Racing Trains

“We might not be the best people” – Jack
“But we’re not the worst!” – Liz
“Graduate students are the worst.” – Jack and Liz
-30 Rock

Now not all graduate students are the worst. But we certainly aren’t the best either. Sometimes grad school can get a little tedious and boring. But other times it can be great.

One course has really stood out. “The Reported Memoir” has allowed me to write about my favorite subject: myself! But in all honesty, it has been fun to try to write a story that you think you know so much about, but end up finding that you really didn’t know a thing.

Back in my freshman year at Columbia, I raced the subway. It is this topic that acts as the driving force of my first official memoir. Here is an excerpt from the still unfinished story, but enjoy…
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Choo, Choo, Choo. Smack, Smack, Smack. The six-car train barrels forward carrying its’ passengers to their destinations.

Stomp, Stomp, Stomp. Gah, Gah, Gah. My feet and exhale breaths carry me along, unwavering.

At about 12 feet tall and 227 tons, the R62A rushes forward unrelenting, ready to smash anything in its path.

At about 5-foot-10 and 135 pounds, I delicately glide over the sidewalk, avoiding even dips in the sidewalk that could falter my stride.

Dreadfully, the green lights begin to turn against me as their hues turn a yellowish orange. The signal men who were smiling at me earlier saying, “Oh go ahead, you’re fine,” have turned into a red, blinking hand warning me, “Stop you idiot, you’re going to kill yourself.”

Idiot I may be, I am going to beat this subway. My cadence quickens, light feet, clear mind.

Nearing the intersection at 113th, I see a car raring to cross Broadway. A quick glance left; the light is green. A quick glance ahead; the driver is looking down. A quick decision; I’m going for it.

“Oh shit,” I realize as I cross in front of the car and see that the driver has just looked up. My right arm extends, my hand in the same position as the one in the walk signal that had warned me against continuing. I Heisman pose my way across the street, the driver slams his foot back onto the brake, and I continue on as a honk from behind rings in my ears.
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In running news, it was an alright week. Struggled through a mile repeat workout, which reminded me how much I hate mile repeat workouts. Now, off for another week of running and only 2 weeks away from the race out in the Bay Area. Gonna be fun.

Wake Up Call

Yikes. I was not ready to come through the first half-mile at 1:55 and be 2 seconds back of the main pack. But, you live and you learn.

I got my ass kicked this weekend in New York, and it sucked. As I talked to Coach Henner on the phone after the race, he put it pretty well into perspective: “Forget this one happened, and come back to DC and we’ll go back to work on Monday.”
And so that is what I will do. I found out that I have a long ways to go to get to the point that I want to be at, and there is no point not to start working towards it. The goal may be a little loftier than I once thought, but nothing would be fun if it wasn’t hard.

There was some redemption this weekend, and that was Koronets Pizza after the race. Koronets is the best pizzeria pizza that I have ever had. The slices are larger than my torso, and the taste is better than any filet mignon I’ve ever had. One slice of cheese and a Dr. Pepper please. (Although I forgot to consult the Doctor on this trip and just went with a slice).

I have recently dabbled in some pizza making artistry. My father makes the best pizza known to man. I have taken that recipe and tried to make it my own…with extremely promising results. Eventually a pizza shop in my name will be opening up, but that’s a whole different story…

And one last note: A huge congrats to team Columbia. A group of mostly ex-Columbia guys, sprinters alike, who dominated the Fred Brown relay this weekend. In the 65.4 mile relay race, they won by 28 minutes. Boo YAH.