songs of experience

*
This morning at 10:00 - already blazing hot in North Carolina - my masters relay teammates and I toed the line for our first 800m time trial in preparation for the 4 X 800m on August 6th. Our hope was for each of us to be within 4-5 seconds of our goal times. As a coach, I have always advised my athletes to name three goals going into a race: a radical goal (which is the time/place you want if you are having an absolutely perfect day), a moderate goal (about where you should finish), and a conservative goal (the if-you-don’t-beat-this-time-you-should-quit-running goal). I’ve actually scared athletes into running faster by threatening the consequences of not making their conservative goal. And, once, I even outright lied to a freshman runner when I saw that he was going to run slower than his “you should quit” goal. I started calling out splits that were faster than he was actually running and then told him he ran a PR when he didn’t. No harm done, right? I was afraid he would give up on the sport unless he had something positive to take home for the summer. I didn’t tell him about my little white lie until many years later. It’s a good story - maybe he’ll write in and tell it (McKeeman?).

Anyway, thank God, I made my moderate goal today. I don’t want to quit. I ran a decent 2:23 (with no taper - so please, Mr. Nemesis, don’t write in to comment on how slow I am!).

Fat Charlie’s “how the mighty have fallen” has me thinking of Jaques speech in Shakespeare’s As You Like It:

“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail,
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad,
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.” (II.vii)

Sans leg-speed.