Break and Repair.

Spring break, if we care label this last blast of wintery goodness either "spring" or a "break," arrived on Monday. The Woodland Joint Unified school district shutters its campuses for a full two weeks this year, and it's no stretch to say that I'm their most fortunate employee.

For the first time in three years, my professional and educational reprieves overlap. This stroke of luck affords me one week of unobstructed time to catch up, look ahead, and compose. True, two evening classes remain the only scheduled items for second week of the vacation, but the emptiness of the first has been both calming and inspiring. And while I've thus far put multiple pans in the fire, each task has surpassed my expectations.

Foremost in this list of tasks has been the drafting of my MA thesis. I'm some fifty pages in, adding roughly 18 from my own pilot study and another 12 pages of freshly written words in the past three days. And though it will undergo periodic stages of dramatic revision, I'm energized by the progress. Apparently, until now, I refused to recognize the looming reality that I'd actually find a way to compile something before the submission deadline. So I'm giddy. My spirits are bolstered by the reality that I may actually put a bow on this phase of my life.

A close second on my list of tasks is physical recovery. After putting up decent numbers in the Shamrock'n Half Marathon on March 13, I've scaled back the miles and speed work in order to let the sorer regions of my body return to their normal forms. From late February to early March, I was running an average of 40 miles per week. Following the race, I dropped down to 10--not exclusively for want of a break, but because of persistent pain in my right glute, hip, and left calf. This week, my totals will again reach the low 30s, just in time to gear up for a few races in April and May.

The absence of speed work and the influx of rain has resulted in a number of milder runs on the levy. This is also due to the effect winter weather has on the dirt track in Land Park. As a result of this change in training location, I've been able to arrive at a few noteworthy points.

First, with the increased water releases upstream, I'm impressed by the extremely high levels of the Sacramento River. It has been a trip to see so much water rushing by, and also to witness how it transforms both the shoreline and access to the American River Parkway. It's worth mentioning that, in nicer weather, it's tough to get any reaction from other users of the trail. During these last few storms, however, there's a shared acknowledgement between the few stubborn runners and parks department employees I pass. We don't necessarily make eye contact, but we wave our glove-covered hands at each other.

I've also concluded that I'm comfortable calling myself a runner. I've always liked to run, but I think I'm ready to let the title consume me. So here it is: I'm a runner. And you'd think the training miles, the marathon, or the races themselves would be the catalyst for this change, but they're not. And while it's related, the shift doesn't totally reflect my membership with Sacramento's Fleet Feet Racing Team.

No, this new awareness comes from an unlikely place deep in the recesses of my memory when, as a teenager in high school, I liked snowboarding. At the time, and still now, I never really considered myself a snowboarder. I didn't buy season passes consistently, I didn't ride with the school's elite snowboard team, and I didn't seek employment opportunities at the local board shops or ski resorts. I also avoided, unlike many of my friends, competing in local events, or pushing myself to reach higher, faster, and riskier levels. I thought actual snowboarders were sponsored riders. I saw them in films, in magazines, and in competitions around the region. I knew a few people on campus with some corporate deals, and I knew I wasn't one of them.

The closest I got to tasting this sponsoring was a free t-shirt and a roll of stickers we received from a company called Mission Six. They only sent the swag because my buddy Colin and I hung out with some of their riders at an event and then wrote the company a letter to inquire about the product.

Early this week I picked up a new pair of discounted Asics running shoes from Fleet Feet. I came home and emptied the dryer. I folded my Asics shorts and hung my Asics Fleet Feet warm-up suit and my orange FOO racing singlet on their designated hangers in the closet. I deleted some emails--one about volunteering at racing events that conflicted with my schedule--and another about the availability of team arm warmers and socks, before it struck me. I am a runner. Unfortunately, though, this conclusion was born not from the seeds of my desire or the results of my actions, but from the status and materialism associated with the sport.

And so, while my mind shifts to account for this new definition of myself, I'm a bit ashamed of the way it all went down.