Tag / armory

by tristanjung

Meet #2 (Handoffs)

Take me out tonight
Where there’s music and there’s people
Who are young and alive

– “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths

The 168th Street Subway Station is about two minutes from the Armory, but I’d never actually seen it until last Monday. I’m approaching my fourth full season of winter track, yet I’d never really explored the neighborhood around the Armory. The enclosed block of the Armory had been my de facto containment facility for countless hours, yet I’d never ventured beyond its immediate surroundings. It’s kinda depressing, but also somewhat understandable. When you jog around the streets of New York City with short shorts and a skimpy jersey in below freezing temperatures, you get a good deal of awkward glances.

The second meet of the season occurred on Monday, and I couldn’t really judge the mood of the team. Coach M was not present, so she couldn’t really judge either. Ross, Julia, Stewie, Connor and Bailey all ran well. We actually got back to Hackley before 8:30, which was a nice bonus.

Chris Chon called during the meet, asking about the California trip. California, that illusive Paradise that hangs at the end of this long, cold, and suffocating road; it exists only in my mind as I endlessly loop around the 200m track. 16 laps, every second punctuated with feelings of pain, ineptitude, and obsession with the ticking clock. The Armory two-mile is a special beast, and this race followed the stereotype with alarming persistence.

The last event of the day is the four by 400 meter relay, one of the least appealing activities, in my opinion, of the track season. It’s pretty well-established that our current 4×400 team of me, Alex, Ross, and Frank can’t sprint 400 meters with any sort of true competency after we’ve all staggered through two races and a full school day. Standing on the line, waiting to anchor in the relay, all I thought about was going home and taking a warm shower, erasing the tinges of sweat that were fruitlessly expended today.

But first I have to get through the handoff. Ross, Frank, and I were the main contributors to last year’s 4×400 team, and we’ve had an alarming number of miscues when it comes to handoffs. Despite a good deal handoff training from Karpinski and Coach Crainer, we seem to be predisposed towards rough handoffs. This trend was exemplified by our performance in the Ivy League Championship race from Spring 2014, when Ross attempted to hand off to Frank at the changeover from the first to the second legs. Frank thought he had been disqualified because of the bungled handoff and a ill-timed whistle blast from an official. So he stopped, right in the middle of the race. That was not a good idea.

At the last indoor meet, Frank attempted to hand off to Alex, but Alex got knocked out of the way by a Fieldston kid and he nearly tripped over Frank on the exchange. When Alex handed off to me, I froze and stood still instead of properly leading Alex through the line. Coach Waterbury came up to me afterwards and advised that I actually lead Alex through the handoff next time. I’m sure he hadn’t realized that this was my something like my 16th Hackley 4×4 in the last four years (I counted right before the race) and that, yes, I perfectly understood the logic and the expediency of getting a good start. Unfortunately, I had failed to perform this task, and Coach Waterbury understandably thought I’d never been in a relay before.

I don’t really know Coach Waterbury that well, but he was a coach with the football team last year, and he seems like a nice guy. The throwers occasionally look like they’re doing legitimate work now, which is a good sign. It’s nice that he noticed my amateurish mistake on the 4×4 and took the time to correct me, especially considering our coach was not even in the building. Anyway, that was last week, but this week, the handoffs went without a hitch. Unfortunately, we were all dead tired (boys and girls alike) and the times reflected our relative exhaustion.

The Distance Gang is having a Secret Santa this week, and I’m grateful that we have enough team unity to pull off a successful Secret Santa without any major problems (hopefully). The bad part about Secret Santa is that one person often forgets to come through with a gift, partly because of laziness and partly because that person selects an “friend” that they’re not really friends with. This means that there’s inevitably one person who received delayed gratification from the Secret Santa, which is not fun. I have faith in the Christmas spirit, and the goodwill of the Winter Warriors to fully provide each other with gifts. In spite of all the negativity this week, that unshakeable faith in the goodness of my fellow runners is heartening.

Guys, don’t screw this up for me. Get your Secret Santa gifts!

by tristanjung

Creatures of Habit

What becomes routine is the codification of repetition, a recurrence of events and idiosyncrasies that cohere into significant patterns. After all, we are creatures of habit, as they say…

After most practices, the winter track team has a habit of clambering into the middle school to begin our traditional core workout. The workout has been repeated enough times to now be considered routine. Planks, cross-country core, “Coriarty” and push-ups, over and over again, almost every day for the last few weeks. We certainly did less core during cross-country. I fear that the non-winter runners on cross-country will return in spring to find that we are far more tolerant of absurdly long leg-lift sequences than ever before.

During cross-country, core was often relegated to the category of “secondary factors” that include things like eating healthy foods, stretching, and drinking water. I always wondered why we spent far more time in practice working on proper running form rather than actually, you know, trying to improve body strength, but I digress. We kept up a good regimen, but core output decreased at the end of the season, and the soreness I’m experiencing now is probably indicative of slacking at the end of cross-country. That being said, finding the right balance of routines and exercises is the top prerogative of the coach, and judging on our results during the season, I’d say the balance was adequate.

My first season of cross-country, I distinctly remember doing twenty second planks on a regular basis at the beginning of the season. I don’t think we broke 30 seconds per side that year. That did not bother me then, but now that we regularly spend twice as much time per workout, those past days seem quaint.

Intervals Monday, distance run on Tuesday, threshold workout on the Pump on Wednesday, run Thursday. Routine, routine, routine. Every time I run on the Hackley track I wonder how many miles I’ve logged in this repetitive circle, this endless loop of pain and lactic acid that enclose my hundreds of intervals. I fix my eyes upon the solitary tree at the 200m mark, the tree that has unflinchingly observed my progress over the last four years. It’s barren now, the result of cyclical rhythms and seasons that engross all natural life. Do trees treat the seasons like endless 400m repeats? Is every season another 100m on the track? The trees must be kicking through their last reserves of energy as winter begins. Then I make a left turn and the solitary tree recedes into the background.

Tuesday, flagging souls beware; rain erupts from the sky. We’d been blessed with unusually decent weather for the start of winter track. The rain soaks through my paltry jacket and my feet grow numb as I splash through oversized puddles. When the run ends, Ross remarks on the physical pointlessness we have just endured. For him, the run provided few tangible benefits. Ennui. Oh well, there’s nothing we can do about now, as the water seeps onto the gym floor while we complete the final set of burpees that Coach M has assigned us.

Wednesday, threshold on the Pump. We’re back to the Wednesday threshold routine, a pattern that was established before I arrived at Hackley, and will doubtlessly continue into the distant future. If I ever run for another team or running group and they tell me they only do tempo runs on Saturdays, it’ll take me some time to get used to the new weekday. Wednesdays=threshold, it’s simple, elegant, and only natural. It’s funny how people’s conception of aesthetic pleasure is reliant on past experience.

by tristanjung

Winter Track Meet #1 (Return)

It’s the little things that get to me. I’m bothered by the orange heaters from the 1970s that blast hot air in the upper levels of the Armory. I’m bothered by the two water fountains that serve every athlete looking for a drink on the track-level floor, water fountains that lack any functionality for water bottles and tired teenagers. I’m bothered by the crappy dance music that blares from the speakers, creating a droning wave of irritation that tests the bounds of my patience.

But honestly, these minor thoughts fade into the background of the experience. Weekday Ivy Prep League Development Meets are characterized by space and open zones of seating and floor space that allow for a good level of comfort. Waiting constitutes the majority of time spent at any track meet, indoor or outdoor, making comfortable places to wait and converse with friends a necessity. Unfortunately, when its raining, or when the Armory is packed to the brim with people, the waiting becomes more of a Waiting For Godot-situation. The 1600m at Bishop Loughlin, like Godot, will never arrive, but the sensation of waiting becomes far more difficult when one waits in discomfort.

However, sitting around with your friends and chatting while time aimlessly passes is not a difficult situation. Low-stakes racing does not wear on anyone’s nerves, and the mood is cheerful and lighthearted. Sure, winter track is not ideal, and I’d honestly rather be outside racing in the cold than indoors, but the Ivy Development Meets are manageable. Getting home at 9:30 PM and staring at piles of work on my desk is miserable, but realistically I’d be procrastinating until 8:00 PM anyway so losing 90 minutes isn’t so bad.

I didn’t race too well, but the results of the meet will recede into my memory like bad pop music. I have distinct memories of washing out the bad pop music on the bus ride home during sophomore year by blasting music on my headphones; the first time I listened to OK Computer by Radiohead was on the way back from an freshman year Ivy Development meet. And those times, somehow, seemed much worse than now, with a paucity of hope and a longing for freedom. OK Computer is a depressing, postmodern soundscape for the unfulfilled promises of the late 1990s. Winter track has evolved into something different, such that the album that I would listen to in response to yesterday’s meet would be Modern Vampires of the City by Vampire Weekend, a decidedly more cheerful work of music, ignoring the sadder bits of “Hannah Hunt” and “Hudson”, of course.

When presidents come up for reelection, they always ask: “are you better off now than you were four years ago?”. My answer, as seen in the uptick in cheerfulness of my musical choices, is yes, I am better off. Winter track, as a whole, is in a better place, now that we have simple things like a coach, a proper team, and a workout plan. My pet peeves of the Armory may never change, but when everything around the Armory has improved dramatically, the annoyances are lessened in value.

If you’re looking for more negatives, just wait until Bishop Loughlin in two weeks.