly' alphabetical so pay close attention to the cross streets as you are running. Continue running up Sunset.

Eventually, you will reach the intersection of Sunset & Irving. Beginner runners will turn around here and head back to the Lake Merced parking lot for 9 MILES!

 

Eventually Sunset runs underneath an overpass (this is Lincoln you are running underneath) and right into Martin Luther King. Take a LEFT on Martin Luther King and run to the intersection of Martin Luther King & Chain of Lakes Drive East. Intermediate runners will turn around here and head back to Lake Merced for 10 MILES!

Advanced and Race level runners will turn RIGHT on Chain of Lakes Drive East. Continue on Chain of Lakes Drive East for roughly 1/4 of a mile until you reach the intersection of Chain of Lakes Drive East/JFK. Turn RIGHT on to JFK and continue for roughly 1/2 a mile until you see Lake Spreckles on your LEFT. Advanced runners will turn around here and head back to Lake Merced for 11 MILES!

Race level runners will continue along JFK past Lake Spreckles until you reach the intersection of JFK/Transverse. This is a controlled intersection with a four way stop. There is a water fountain on the left. Turn around here and head back  to Lake Merced for 13 MILES!

I run because I am Marathon Matt....

Having adopted the moniker 'Marathon Matt', you might think I run all the time. You might think my thirst for the sport is unquenchable. You might be wrong.

Even on a good day, it's unusual for me to run more than a couple hours. This is a far cry from the 24 hours some people think I spend running on a daily basis. 

There are days when I feel like I can barely walk, let alone run. Sometimes it's a mental thing. Other times, the body just doesn't feel happy.

I have to dig deep to find the motivation to get out and log a few miles. I know I'm not in exclusive company, but 'Marathon Matt' should never lack for motivation to run. Yet, I do.

I am just Matt sometimes. Matt is mortal. He's imperfect.

I aspire to live up to the moniker I've adopted, but I fall short sometimes. I don't always feel like it's who I am. At these times when I feel like a fraud, I do the only thing I know how to do.

I bluff. I throw on my poker face, my hat, shirt, arm warmers, shorts, and sunglasses. I might as well dress the part.

I take a deep breath and imagine I am Marathon Matt. What would Marathon Matt do? The answer comes slowly.

He would show up and run. He'd shake off the funk. He would find a way.

Marathon Matt would grit his teeth and get the job down. Doubts and fears would be cast aside. The legs would turn over and miles would pass.

As I reluctantly open the door, I visualize him gliding over road and trail. He's undaunted. I see him pushing forward despite the absence of running mojo. 

Sweat pours down his face as he grinds his way up a stout hill. He reminds himself that it's just a developmental opportunity. 

The rain pours down, but he doesn't stop. The wind howls, but he doesn't fold. He smiles when presented with these new developmental opportunities.

Fatigue creeps in. He continues. The wheels slow a bit. He continues.

Through it all, Marathon Matt doesn't stop. He doesn't capitulate. He keeps moving forward.

I head outside. I take a few steps. Then, I run a few. A mile passes.

It's not my best day. But, I'm running. It's what Marathon Matt would do.

I run because I am Marathon Matt...

I run because showing up eventually pays off...

More than a decade ago, I used to get my ass kicked religiously at the track. It was a weekly ritual performed by one man. John executed this ritual with no remorse.

Each week, I showed up with confidence that I was getting stronger. I was getting faster. Surely, I would close the gap on him.

Without fail, John would turn me back in a seemingly effortless fashion. The evening would end with me scarred and humbled, but not entirely defeated. I still clung to the vain hope that things might change.

I just had to keep showing up. It was one of the first and possibly most important lessons I learned as a runner. Keep showing up. Good things will eventually happen.

But, my faith was wavering. John was an animal, a machine, a cyborg. Doubts crept into my mind after months of getting my ass handed to me.

I kept showing up in lieu of any other idea. I could keep him within striking distance for awhile. Then he would decide to really run and the delusional idea that I had a shot at keeping up with him disintegrated.

Months passed. Little changed. Perhaps the lesson I had learned years ago was simply a lie.

Track night came around again. I toed the line and we were off. I fought earnestly to keep John in my sights.

I kept him close, but there were still many intervals to go. I knew he was just getting warmed up and I was giving about as much as I could. This evening felt no different than any other.

The remaining intervals unfolded in a blur. Gassed and gasping, the coup de grace remained. I knew what would happen next.

The final interval started and John decided to really run. Within seconds he had an enormous gap on me. I rolled my eyes.

Here we go again. I trained my gaze on his legs. They turned over at a feverish, frenetic pace. I was doing what I could, but he seemed light years away.

I headed through the straightaway into the final lap of the evening. My coach uttered a few words, 'Go get him, Matt.'

Something happened. Buttons were pushed. I wasn't done yet.

I threw my head back and took a deep breath. John might beat me again tonight, but I wasn't going down without a fight. He would have to bleed to win.

I had 300 meters to go and he was easily 50 meters in front of me. But, it wasn't over yet. I shifted into the highest gear I could find.

I was running on fumes. I was laboring. I was gasping. But, John was getting closer.

I approached the final turn and John could hear me. He glanced over his shoulder and a look of disgust washed over his face. He knew I wasn't backing down.

We hit the final straightaway and I pulled even with him. He picked it up. So, did I.

With barely 50 meters to go, we both laid it on the line. Neither of us was willing to give an inch. The finish was just a few strides, a few seconds away.

We careened across the line in a dead heat. I hadn't beaten him. But, he hadn't beaten me.

The seed of doubt had been planted in his mind. What little hope I had to gain on him began to grow.

I would show up the following week. I would show up the week after that. I would show up every week thereafter.

I run because showing up eventually pays off...

I run because it's how you survive a horror movie.

I had a real penchant for horror as a kid. I saw Psycho 2 when I was 7 or 8 years old. I was a fan of Alfred Hitchock and Edgar Allan Poe.

I easily could have been a member of the Addams family. I just gravitated towards the morbid, dark, and scary. To be clear, gore was not my thing. The supernatural was more my thing.

There were many valuable lessons I learned from horror flicks over the years. It's generally a bad idea to move into a house near a cemetery, indian burial ground, etc. Bad things will happen.

Bad things happen no matter what, but REALLY bad things happen when you mess around with the deceased. It's just bad karma.

Drinking and/or smoking weed is pretty much the kiss of death. It's the kind of transgression that all but guarantees death. It's not a question of 'if', but 'when'. The horror tropes demand it.

Engaging in sexual intercourse simply dooms you. Even heavy petting, groping, or fondling can get you killed in a horror movie. Survival here is slim to none.

So, if you kept your pants on, didn't get too high and/or too drunk, you had a pretty good shot at pulling through. But, avoiding the aforementioned was still not a guarantee of survival.

The only one sure fire way to survive a horror film was to simply run like hell. Run as fucking fast and as hard as you possibly can. Run as if your life depends on it because it does.

It was these initial, formative experiences I had as a child that framed the runner I would become. I always ran like Michael Myers was right behind me. What other possible way would one run if this were the case?

Every dog barking in the distance is a hound of hell. Naturally, I would run like hell to avoid the hounds that reside there. What kind of moron wouldn't?

Decades later, I run. I run because Jason is still out there. I don't trifle with comfortable, conversational pace much because Freddy isn't dead. I run like hell because the hounds are nearly upon me and I am hopelessly outgunned.

I run because it's how you survive a horror movie.....

I run because I love being a filthy mess...

I yearn to be clean and tidy. But, clean and tidy is a gift I don't have. Maybe I will develop it one day, but I doubt it.

If you spend most of your hours running, recovering from running, or preparing to run, things can get messy. Things can get dirty. Chaos can rule.

Filthy socks are strewn on the floor of my car. Empty bottles of coconut water roll around in the backseat. Dirt is a constant bedfellow.

Random bags of flour for marking trails roll around haphazardly in the trunk. Nubs of chalk bang around in my cup holders. Used sanitizing wipes float around among the detritus.

Sweat stained shirts lie on the floor. Mud caked shoes hang out near the front door. Used GU packets are in every pocket.

My car is a pungent melange of eclectic odors. It's a potent mix of sweat, dirt, and spilled beverages. There may even be a faint hint of brownie brittle or somersault snacks.

This is on a good day. On a bad day, it is a maelstrom of messiness. It is a symphony of stank.

I could be embarrassed by this mess. I should be ashamed. Sometimes I am.

But, I have long since come to the realization that all of the aforementioned accoutrement is just part of being a runner.

Running gets dirty. It gets messy. It can get ugly. It can even get bloody sometimes.

If you're a fan of clean and tidy, you probably aren't a runner. Running will disappoint you. It will introduce chaos.

But, it will also introduce fitness. It will introduce confidence. It will introduce transcendence.

Being neat and tidy is great, but if running provides the aforementioned on the regular, I can live with being a slob.

I run because I am a filthy mess....

I run because the dark side lurks...

I was a problem child. I got into fights a lot. I was far too familiar with the principal's office.

My dark side made appearances not infrequently. It was hard to predict what would happen when it showed up. But, bad things always happened.

I got hurt. People got hurt. I didn't like my dark side. It always got me into trouble.

My dark side scared me. I didn't understand it. When it showed up, the light side ceased to exist.

Eventually, my anger would result in the serious injury of a classmate. I was terrified. I wasn't a monster, but I had done something monstrous.

I hid my dark side away. I would endure any insult. I would let people beat me up.  I wouldn't let my dark side out again.

But, you can't get rid of you dark side. You can try. You can pretend.

The anger turned inward. The dark side gnawed at me. It snarled at me.
It told me I was a monster.

For years, the anger was bottled up. It was contained. It simmered impatiently just beneath the surface.

I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't know what I could do with it. This beast still owned me.

Running would find me. I would find it to be the yin to the dark side's yang. It soothed the beast. It calmed it.

I would also discover that running provided an outlet. In the latter stages of the race, I would take the leash off. Unleashed, the beast ran wild.

A furious cry from the depths of my soul erupted. The beast was loose and it was hungry. I would explode and claim countless runners en route to the finish.

The beast's snarling subsided. It had been fed. It was soothed, if only temporarily.

For the first time in my life, the beast helped me. My dark side took over, but it had empowered me. It gave me what I needed to finish the job.

I still keep my dark side on a short leash. I only let it run loose on special occasions. It smiles when I do and thanks me by letting me run faster and further than I ever thought I could.

I run because the dark side lurks....

I run because I am an artist...

Steve Prefontaine once said, 'Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, 'I've never seen anyone run like that before.' It's more than just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better than anyone else. It's being creative.'

I've dabbled in the arts, but I'd never consider myself an artist. I've done my fair share of writing, but don't consider myself a writer. As far as music goes, a few piano lessons when I was five years old is the extent of my musical career.

The nature of being a small business owner requires no shortage of creativity. The wheels are always turning and I am never at a loss for ideas. That doesn't make me an artist.

But, running can be artistry. Just as an actor rehearses his or her lines in preparation for a performance, I notch miles in preparation to toe the line. Each mile is a recitation of lines. Each run is a dress rehearsal.

The best stories are filled with great characters and no shortage of drama. Such is the case with a great race. Every race provides and opportunity to craft an incredible story.

Every race contains an infinite number of gripping tales. There are those coming back from heartbreaking injuries. Some are cleansing their palate from a disappointing finish from the not so distant past. Others are fighting desperately for a personal best.

There is artistry in executing an excellent race. You train, rehearse, and hope the stars align on the day you need them to. It's similar to being a Broadway performer. You've got one shot at it.

Nailing your pacing is akin to nailing your lines. Making moves and throwing in surges at various stages is not unlike blocking in theater. It can make or break a race. It can enhance the drama or detract from it.

The best races are great works of art. The audience fortunate enough to view a great race is witnessing the culmination of countless miles. Innumerable brushstrokes and dress rehearsals behind the scenes led to this one singular moment. 

I'm fortunate to have numerous masterpieces in my gallery. My first time qualifying for Boston was a drama drenched affair rife with pain, setbacks, and ecstasy at the finish line. More than ten years later I would run Boston and it was an emotional symphony of catharsis.

I likely won't ever ever paint anything that will hang on a gallery wall. Nor will I perform on Broadway. But, that doesn't mean I'm not an artist.

I run because I am an artist...