For many teams, the cold weather and the snow have already forced us indoors, and "the track/conditioning workout" is familiar territory for every ultimate team serious about making a run in the spring (PUN INTENDED ROFL LOLZ!!1!). This is where you put in the work, this is where it hurts the most. While the still air can fool you into believing you've got throws, it won't be as forgiving on your conditioning.
I won't sugarcoat it. I hate the Armory. I hate it with a burning passion. Whenever I think about the Armory, I get a cold shiver up my spine, and visions of me spooning and swapping spit with the red garbage can. It's hard to breathe in the Armory or at Irwin even when you're just sitting there, and even more difficult when you're running at high speeds in a circle, chasing the huge pack ahead of you (if you're me, that is).
When I think of the Armory, there are three things that are paramount in my brain: sweat, pain, and Ohana.
Firstly, the image of Ann Dailey's sweat-angel on the floor of the Armory will live with me forever. SO GOOD. But srsly. I never knew how much a person could really sweat until I became acquainted with the Armory. I thought I knew. I thought I had gotten wet before (that's what she said). All the ridiculously hot, mid- through late-summer cross country practices, baking under the sun without any tree or building cover for a few blocks at a time, t-shirt more suffocating than ever. All the steamy, winter nights spent in the "little gym", running suicides and stairs followed by wall-sits for every team free throw missed after the four hour long practice. And then along came the Armory. After my limbs had stopped their flailing motion after one trip around the track, I found myself sweating in places I never thought possible ... the backs of my knees, the backs of my ears, every inch of my back, my ass, the places between my toes -- I mean, everywhere. I began sweating so much that I had to start wearing sweatbands/bandannas to soak up the sweat. You didn't really think it was a fashion statement, did you?
But sweat is the currency of hard work. I'm proud of my sweat (but only when it's kept to a socially acceptable level by my headgear). You put in the sweat, and bit by bit, you find yourself running a little longer and a little harder (that's what she said). You put in the sweat, and you might make yourself a more valuable player. You put in the sweat, and hopefully, eventually, it pays off. You don't gain anything without sweat. And sweat is worth the same, no matter who it's coming from. When you're standing inside the oval, waiting for the next rep and you're sweating your ass off, look at your teammates. Are they sweating something furious too? You're sweating for each other, and that is a damn beautiful thing.
Then there's the pain. Just when you think you're past the worst part ... you'll be reminded (probably by MaryKim) that the worst is yet to come. This will hurt. Make no mistake about it. It'll hurt. The sooner you learn that, the better. It's not about resisting the pain. It's about embracing it, learning it, and using it. If you don't push yourself to a place where you honestly actually feel like you're going to vomit, like you're going to roll your eyes into the back of your head and collapse, how will you know you'll be able to play through the pain in May, in the backdoor finals at Regionals? How will you know you have the mental fortitude to keep going, to keep plugging away, to keep your legs going when you've just endured the seventeenth turn in a marathon point?
I think it's a basic tenet of ultimate, and any sport really, that mind over matter will get you through everything and anything. I have a little whiteboard back home that I've attached to the back of my door, so that every time I leave my room to go do something, I see the words "When the mind is willing, the body will go". When I ran cross country in high school, I used to write "when the mind is willing, the body will go" on the inside of my forearm, to remind me to keep running whenever I felt like giving up and retreating to our plush tent with the Kudos bars and mini-Gatorades.
You will learn that you can will yourself through anything. I've used internally swearing at myself, repeating song lyrics, reciting the same ready-made encouraging phrase over and over, reassuring myself that "I'm almost there, almost there, almost there, almost done, almost done, almost done, just a little more, self, just a little more", my competitive fire, and hell, I'll admit it, the fear of shame as motivators to keep running, and to keep running hard. Yeah, it fucking hurts sometimes, and I've thrown up/asthma-attacked more times than I can count. But in the end, there ain't no shame to it, because I know in my heart that I gave it everything that I had. Everything.
You "Lilo & Stitch" fans will know the meaning of this last one: Ohana. I know it as a brand of delicious punch, but not in this context, of course. The Armory teaches us to be there for our family. The workout isn't over until your last teammate crosses the line. I remember in high school that the same people who were finished with races entire minutes before me were always running straight through the finish chute and back to the course to cheer the rest of us on. No one walked back to the tent for warmer clothes and Kudos bars until everyone finished the race. We're in it together, and the only way we come out a better team is if we push each other, challenge each other, and compete with each other, and help pick each other up when we falter.
Don't think of the Armory as a way to bide our time until we can practice outdoors full time again. The Armory builds us up, not only as a team, but as people. Talent and skill are important, but so is overall physical fitness. A team with all the best throwers in the world won't do too much damage if their receivers are tired out and unable to run against the defense. We want our team to be fast, strong, and relentless when we're running, whether it's on O or D. We've all heard the saying, a team is only as strong as its weakest link. The Armory makes us stronger as individuals, too. The Armory is our Gladiator Arena. It throws every challenge possible at us, both physical and mental. It breaks you down. It hurts you. And it'll be laughing at your bitch ass the entire time. But as you're running strong and hard through the finish line, as you're busting your ass and giving everything you have left in the tank, as you're pushing yourself to limits you didn't know you could withstand, know that you've won. When you're D-ing up some freak, fastest kid alive (super points for the reference), and you get the run-through D on him/her, you'll thank the Armory. When you're playing a tight rotation in the game-to-go at Regionals in late April, early May, and maybe the sun is already wreaking its havoc and suffocating you, swarming you -- you'll thank the Armory then.
I wrote last year about a track practice we had before Texas Throwdown. I remember that practice well, actually, and that there weren't very many people there. I think it was Tuesday night, because I distinctly remember eating a gyro that was much too large for me. I honestly don't even remember the workout, just that it sucked. I remember quite vividly the last two 400s we ran. I found myself running harder and harder, the organs behind my rib cage threatening to explode, the gyro threatening to make a home on the Armory floor. And still I pushed. I'm not quite sure that I've ever run that fast in my life, but I did, that night. With my teammates in front of me, behind me, and shoulder-to-shoulder with me, we pushed each other. We challenged each other by never giving up and never slowing down for our own comfort. We were relentless. As I wrote last year, "Don't ever give up on the field because your teammates won't either. We pick each other up. We push each other. We hurt for each other. That's what a team does."
That's what a team does, and this is where we learn how to do that. The Armory, outside of being defined by sweat, pain, and Ohana, is where we find the strength, the heart, and the courage within ourselves to dig deeper, to give a little more, to push just a little harder. And it is with these collective efforts that we build a team.
We've got a long winter ahead of us, so let's get pumped for some indoor action. There are times when it won't be fun. There are times when you won't look forward to it. There are times when you might even dread it. But you have to put in the work. You know what you're working for.
Work hard get bank, baby.
1 comment:
fear not, i got the superbad reference.
Post a Comment