WARNING: Sam gets all soul-searchy and weird in this reflective mushy post!
I’ve gone through much of my life with little direction or end
goal. It’s weird, because while I consider myself a very motivated and driven
person, there had never really been a destination. In a way, there are many
pros to this way of life – you get to live in the moment, taking chances and
opportunities when they come. But there’s never been that raison d’etre that so many of my friends had.
I was recently talking with a friend, and I confessed that,
embarrassingly, up until a couple years ago, I thought there were only like, 10
jobs in the world. Throughout middle school and high school and college, you
hear the same professions over and over: teacher, doctor, scientist, lawyer,
astronaut, professional soccer player, and “businessman,” whatever that meant
(wear a suit and carry a briefcase and just generally be boring, probably).
Really though – school made it seem like there were a very finite number of
categories to choose from, and my majors in college simply reflected which
classes I found interesting, with zero forethought as towards a future career.
It became glaringly obvious my senior year of college when
everyone and their mom (literally) was asking me what I was going to do after
graduation, and I’d give them that deer-in-the-headlights look. With majors in
Psychology and French (the former because I found it interesting, the latter an
automatic from studying abroad), I think it was somewhat obvious that Sam had
no idea what the eff he was doing. So what was
I doing those four years, besides playing way too much Super Smash Bros. and
StarCraft?
Running. A lot. Twice a day most days of the week. Core and
plyometrics to help with proper running form and injury prevention. Swimming
and biking to cross train. Spending an insane amount of time with
teammates-turned-family, eating and sleeping and laughing and racing with them.
Running was hardly even a hobby in high school, but in college, it became life,
paramount to my very existence.
Something happened
Freshman year of college – maybe it’s because it was the first time I was “on
my own,” and I was scared and in need of something to hold onto, but running
became that support I could rely on. Teammates became closer than family, and
despite running for a DIII school as a student-athlete, I felt very much like
an athlete-student. Classes were merely a nice distraction between workouts,
and even then, most of my notes had goal 400-splits scribbled in the margins.
What’s funny though, is that I’m not even that good. I’ve
had decent success and some great races, but I’m nowhere near elite status. But
there was passion there, enough for me, a classic type-A overachiever, to get
burned out and over-trained on the regular. Despite going through multiple
phases of forsaking running and pledging to become a ‘real person’ that doesn’t
think about running 24/7, I haven’t been able to stay away for long. Any
unbiased person could claim I’m addicted to running, and I wouldn’t disagree.
I thought I was done running when I moved out to Martinique,
a tiny, hot and hilly Caribbean island, but only made it two months before I
found myself logging 2-hour daily runs. Then, when I moved out to Colorado and
started teaching high school French, stressed out of my mind, I only made it
1.5 months before picking up the habit again. While there’s no obligation to
run, no set practice time or meets I need to train for, I can’t help but wake
up every morning and lace up my shoes to hit the pavement.
Running is my passion, my raison d’etre. It’s the reason I wake up in the morning, it’s what
I look forward to each night I go to bed. It influences everything from what I
eat to who I hang out with to where I live.
Everyone has their passion, whether it’s drinking at the
bars or playing the piano or following their favorite NBA team. Running is my
rock, and God help whoever asks me about something related to running. I can be
a shy person, but I will be that
annoying kid WHO WILL NOT SHUT UP if I overhear someone talking about Sage
Canaday’s recent OTQ attempt or Ryan Hall DNFing again. While I couldn’t name 5
professional MLB players, I can rattle off America’s top contenders in any
distance, 100 meters to 100 miles. Though I couldn’t tell you who won the Super
Bowl (or who played? Or what sport that is?), I can describe the subtle
differences between a Hoka or a Brooks or a Newton or an Altra.
So when I was offered a Field Rep position with Hoka One
One, I was happy. Ecstatic. Over-the-moon elated and more relieved than I’d
ever been in my life, because I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. I
confessed to the kind HR Manager I interviewed with that “if I had known such a
job existed, I wouldn’t have been dicking around for so long” (exact words). But
after two phone interviews, a 24-hour trip back to Chicago for an in-person
interview, a Skype interview, and two interminable weeks of waiting, receiving
that phone call letting me know that I
got the job was life-affirming.
If I’m going to spend the majority of my waking life earning
a living in exchange for food and shelter, you can be sure as hell that I’m
gonna enjoy it. I tried working in a 9-5 suit-and-tie when I first graduated as
a Marketing Assistant, and I swear I could feel
my soul slowly withering away. Teaching has been rewarding, but my goodness am
I not meant for it. Working at the local running stores in my hometown have
been my most enjoyable and “fun” jobs, but making near-minimum wage 30
hours/week will hardly put ramen on the table (provided I could afford a
table).
I remember going to a fancy-shmancy evening soiree with my uncle when I was like,
14. My uncle’s a big-time advertiser in New York, is the nicest dressing man I
know, and is the quintessential definition of a gentleman (fun fact: he gifted
me the book “How to Be a Gentleman” when I was 10, and is my most treasured
possession). Plus, he’s crazy-successful. He has a swanky apartment in downtown
New York City, plus a luxurious weekend home (with pool and horse stable) in
the countryside.
So when he brings along my ragtag family to this evening
dinner party at a veritable mansion on some ungodly number of acres, with
servants offering the daintiest of cocktail weenies, my jaw hit the floor. My
Dad had warned me we’d be among some rich folk (thus the reason why I wasn’t
allowed to bring my Gameboy), but I had honestly never seen anything so lavish.
And I remember my uncle pulling me aside (probably to tell
me to pick my jaw up off the floor, or to let me know that my fly was down). He
could tell that I was in awe, and he pointed out a couple people, explaining that
that so-and-so was a multi-millionaire, while that lady was the owner of
blah-blah-blah. Then, my uncle looked me in the eye, and he said: “Do you know
why they’re all so successful?”
I probably gave him a dumb look, because he elaborated for
me. “The reason all these people are here? How they can afford parties like
this? How they’re able to literally be the most successful people in their
professions?” He paused for effect. “It’s
because they love what they do. When you’re passionate about something, money
and job-status become irrelevant. If you can find a job that you’d do
regardless of money, that you love simply for being able to do it, then you’ll
be successful.”
~
~
On May 1st, I’ll be making the 16-hour drive back
to Chicago. I’ve grown to really love Colorado, and I’ll genuinely miss (some
of) the kids I’ve been able to teach, the people I’ve met, and of course the
trails. But it’s a small sacrifice to be able to pursue this dream job with a
dream company. I’ll post below the cover letter I sent Hoka when I first
applied, as it succinctly describes my passion for the Hoka brand. I’ll be back
in Chicago for a total of 24 hours before they fly me out to California for 10
days (!!) of training, then I’ll be able to start repping Hoka for Illinois.
As for racing? We’ll see – obviously, there won’t be a race
for at least a couple weeks. But you can be sure I’ll be rocking a pair of
Hokas :P
COVER LETTER:
My first experience with the ubiquitous Hoka One One shoe
was on the French Caribbean island of Martinique, back in December 2013. I was
teaching English there, but also figured it would be the perfect training
ground: with unwavering 70-degree weather year round and a meager 10-hour work
week (yes, that’s per week), I would
be able to run as much as my body could handle. I’d return to the States as an
insanely fit (and sunburnt) ultramarathoner, and dominate the
mountain-ultra-trail scene.
However, as a transplant from Chicago, I was
totally unaccustomed to gaining anything more than 10 feet over the course of a
2-hour long run. So when the steep and unrelenting island terrain quickly began
trashing my quads, I knew my minimalist New Balance Minimus would no longer
suffice.
Let me back up a bit. I’ve been running competitively since
8th grade, converting from soccer to cross country and instantly
falling in love. After high school, I attended Illinois Wesleyan University,
and raced DIII Cross Country and Track all four years (minus a semester abroad
in France). After graduating, I floundered a bit without a team (or, any idea
at all about what I wanted to do with my life). The one thing I knew: I loved
running, and worked at a local New Balance store until the day I left to go
teach in Martinique.
So, it’s December, and noting a sale on irunfar.com, I bit
the bullet, paid for the insanely-steep shipping costs (not your fault –
Martinique is pretty unheard of), and (im)patiently awaited these new
marshmallow shoes. Hokas were purported to absorb all the pounding my knees
normally brunt, alieve the neuroma developing on my right foot, and drastically
reduce the DOMS I’d experienced from workouts (and I wouldn’t be surprised if
it cured cancer, too).
The Bondis I’d ordered seemed too good to be true, but when
they finally arrived and I was able to bomb down that hill that previously had
me wincing, I knew Hoka was on to
something. I was able to completely beat myself up in training, but come back
the next day totally refreshed and ready to tackle the hills again.
Fast forward 4 months, and I’m back in Illinois, racing my
first 50k. Despite racing my first 5 miles faster than my half-marathon pace, I
managed to finish 2nd place overall. Two weeks later, I raced the
Ice Age 50k up in Wisconsin, finishing in 3rd place overall, less
than a minute behind 2nd place (and I was closing strong!). A couple
weeks after that, I made the trip up to Michigan, where I competed in the
Yankee Springs Trail 26.2, and won my first race, placing 1st
overall by more than 5 minutes.
That summer, I was working at a local running store, trying
everything I could do to land a job as a Field Rep for a running company (I
even chatted with XXXXXXXXXXXXXX, the Illinois Hoka Rep). However, living in my parent’s
basement was far from ideal, and so when I found a job as a High School French
Teacher in Colorado Springs, I had to jump on it. I had spent a summer in
Boulder training with teammates in college, and had dreamed of making Colorado
my home ever since. So I made the drive from 0 ft. to over 6,000 ft. above sea
level, eager to train with (arguably) the best running community in the
country.
But then school happened. I took on the duties of the middle
school cross country coach, agreed to sponsor a couple clubs, and on top of the
struggles of being a first-year high school teacher, free time to run fell by
the wayside. While I love teaching and sharing my passion for French, the
lifestyle itself didn’t meld with my love and aspirations for running. Visions
of training with pros and joining a running club and becoming a regular at the
local shop were replaced by grading and lesson planning.
So when XXXXXXXXXXX emailed me, letting me know that he had received my resume and
had an open position as a Field Rep for Hoka (Hoka!), I was excited, to say the least. See, running is, and
forever will be, an integral part of my life. Combined with my love for
teaching, the duties of a Field Rep describe what I would honestly call my
‘dream job.’ So I was a tad heartbroken when XXXXXX later let me know that the position was
filled. But it lit a fire in me, sparking a realization that this was what I wanted to do. To be able
to share my passion for running with a community who may not know the
incredible feel of the Stinson or how light the Clifton really are.
Hopefully, it’s apparent how much I want this job, and how
perfect a fit I am.
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