About The Blog

When I tell people that I studied English at the University of Dubuque, located in the rolling bluffs of Dubuque, IA, one common question is raised to me, “So do you want to be a teacher?” I understand the question, and why people ask it. Surely, I wouldn’t be so naive as to think there is a more secure route in the field of literature and language. Yet, I was naive enough to think I didn’t have to follow a formula for English majors, and I still am that native to a fault.


I have attempted to open myself to the wonderful joys that molding young minds can yield. I even served as a teaching assistant at a local high school last year, taking education classes that I never took in my first four years of college, to gauge if I had any interest in teaching. To tell the truth, I did find teaching at least marginally fruitful; so much so, that I still teach Driver’s Ed in a part-time capacity.


However, I don’t know that I’ve ever been swept up in the idea of teaching (except for that whole having your entire summers off thing). When the time came for me to go back for more education courses this fall, I opted out. It was too vast of a financial commitment, and my feelings towards teaching weren’t grand enough to justify the cost.


I wanted to be a writer. Even now, I want to be a writer to a certain extent. My topical fixations have always leaned towards sports and popular culture, and if my “career” as a writer has ever had a focus it would be on these areas. I started off writing for my high school newspaper (The Panther’s Paw), providing movie and music reviews, covering sporting events, and looking at journalism schools. I even went so far as to have my work submitted to high school writing competitions (thanks, Ms. K). I had a deep seeded passion for putting my thoughts and opinions out into my community. My mind had important things to say about the things that I adored, and I was adequate enough to justify my work. Just as I was taking my writing seriously, my other love, baseball, altered my future.


I went in to college looking to play as much ball as I could, floating from one school to the next until I had attended three different institutions by my sophomore year. My dream of writing had fallen from view, or it had at least taken a detour.


When I finally settled in at UD, I attempted to pick up where I left off in high school. I joined the paper, suffering a minor set back my first year with that publication, and I continued writing about sports and music. I even had an internship stint during my senior year for a weekly newsletter: www.tristatesnightout.com (the owner, Aaron Rainey, actually flipped this site into a lucrative bus trip business. Kudos to you, Aaron).


While all of these minor accomplishments seemed fine at the time, I began to notice something in my classes that diminished my achievements. The more I time I actually spent around my fellow classmates, the more I realized I was lacking something. These men and women were published authors; working on poetry, books, novels, and short stories. They had interesting critiques about Romanticism and the canon of American literature. They dwarfed me, or at least I thought they did. I was still a satisfactory student, and knowledgeable in my own right, but I didn’t have the hunger and passion of these other would be writers.


In school, they seemingly lived for the thrill of putting pen to paper, or fingers to keystrokes. They moved nimbly and effortlessly through the pages of Keats and Wilde. Meanwhile, I was getting drunk while my fingers leapt from the “A” button to the right trigger in NHL ‘12 or NBA 2K.


This isn’t to say that the students I shared a classroom with were introverts, or perfect geniuses. Nor is this an indictment of a 21 year-old me, but it does say an alarming amount about my commitment level to my dreams.


In my time after college, I haven’t fared much better in my pursuits. I graduated from UD in the Spring of ‘13, and in the three plus years since I graduated I’ve never worked at a company longer than one year. I’ve skipped from position to position without any clear direction for a career path. I understand that today’s job climate lends itself to this sort of activity, and it’s especially true for students right out of college to attempt to “discover” their place in the market. I also understand that it’s seemingly the “norm” to not even wind up in your field of study. I am aware of all these things, and am in no way trying to deflect or make excuses for why I don’t have a job in writing/editing. On the contrary, I probably blame myself for my situation more than I should.


I’ve attempted to find some lane for myself in writing after school. I’ve attempted blogs and held freelance positions for newspapers in a professional capacity. Yet, I’ve still never committed to a passion, much like how I never fully committed myself in college.


So, here I am, a customer service rep at the age of 25. I have no “valuable” experience in my field, and as of two weeks ago, I was slowly gaining weight from a steady diet of Coca Cola and fast food. My only exercise was bowling and beer-league softball, which both allowed me to consume enough alcohol to neutralize any physical activity. For someone with a history of clinical depression, this lifestyle was going nowhere fast.


Two weeks ago, I walked into my girlfriend’s house (my current living arrangements) and heard a broadcast for the Chicago Marathon crackle from a speaker. At the time, it couldn’t have been much more than white noise to me, but something inside my bones must have been stirred.


The next day, for no particular reason, I texted my buddy, Derrick: a coach for distance running at a local high school.


I asked him if he could get me ready for that same marathon I heard about just days before by next year. I asked him without having any discernible idea what training on my own would entail. Derrick accepted with a ridiculous enthusiasm. This was good news for me in the moment, but possibly horrendous news for me come next year.


So, I began embarking on this idiotic journey to run 26.2 miles.
That finally brings all of this writing full circle; to the point of my rambling. I’m attempting to merge this new, weird, and hopefully beautiful marathon experience with my old passion. Over the next year, I’m going to document every week, every mile, and every step of my journey, using this blog as my medium.


Hopefully, tackling two monstrous goals (running a marathon, and running a blog) won’t destroy me. That’s the hope. The dream is that maybe each of these activities get me moving in a more concentrated direction. It’s a set of goals that requires me to take my ideas and ambitions by the horns, rather than getting trampled by the hooves of my day dreams.


In addition to my own personal pursuits, I’ve chosen to make this marathon significant by running for St. Jude Children’s Hospital. Over the course of the next year, I will be fundraising money for this tremendous institution that saves the lives and futures of so many young kids in our nation, and from around the world. As I began to look at ways to apply for the marathon, I realized that there would be no better option than running for a charity I so greatly admire. That being said, I was assigned to raise $1,200 for the institution in order to run in their name. I’m hoping to not only reach that goal, but eclipse it handily in my fundraising pursuit. This all serves as the second purpose of this blog. If you are reading this, and can help out in any way, shape, or form, please follow the link below to my personal fundraising page. Donations of any size are welcome, and I hope to raise much more money for this, and other charities, as I run.


St. Jude Donation Link:


http://fundraising.stjude.org/site/TR/Heroes/Heroes?px=4298687&pg=personal&fr_id=65015


-Ryan 10/31/16