An Open Letter Regarding Contrasting Endurance Cultures - Running, Triathlon, OCR, etc.

The context for this post: all endurance athletes (runners, swimmers, cyclists, climbers, triathletes, obstacle course racers, marathoners, track athletes, ultra runners, trail runners, road runners, etc.) have a similar, yet slightly different culture. We all have distinct jargon (terms that refer to idiosyncrasies of our sport, even words that are different that mean the same thing). This past Sunday, I ran the Santa Monica Classic 10k, and for the first time in a local road race, pushed my daughter in a jogging stroller. I've run a very small 5k in Brooklyn pushing my daughter, and I've done tons of miles (primarily when she was about 8 months old until she was about 18 months old) with her in training. But this past Sunday was different. As I worked my way into the starting corral (immediately after the 5k race was sent off and the 10k runners loaded in), one girl took notable exception to my being near her with a jogging stroller. This is an Open Letter to her, that I hope stimulates some dialog between our contrasting (and at times conflicting) cultures. This is not to say that one is right and the other is wrong, but to acknowledge that each culture should seek to understand those that share our endurance lifestyle, and understand that when we cross-polinate, and try other disciplines, it may not be what we've grown accustomed to...

***************************************************************************
Dear Anonymous Triathlete Girl,

I'm the dad pushing a stroller in the corral that you threw a tantrum at last weekend. I am that completely random stranger who responded by asking you what your race goal was (to which you responded "42-minutes" which I can remember clear-as-day because it's Jackie Robinson's number, and was about the time I thought I would run that day) and when I then offered to pace you to that goal whilst pushing 55-lbs of toddler and wheeled machine of death you subsequently ignored me, not even offering a halfway polite "no thank you", nor even eye contact from that point forward. Not only did you non-respond, but you demonstratively turned your back to me because I wasn't doing exactly what you wanted me to do. I am still not sure whether your female and male companions were mortified by your behavior, or if they too were giving me the "sharks with friggin' lasers on their heads" stare for being the stroller-guy sandwiched up in the front 250 people in a 3,000 person race. I sensed your race nerves and that the event was important to you, so I chose not to say something awful back to you. I gave you a temporary pass.

Here's the thing: most stand alone road races allow runners with strollers to compete (my favorite race of this sort is the Redondo Super Bowl 10k, that actually has a separate stroller race/division). I had as much right to be there in that corral as you did. Our crew specifically sought out a family-friendly, strollers-allowed race to run with our young children, and some of us wanted to do that as fast as we possibly could. Athletes are asked to "self-seed" at a race like that (whereas 10k plus person races generally have pace-per-mile signs posted to aid in this self-seeding), and as someone who ended up finishing 65th overall, I had more people in front of me than there needed to be (it took me a full 11-seconds to cross the starting line). I was very conscious about my race-lines, not running over feet or clipping heels. Let me tell ya, it was one of the most difficult 10k's of my life, having to zigzag while pushing my 2.5-year-old daughter was rough. Going up that 2-3% grade to get to the the turn-around on San Vicente built a new room in my pain cave. My daughter tossed her green racing car out of the stroller twice and trying to pick up something while pushing 55-lbs upgrade/uphill while at a race intensity pace, well, damn, you should try it sometime. It's awful. But I'm not asking for your sympathy. I enjoy the hurt locker, quite a bit.

I do get it, nobody likes being passed, nor beat by any parent pushing a stroller. At that very same race, many years ago, I ran 36:13 (my personal best) and had a dad pushing a stroller run 35:30-ish in front of me. Again, a little over a year ago, I was 4th overall at a 5k pushing my daughter in a stroller and was soundly beat by a guy pushing twin 3-year-olds in a double-stroller. No hard feelings either time, just mad props to those badass dads setting a pretty stellar example to kids who won't quite understand why that's so awesome, maybe ever (or until they have children of their own and try to run a fast race while pushing them). At the very least, I take precious little joy in my finishing position. I'm an effort conscious and time-minded athlete. If I run a time I'm capable of and if I worked hard for it, that's satisfying to me. That doesn't mean I won't push myself for position during a race, I mean, what's the point in dropping some coin unless we can push ourselves to be the best we can be with-and-against other competition. I respect my competition. Always. I let my legs, heart, and toughness do the talking for me. I never tell anyone in the corral they shouldn't be near nor in front of me. Nor should you. Nor should anyone.

I'm hoping that somehow this makes it's way to you, and you either find a way to be polite to others planning to suffer alongside you, or maybe select events that don't allow strollers (the LA Marathon, and pretty much ANY triathlon). But, I suggest that you treat someone pushing a stroller with a bit more respect, as the Boston Marathon (a race you've publicly declared you'll run) has a guy who pushes a huge stroller (well, it's more of a strolling-wheelchair) and he also does the Kona Ironman (towing his son in a friggin' BOAT), in fact, he's one of my personal heroes and inspiration to millions. I passed this father-son duo at the Boston Marathon years ago, and I cheered for him and shook his hand. His son cheered for me. It gave me a ton more juice to finish a tough Boston that year. 

Dick and Rick Hoyt aka TEAM HOYT at Boston

In closing, I sincerely congratulate you for putting the training in, showing up on race day and running your PR in the 10k. I didn't displace you in your division, nor did my 2.5-year-old daughter (although, when she's about 14, watch out in the female overall division at local events). If we ever bump into each other at another race or local group run, I'll buy ya a beer (or your favorite beverage) to show ya there's really no hard feelings. I wish you luck in your upcoming races in 2017 and beyond. I hope you get into Boston and crush it. Give Rick and Dick Hoyt a high five from me...

With Respect,
Jimmy Dean Freeman

Coyote Running Founder and Head Coach

Road/Track/Trail Runner w/300+ Races of Experience

But I Don't Feel Like It Anymore - Commitment vs Feelings and Why You Should Do It Anyway

"Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you made the effort to become the best of which you are capable (of becoming)."
-Coach John Wooden

My first career (1995-2001) was inside and outside sales for a technology firm in Silicon Valley during the dot.com boom/bubble years.  That's a fancy way of saying that right out of high school I got a job working for my father's business partner Paul on business development of a new territory.  The new territory?  Southern California.

From 1995-1997 I went to school full time and worked part time developing new business making cold calls from a business guide.  This is prior to major & minor companies having robust websites and prior to Google telling me how to find any information on any company, product or person that has a public presence.  I had only an encyclopedia sized book, a company name, their product line and a phone number.  It was my job to call the receptionist, and somehow talk my way through the web of that company to get to someone who purchased electronic components from other companies to make the product that they sold.  Simple enough, right?  Only problem was that the bigger the company, the more intricate the web of people who didn't know what anyone else did, not to mention the bulldog receptionists and personal assistants that were hired and trained to be a firewall against calls like mine.

Paul, my mentor/boss, has completed many endurance rides/runs.

In 1997, Paul (co-founder of the company, Signet Technical Sales, later Signet LCD and then IDS) offered me a full time position.  I accepted and stepped full tilt into the corporate world, which included 10-15 hours a week of commuting (to and from San Jose) and 40-60 hour weeks.  "Salesmen have no hours!" Paul used to say, much like Alec Baldwin's character from my favorite movie about sales, "Glengary Glen Ross."  Back then, I would spend most of my day dialing up strangers and asking for a favor, "please tell me who I need to talk to who makes the decision on purchasing these parts for your products."  I got really clear that there were going to be good days and bad days.  Days I felt inspired to do it and days I didn't want to pick up the phone to encounter 43 more rejections in 44 calls (and the 1 other call was a voicemail).

My last full year at Signet (2001), I stopped commuting.  I moved from San Francisco to San Jose, and cut my 3 hours of daily driving to 15 minutes each way.  I suddenly had 2 to 2.5 hours per day I didn't even know what to do with.  I was inspired, energized and ready to train for my first marathon, something I had put off for 5-6 years.  I committed to run my first 26.2, which was actually the second time I made that commitment (it was first a New Year's Resolution in 2000, until I didn't feel like training anymore, about maybe 19 days later).

I had signed up for the San Diego Rock'n'Roll Marathon, I also booked the round trip flight from San Jose to San Diego for early June and I hired a coach to help guide me (shout out to Coach Kaley, the first coach I ever hired).  Problem was, I was overeager.  I trained myself right into an overuse injury (ITBS) within about 2-3 weeks.  I wanted to run, but I couldn't.  So Coach Kaley (a very talented triathlete) started working with me on swimming and biking (as much as sitting on a spin bike can be considered biking).

I cross trained for a full month, until I just didn't feel like it anymore.  My knee hadn't improved, and I still had pain after mile 2 on basically every run I'd go on to test it out, about every 2 weeks.  I stopped training altogether.  That was mid-February.  Late-May came up on me fast and I realized I had a trip to San Diego (flights booked, accommodations made) and suddenly I was feeling inspired again.  So I went for a few runs to shake off the rust, determined my knee didn't hurt at mile 2 anymore and flew to San Diego.

*Note: this is NOT my bib # from 2001

Along the way I had raised maybe $500-$900 for the NCCF, but it was all in $1-$2 per mile sponsorship donation checks.  I was certainly not fit for 26.2 miles straight, on roads.  But I also felt a sense of obligation to finish what I started since I couldn't donate checks for the amounts they were written out for if they were based on the miles I had committed to doing.  I was in a quandary: do I run a marathon and put myself at risk of re-aggravation of this injury that put me down for 3-4 months?  Do I not run it, yet send in the checks anyway?  Do I not run it and send the checks back to their donors?

I went into the marathon expo on Saturday and again was inspired by all the fit, healthy people. There were many charities there with teams, and coaches, and team colors.  I knew I had to send these checks in.  I also knew I needed to run the distance.  I also didn't want to spend another 4 months not being able to run.  I decided to walk 13-14 miles, Saturday.  I got the course map and followed it until I got to a freeway entrance (94 out of downtown SD) and elected to do another lap around Balboa Park.  I wrapped it up in about 4 hours (about 17-minute mile pace) and went to visit my sister for dinner in La Jolla.  Sunday morning I caught a cab to Sea World, and at about the mile 14 mark I waited for the race to come by.  I watched the elites, the sub-3 national class athletes, the age groupers, and somewhere about an hour later jumped into the fray.  Again, I walked more than I ran, but I was coming up against my feelings of failure, the disappointment I wasn't an official participant (it was a chip race, and I'd never show up in the results).  But on the other side of those negative feelings, I was doing something maybe for the first time in my life, that wasn't going the way I envisioned it, and I was finishing it anyway.  My watch read 6-hours, 17-minutes when I hit the 26.2 mile mark, and based on when I started the day prior, my unofficial time would have read 22-hours, 17-minutes.  By all measures of marathon finishes, I was a DNS (on Sunday) or a DNF (on Saturday).  Two half marathons in back-to-back days is not a marathon.  But I sent in those checks and wrote a letter to everyone who donated, "I am happy to reimburse you if you object to the way I completed this marathon, and here's why you won't find me in any official results...".  It was a huge turning point in my life.

Officially finished my 1st marathon 16 months later.

Even today, I still come up against the feelings of "I don't want to train today, I just don't feel inspired or motivated to do it." and some days, those feelings win out.  But more often than not over the past 13 years, I cast my feelings and lack of motivation aside, and ask myself, "what am I committed to?" and often, the answer is pretty simple.  When you ask yourself what you're committed to, and weigh it against what you're feeling, whatever is bigger wins.  So my commitments have become huge, 'larger than me' type challenges, such that my fickle and ever-shifting feelings can be good, bad or ugly, but rarely are they bigger than my commitment to the goal.

You won't win this battle every day.  But the more you play this game, the stronger at "being your commitment" which is essentially "adhering to ones principles" instead of empowering your feelings which can change moment to moment, day to day and are as unpredictable as the weather.

What are you committed to?
*post a comment below and declare what you're committed to!

Running Love Affair - Runner's Highs, Rituals & the Dreaded DNF

ad·dic·tion
noun
the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

Unraveling at the Ray Miller 50-miler around Mile 23-ish

Running check: habit forming? Yep.  Psychological and physical? Most definitely.  Like narcotics? Absolutely (endorphins affect the same opioid receptors in the brain as morphine does).  Stopping it causes severe trauma? My last major bout with depression came when I was physically unable to run due to injury for 10-months, and my last few minor low-periods came after a big deal race that I had been anticipating and training towards for many months.

Okay FINE, I'll admit it: I'm an addict.  I've been addicted since the tender young age of 9.  I kicked it a couple of times, I was clean a couple years here, a few years there.  Running wasn't even my first love (baseball was), but damn she's got staying power.  But I'm not here to talk about addiction.  I'm here to talk about one of the things that might cause it... "the runner's high".

I was recently asked to describe runner's high.  And I realized that it's not just a chemical endorphin/adrenaline response to physical discomfort.  Do you ever wonder why you never hear: the cyclist's high, the triathlete's high, the shot putter's high (I'm reaching on that one, I know).  There is a definite unique chemical and physiological response to the impact stresses and breathing patterns of running (especially long distances).  I break the runner's high into 3 categories...

Point where the high WORE OFF...

PHYSICAL RUNNER'S HIGH - this one is pretty simple, if you run far enough, your body breaks down and when fatigued you begin to release more endorphin (or is it endorphins?) into the system. Boom. You feel high.  You suddenly aren't hurting as much anymore. You pick up the pace because you feel good, moments later the chemical high is replaced by physical discomfort yet again.

MENTAL RUNNER'S HIGH - there's a definite high that comes with hard work and the feeling of exhaustion post hard work.  The farther you run, the more difficult the terrain, the more you physically suffered (and maybe even mentally suffered) there's a deep satisfaction afterward.  Said after a recent Octopus run in the Santa Monica Mountains, "that sucked for nearly the entire time, but I feel so good now for some reason."

Photo by Tyler Olson

EMOTIONAL RUNNER'S HIGH - this one is close to the mental runner's high, but is different in a couple ways.  I see the emotional runner's high often tied to an event that carries a lot of hope, like training a long time for a big race.  You invest a lot of emotional energy in training and race prep.  Race day comes.  Some days it IS harder than you imagined yet still everything you strive for comes through (you hit your A-goal, maybe you run a new personal best, place higher than you thought you could).  The high you ride on these days lasts.  You can think back to a race months or even years later and get a little charge of confidence and happiness with that memory recall.  That's the emotional runner's high!

SGV Team In Training circa SD RnR 2004

Once you get high like this, good luck not coming back to it over and over again.  And there are no support groups for runners, other than groups that enable the problem.  The Marathon Maniacs.  Charity Groups like Team In Training.  The SoCal Coyotes.  Shhhhhhhhh...

Another thing that locks in our absolute love affair with running?  Rituals and romance.  It's a romantic sport full of superstition, habitual behaviors and most races are steeped in tradition.  Think about all of the things we do in prep for a big race day: buying a special outfit, laying things out the night before, eating that special meal the night before or morning of, carbo-loading, watching our favorite inspirational movie (*cough*cough* Cinderella Man *cough*cough*).  Running a race again (and again and again) on a certain day, at a certain time of year, it becomes a regular part of our story!  Take the XTERRA Boney Mountain Half Marathon in early January, I've run it 5-years in a row and can't imagine kicking my new year off with any other race!  And it's absolutely destroyed me 2 of the 5 times I've run it, yet I still love it.

There is a downside to this love affair.  Failure.  Actually, it's not failure in and of itself, as there's nothing more positively motivating as missing a race goal or dream by ever so little.  I often tell the story that I trained for FOUR marathons before I RAN my first marathon.  Chicago 2002.  I never start conservatively with goals and dreams, so I figured I'd go "sub-3 hours" in my first crack.  Didn't seem all that unreasonable for someone who had run sub-17 in a 5k (albeit that was in high school, now some 7-years prior).  Hit my mid-mark splits perfectly: 1:29:59 (which, ironically, stood as my half marathon PR through about 5 or 6 half marathons a few years thereafter).  I'll save you the gory details of the pace pack thinning out in the second half and the winds kicking up.  I saw my splits fading like a K-mart beach towel, and with it my sub-3 hopes.  So I resolved to qualify for Boston.  For Boston, back then, I needed 3:10:59.  I finished in 3:11:11 (yes, 12-seconds overall, or 0.45-seconds per mile too slow).  I'm now someone who understands the VALUE of 1-second per mile.  Hell, I understand the value of 1-second every 2 miles and what a difference that could make.

Aside from missing an 'A' or 'B' goal in a race, there's also the dreaded DNF (which is an acronym for 'Did Not Finish' but often in an ultra can represent 'Did Nothing Fatal').  As someone who attempts to aid people in constructing good race day plans/strategies/pace charts, I am a student of my own body and peak performance limits.  Racing is the ultimate test of fitness and ability, there is absolutely no faking through it, especially in the ultra distances from 50-miles and up.  Often, I hear people lament a DNF like it's some mark against one's character, an in-correctable offence against their running reputation.  I have come to feel very differently about the DNF over the years and have a few things to say about it (as I'm fresh off my 3rd career DNF and have found some very interesting consistencies between the 3 failures).  But first, a quote about failure and it's relationship to success...

"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm."
-Winston Churchill

I don't know anyone who would accuse me of having "lost enthusiasm" for running.  There might be a great number of people who wish I would lose some enthusiasm.  I'm a blow-hard and a jack-ass.  In fact, I might just be the Johnny Knoxville of the running world (regularly accepting stupid dares to prove some incomprehensible nonsense to someone).  Yet, I digress.

A couple weeks ago I achieved my 3rd DNF of my running career.  I have completed 24-of-27 ultra distance races, ranging from 50k to 135-miles of varying difficulty, terrain and conditions.  An interesting commonality about the 3 races I failed to finish: ALL three were my second time running each of those events.  As a matter of fact, looking back at my recent history of races repeated at almost any distance, there is a somewhat clear cut 'Sophomore Jinx'.

F- Angeles Crest 100-miler 2006 = FINISH in 26:27
S- Angeles Crest 100-miler 2007 = DNF at Mile 49
T- Angeles Crest 100-miler 2011 = 23:51*
    *third time's a charm / third time's a CR

F- Oil Creek 100-miler 2009 = FINISH in 21:17 (4th overall)
S- Oil Creek 100-miler 2010 = DNF at Mile 76
T- Oil Creek 100-miler 201_? = TBD*

F- Ray Miller 50-miler 2012 = FINISH in 8:08 (5th overall)
S- Ray Miller 50-miler 2013 = DNF at Mile 28
T- Ray Miller 50-miler 2014 = TBD*

A deeper examination of the Sophomore Jinx in my racing...

F- Bulldog 50k 2008 = 4:27
S- Bulldog 50k 2009 = 4:29

F- Boney Mountain Half 2009 = 1:46
S- Boney Mountain Half 2010 = 1:51
T- Boney Mountain Half 2011 = 1:41*

F- Miwok 100k 2009 = 10:13
S- Miwok 100k 2010 = 10:19
T- Miwok 100k 2011 = 9:45*

F- Topanga Turkey Trot 2009 = 1:07 (4th overall)
S- Topanga Turkey Trot 2010 = 1:10

F- XTERRA Pt Mugu 2010 = 1:16 (2nd overall)
S- XTERRA Pt Mugu 2012 = 1:25

F- LA Marathon 2011 = 2:56
S- LA Marathon 2012 = 3:01
T- LA Marathon 2013 = TBD*

The ONLY race I can honestly remember improving upon in the last 10 tries to do so is the Rio Del Lago 100-miler, where I shaved about 20-minutes and 1-position overall on my sophomore effort, and the primary reason was I was really focused on my previous two sophomore DNF's at the 100-mile distance.

Why this somewhat predictable trend?  In most cases, I was pretty happy/satisfied with my rookie efforts at those races listed.  I came back determined to do better.  More fit, race ready, mentally sharp.  But then I became someone focused on exerting my will upon the course/mountain (with the obvious exception of the Los Angeles Marathon... no mountains there).  Instead of a trail runner's creed of "take what I'm given" I got greedy and tried to take what I wanted, what I felt I deserved, what I thought my hard work had entitled me to achieve.  I didn't work with the course, I fought against it.  Instead of flowing, I was battling.  The mentality is hugely different.  This past Ray Miller 50 I could explain all sorts of factors that could have been likely contributors to my epic failure, but really, they read like a list of excuses.  The bottom line is I most often go into a long race humble and patient, let the course and miles come to me instead of trying to take them on.  My sophomore efforts I take much for granted, I hard-charge in search of a few less minutes overall and expend excessive precious energy prematurely.  My love for improvement (and at times, the physical suffering that leads to the chemical response) leads to my downfall.

I'm grateful for my failures, as they've become my greatest teachers.  Yours can too, IF you dare to fail.  Some of us have trouble putting ourselves in a position to truly fail.  Yeah, it sucks for a little bit (I was pretty down on myself for about a week after Ray Miller, as I had been looking forward to it for the better part of 11-months), but I'm over it now.  Excited to train again.  With a 3rd crack at the LA Marathon in March and a rookie shot at the Mt Fuji 100-miler in April, I don't have to face my Sophomore Jinx again anytime soon.  But looking at that race mentality of "humble and patient" VS "aggressive and battle ready" will help, tremendously.  Hopefully I can remember that when seeking my 3rd consecutive silver buckle at Angeles Crest in August too.

I almost spoke too soon: I am headed back to the Lake Tahoe Super Triple in late-September, a sophomore effort where the only way I can improve is to win the race and establish a new course record (with the other 2 course record holders competing as well).  Oh boy.  This love affair could end poorly.

Starting off conservatively on Leg 2 of 3 at the Tahoe Super Triple last September

A COUPLE OF FRIENDS WHO ALSO BLOGGED ABOUT CEREMONIES, RITUALS & ROMANCE...
Mac Smith's Wishing You a Happy Valentine's Day... Or NOT?
Krissy Moehl's Thoughtfulness Trumps Going-Thru-The-Motions


What are some things YOU love about running?  What are some rituals, routines and obsessions you have?  Comment below if you feel so inclined!

Running After the Joneses - the Comparative Paradigm Trap

Photo by Gareth Mackay

This has become all too common in today's day of social media and instant information: you hear someone talk about running their first marathon, and someone else, often a non-runner will say, "hey you gotta beat Oprah's / P. Diddy's time!"  For what it's worth, I do believe it's great to have goals and sub-goals to keep yourself motivated.  Oprah (for the record) ran 4:29:15 and P-Diddy ran 4:14:54. It was on record that Diddy, or Puffy Combs or Sean or whatever he is calling himself now also wanted to beat Oprah's time.

Keeping up with the Joneses, or in this case, running after the Joneses is a very dangerous game. It is an extension of life lived in the comparative paradigm. The chief problem with the comparative paradigm is that we almost always put ourselves in deficit. We always have LESS than the Joneses, we're always LESS fit than those we're aspiring to be like and/or LESS fast or LESS tough.

I'm not suggesting that having idols, role models or heroes is unhealthy. But rather, when your goals (and/or dreams) are based around being "as good as someone else" or in some cases "better than someone else" it starts first with the premise that you are PRESENTLY LESS ____*blank____ (*insert your less word here: talented, genetically predisposed, wealthy, fast, tough, etc.).  Being less than someone else causes a whole other issue too, as it has us focusing on being (or beating) THEM and not just being the best version of us/me that we/I can be. (yeah, the English there is hard to follow, but give it one more read for good measure.)  When you are not focused on being the best YOU that you can be, you tune out your own body/mind's present in-the-moment needs.  It all becomes about being them, or being better than them.

Take this one step further... you've grown a little bored of marathoning.  Now you've moved onto Ironman distance triathalons OR ultra-distance mountain races.  You see these ultra-crazy people around you, you read the articles in magazines and in blogs, you start to want to train/race like those people.  Yet you're only getting a small snapshot of their life. In many cases, you don't know their genetic predisposition to speed/distance, nor their history and experience (in some cases these people have run their whole lives while we may only have a few months or a few years under the soles of our shoes) and trying to emulate something before you're really ready can lead to sickness, injury and setbacks (and these setbacks can at times have huge emotional consequences).

I invite you to take a moment to evaluate your life and your present goals and dreams. Are they grounded in being the best version of you, yet? Or are they smelling a little like they were birthed in the comparative paradigm (doing something because someone else did it)?  If you discover (like I have, from time to time) that you're putting yourself at the low end of the totem pole, break that cycle. Reassess.  Recreate from a baseline of loving yourself and being a little bit fuller, more expressed and healthier version of you than you've been recently.  Otherwise, the fear of being inadequate just continues to recreate itself, and like a dog chasing it's tail, you'll never catch up with the imaginary ghosts you've created in your mind.

Here's a little mantra I plan to utilize more often...

Today, I shall strive to be a little bit better than yesterday. Mentally tougher. Happier. More generous. Not more-so than anyone else, just more than myself previously.

But I ain't gonna lie, you do gotta go beat Oprah's time.

On top of the world, being the best ME I can possibly be...

Way of the Trail Runner VIDEO (see point 5 or 6) - "thou shalt not envy another runner"