It was 2 days after our final race of the season. We'd done decent, but I could tell all our bodies were shot from the long summer we'd put in. The thought crossed my mind that I was never gonna match the speed, pace, and turnover I would have as a young teenager. It hit me hard, harder then running up the backside of a mountain. I was done, and my days of potentially being an amazing runner were over. Life from here on out was excepting this and coping with the idea.
The next day our coach set us out on a triathlon type workout. Which was odd, because we'd never trained for a triathlon before. As far as I was concerned (and some of the boys on the team), we all thought triathlons were pretty stupid as well as the people who did them. We were long distance runners, and that was that. If you put us out on a 3 mile course (or more) we'd run you down to the ground and be waiting for you at the finish line putting on our track warm ups.
Our final workout went like this...
- 7 mile run (through our city's streets)
- 6 mile bike ride (along side the 10 freeway)
- 2 mile swim (in El Monte's riverbed)
- Jog to Fernando's, wash up, and shave yourself. (head to toe)
I cringed at the whole workout. What was the point of this? Was the gaffer pissed and disappointed with the season? Did he wanna test and see if we'd follow through with his final orders?
The only reasoning that I could think of behind this madness of a workout was that our coach wanted us drained and looking like holocaust victims for our banquet that was on Tuesday night.
We all went on with the workout, because whatever the gaffer said, we did. All the boys were at Fernando's and some of them were already in the process of shaving their legs. Some had no eyebrows, others had bald patches all over their heads. I walked out of the house. I wasn't gonna complete the workout and further more, I wasn't gonna show up to the banquet.
03/14/2013
I'm playing a show tonight at The Terrace in Pasadena. My band goes on at 830
Xoxo - J
