From
the Rage Archives
Truth
is found through devotion,
and intensity is the only true measure of devotion.
Subject:
Truth Intervention
Date: 16 Apr 00 18:44:50 PDT
I have a
friend we'll call him "Coop" to keep his real identity confidential.
Coop was a runner who was hooked on the junk mile method to running.
All the danger signs were there and he was just too deep into his
method to understand what was happening to him. It was almost too
late before Manciata and the Rage found him.
Nearly
fully assimilated into the collective of his Catholic, guilt-ridden
upbringing, he would get up early on Sunday mornings for a 16 mile
exorcism. Manciata and I made our move while he was handing out
motivational refrigerator magnets at a local 10k (shaved head, the
whole nine yards) laced with Jeff Galloway long run propaganda.
We put
a gunny sack over his head and tossed him into the back of the Dodge.
We drove around for a while with CCR's Born in the Bayou at maximum
volume. Finally, we stopped, got him out, and did not remove the
hood until he could reasonably hold key while screaming "my papa
said son don't let the man getcha and do what he done to me." Then
we pulled off the hood. We were at the base of Kong (Buck Mountain,
a few miles northeast of Coburg, Oregon), which is 2,000 vertical
feet of some serious up. He ran it in 43 flat.
He came
back a second time a few weeks later. He ran it in about 40 or so.
A couple of months and several sessions later, he was determined
to break 40. As we cruised through Coburg in the Dakota, all of
a sudden it was as if he started doing the Bill Bixby Incredible
Hulk thing...his forehead started bulging and his body started to
inflate and his chest jumped out of his shredded singlet as he called
his number: 38 minutes. I made a mental note and did not tell Manciata.
He was
a new person...like Babe Ruth, pointing to the right center bleachers.
An attitude was forming. He looked at me and I could see it in his
eyes. They were saying "...I am taking no prisoners, this trip,baby..."
When he reached the top on his fifth trip up Kong, he couldn't talk
and his legs wobbled as he tried to steady himself. There was a
string of viscous matter attached to his left nostril and left ear.
He simply thrust out his watch and Manciata and I read the time:
38:03. Not bad. We then admonished him for stopping 30 feet from
the blacktop, which is the "official" finish area. The intervention
was complete.
(For the latest on the
continued recovery of Coop from his addiction
to the junk mile method, see Result).
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