Hit the Ground Running.

I survived.

I survived LDAC. Surprisingly, I had a lot more fun that I had planned, and while I left New York with doubts about my future as a potential Army officer, I came back feeling more confident than ever that this is something I want to be a part of.

I'm sure a lot of my doubts stemmed from the issues with people I dealt with here, in New York City. While many of the cadets I dealt with all had the same goals I had, their way of getting there (stomping on others toes... and dreams) didn't coincide well with my method.

I joined my school's track team to find, understand, experience, and embrace the concept of team-work. Team-work. The ability to work with others, even individuals you may have never met before, to fulfill one main goal- win, lose, train, fight, laugh, cry, but never give up.

We have survived the trials of miles and miles of trials together. We are a team. All I wanted was to feel like I was a part of a team; something bigger than me and my life.

Over the four weeks I was at LDAC I again found this sense of comradery within my platoon, and even more so within my squad. I was surprised and shocked. No one tried to step on my toes, no one tried to put me down or tell me I was incompetant. I was exactly the person I wanted and needed to be and they accepted me. I accepted them and we carried on.

I was right though; four weeks to four laps. The first week went by so fast, all excitement and adrenaline. The second lap was pure shock, "Holy crap, I'm really here... I'm really doing this and there's no turning back." The third lap was exhaustion, but I had to keep running; I had to keep moving, the finish line was too close to stop then. Finally, the fourth lap- time slows down, your legs tire, your lungs want to burst out of your chest; "I can't hold on," I tell myself. But I hold on anyway, and I keep running, even if that means I've slowed down for even just a second or two. I keep running.

I crossed the finish line.

Now here I am, back in New York City, back at school; back in my normal routine- work, class, track, homework, sleep, and all over again the next day, and the day after.

I find myself daydreaming back to certain days at LDAC. After a long day of patrolling, we all picked a spot on the ground outside, laid out our mats and sleeping bags and talked about our lives back home while looking up at the stars. It was a clear night and the moon was as bright as I ever seen it. In New York, the lights of the city outshine and dim the light of the stars and moon. This was something new for me. I told my guys how much I missed running, and all the places I'd like to run at when we graduated.

I run now, and I imagine them running right next to me, or running after me, hollering, "Run Ash! We're gonna get you!" and then laughing as they come after me. We were kids once. We'll be kids again.

Four Weeks, Four Laps.

For the past two weeks, I've been worrying about leaving to LDAC. What is it going to be like? Will I be able to perform to the standard? Will I fail and then fall a part afterward? So many questions and no answers.

I leave tomorrow morning, alone on my flight to Ft. Lewis, Washington. I have no idea what to expect and how miserable the experience will actually be.

Something occurred to me today though. I thought about people like Wes Santee, John Landy, and Roger Bannister. The best milers during the late 1950's. My heroes. I also can't forget the Father of Modern Day Distance Running, Frank Shorter-- my idol. I've read through and through the backgrounds of these four individuals, and what I found was, despite their different backgrounds, these individuals broke barriers-- world record barriers, as well as emotional and mental ones.

These four individuals have worked towards their goals through adversity. There were many failures, many victories, gold medals won and lost. But the experiences that counted most for each of them, were the ones for which they took the impossible and made it possible. Yes, there was fear, pressure, the possibility of another failure, but when they inched onto that starting line, no doubts crossed their minds.

I mentioned in my previous post, I have felt the tortures and slavery of the 1500m run. While I hate the world and everything in it during the race, a feeling of overwhelming strength and power comes over me whenever I complete it to the best of my ability.

Four laps for 1500m. Four weeks at LDAC, and I imagine it being just like the 1500m race. My first week, complete adrenaline and excitement; I am full of energy, ready to work-- holding a fast, hard pace. My second week, it will hit me then: "This is really happening, I am really doing this." I'll fight to maintain my pace without slowing down for more than a second. By my third week, I will be ready to give up and waive my white flag in. Everything mentally and physically will be exhausted beyond belief and I am just looking for a damn good reason to quit because I fear the shame of blush and embarrassment.

I don't know what we're fighting for anymore and I don't know why we're at war. I don't know why we have our soldiers and comrads dying overseas, fighting for something that everyone back home doesn't understand or care about. Something that soldiers don't understand, but have to care about. But this wasn't a war that required a draft like Vietnam. This was all volunteer-based and we all gave our lives away when we signed on the bottom-line. I signed on the bottom-line and I still don't know why.

I wanted to belong to something bigger and stronger than me. I wanted to be stronger and better than the old me. I want to be brave and courageous and selfless, but I don't want to die, and I don't want to see my friends die. I don't want to see my friends return from a deployment, no longer the same cheerful characters I once knew them as. War changes you. The degree for which one changes, varies. Everyone is different.

But decisions and choices have already been made and I will get on that plane tomorrow morning. I will get on that plane in fear of shame, blush, and embarrassment-- because I have too much damn pride. And like my four idols, I will break my own barriers and do what it is that I don't know I can do.

The fourth week, the final-lap bell will ring, and I will suddenly get another surge of adrenaline; hoping for some sort of encouragement from someone, somewhere; anyone, anywhere.

My mind and body will push through that last week just like it pushes through that last lap of the 1500m race. The desire to quit will be there, but I will not quit...

Who knows, I might come back feeling stronger... For once, feeling proud. Maybe.

It's Only Pain.

The majority of things I've learned in life, I learned from running. While that sounds like a strong claim to make about something that is only considered a "sport," like all other sports, I can say that statement is true for me, and maybe me only.

I leave for LDAC in just a few days, and suddenly the anxiety and nervousness has started to kick in. This year passed by so quickly, and like fog in a mirror, it now looks like a blur. It feels like just yesterday when I was telling myself, "Yeah, I only have a year before I leave to LDAC- I've got time." Time is nearly up now, and I have to face a reality once I go and come back: I will be an Army officer next year.

I've been struggling for a long time with my choice to join the Army. I was set on joining the Air Force a while ago, and when things went wrong with that, I thought, "Well, it doesn't matter what branch I join, what matters is that I serve the same country." I've always felt a sense of pride in the security and comfort that the military has always provided. There is something about the act of being selfless that I am drawn to and somewhere in my life, I needed to find something that would make me act that way.

Army ROTC has been an emotional roller-coaster for me. Between making nearly no friends and then losing the few friends I had to all the cut-backs the program is making, I find myself alone, trying to make it through. I'm outnumbered by males and they don't even understand half the struggles I've dealt with and continue to deal with just being a women in the program. Men constantly treating me like a piece of meat, or treating me like I'm helpless and incompetent. The incompetent part is what frustrates me the most; being viewed at as a piece of meat, well, that's something men will do no matter where you are, if you're a woman.

I joined my school's track team in hopes of physically becoming more competent. Army training is all about enduring something; mostly things that suck, mostly pain... but as a soldier, you endure it. What better sport to teach me how to endure things than running?

I've been on my team for two years now. I've gone through so many up's and down's with running. As I mentioned in my last post, the amount of injuries I've had in a year is great enough reason to quit all together and move on to something else. But I couldn't do that. I can't do that.

The injuries are unavoidable. I've pushed my mind and body to limits that I never imagined before. The workouts- what can I say? They're gruesome, time consuming, and most importantly, painful.

Running the last repetition of a 12 x 200m workout. My hamstrings want to give out, and my calves are screaming at me to stop. My mind is fighting a war with my body, commanding it to move faster, move faster because the finish line is only 30 meters away and I have too much damn pride to just stop before the finish line. Too much pride. 

I cross the finish line, finally, knowing that my body just endured something incredible. The desire to quit, without actually quitting. Everything in my body was crying in mercy for me to stop, but my mind wouldn't and couldn't let it. I know better.

I know better than to quit in the last lap of a 1500m race. My first lap, all adrenaline, I feel invincible. The second lap, reality sinks in, "Holy shit! I'm really running this... FAST!" And the third lap, my body is telling me, "We can't take this anymore! QUIT! DIE! DO-SOMETHING!" The bell of the fourth lap rings, and my mind commands precisely at that moment, "400 meters to go! We have to finish this shit, and finish it NOW!"

I turn the last turn, 100 meters left, and there is nothing left in me. I am sprinting my heart out. Every step is heavier and harder, searching for some traction in the ground to help push me through. I'm even praying that a gust of wind will blow along with me as encouragement and hope that I will get through this. But no such wind usually comes along, and the ground below me doesn't change, it is all up to my body now to push me through those last final 100 meters to that finish line.

And I have endured the pain of that fourth lap many times, and each time it gets harder and more painful, but progression shows when I see that my times have gotten better and better. My hard work is paying off.

After all, it's only pain... And then, I can breath again.

"Why Do You Run?"

I've been asked many times from numerous people, "Why do you run?"

There's only one simple answer: Because I just have to.

Immediately, eyes open wide and seconds later the thought of sarcasm settles in, and they laugh or giggle. But I'm not laughing or giggling when I tell people, I just have to.

Most people don't understand the extent for why I run and what suddenly got me so crazy about it that I just can't stop. I've been injured so many times- stress fractures, shin-splints for months on end, tendinitis, ITB-syndrome, you name it, I've probably had it. If they are lucky enough to hear about my range of injuries, the next question that follows is: "So really, why do you run again?"

Because I just have to.

I know it seems that those five simple words don't really explain much, but if you're smart, you will know and understand that there is a story behind it all and how it happened and why it has stayed for so long.

The story, I admit, is a long one, and not a victorious one; I never won any gold medals or made it to the Olympics or even placed first at any of my track meets. The story is kind of sad and tragic, and long. But I won't tell you why I started running, not yet at least. It's too soon and it's a lot to put out there all at once, and I'm not sure if anyone is even listening or reading this. There's always the fear that someone isn't listening or reading because then it seems as though I've written all of this for nothing and for no one.

But I just have to.

I have to one day tell you why I run.

It's the way I feel when I paint the earth with my feet and remind it that I am still here and I still care. The way I leave footprints in the soil so the runner behind me finds my trail. The way I run in the footprints of others before me and think to myself, "I want to make my own path someday." It's the way I feel when my lungs want to explode out of my rib-cage and beg for oxygen, and at the same time my legs are pressing on-- forward, forward, forward, even though there is nothing left in them... but they somehow move. It's the freedom I feel when I've finished; no one can touch me, hurt me, make me feel bad about myself, tell me what I can or cannot do, judge me, laugh at me, or ridicule me. I'm free to be who I want to be, the person I've always dreamed of: strong, confident, and capable of anything. That is why running matters.