In 2013 I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, an autoimmune disorder that chewed a hole in my cerebellum, atrophied various muscles, impaired my vision, balance, coordination and consequently stole my ability to run. I have dedicated the summer of 2018 to regaining my strength, coordination, balance, and relearning how to run. I am participating in a 5k run on September 23rd in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. This is my training journal. This is my attempt to grow physically strong again.
Write on. Fight on.
6:05 am to 7:35 am
No hurry. No pause.
- Bike- hill intervals -20 minutes
- Chest press 3 reps x 10 ea.- 80 lbs
- Bicep curl 3 reps x 10 ea.- 40 lbs
- Shoulder press 3 reps x 10 ea.-60 lbs
- Leg extensions 3 reps x 10 ea. leg- 30 lbs. right leg, 20 lbs. left leg
- Hamstring curl 3 reps x 10 ea. leg- 30 lbs. right leg, 20 lbs. left leg
- Leg press 3 reps x 10 ea.- 120 lbs
Completing the hamstring curls one leg at a time. My left leg endured more muscle atrophy than the right. Working each leg separately grants individual attention and a more concentrated effort. It also prevents the left leg from coasting on the strength of the right leg.
Quote I’m Thinking about Today:
“Nobody actually looks like what they really are on the inside. You don’t. I don’t. People are much more complicated than that. It’s true of everybody.” ~ Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane
The purpose of a training session is to make the world quiet and small.
When training, my needs are simple– I need to run a quarter mile. I need to push out one more leg press. I need to do three more crunches.
The goal is simple– learn how to run again.
If only the rest of life could so neat and clear.
But maybe it can be? What if, in the areas we were deficient in, we set a defined goal. A goal we worked toward everyday. Period.
And so what makes a worthy goal? A goal, that when your working toward it, makes the world and all it’s judgments and condescension quiet and small.
From Yesterday’s Training Session:
And as he ran back to his field, his little legs pumping a mile a minute, his camp issued t-shirt 3 sizes too big and dangling below his knees, I thought about how if Theodore Roosevelt were standing beside me, he would elbow me, smile, and nod at Dylan and remind me that the critic or worried parent do not matter. What matters is the freckled four year old in the arena who is striving, who is daring greatly.