Every Day is Race Day
When I was in my early twenties I was a competitive distance runner. By competitive I mean that I raced every other weekend and seldom lost. I was good. Some said I was very good. Still others said I was "Olympic Trials" good. My coaches pushed and I responded. I put in the miles, withstood the pain, and improved with every race I ran. I was fast, but knew I needed to be faster. And faster still. I did speed work, strength training, and ran more and more miles. Then I decided to quit the speed rat race and started training for a marathon. I skipped the speed work (the scariest and most painful part of my week) and focused on miles. At the apex of my training I was running more than 100 miles a week.
A sample week would be as follows -
Monday AM - 8 miles
Monday PM - 4 miles
Tuesday AM - 10 miles
Tuesday PM - 8 miles (I called it "going double long")
Wednesday AM - 8 miles
Wednesday PM - 4 miles
Thursday AM - 10 miles
Friday AM - 8 miles
Friday PM - 4 miles
Saturday - 15 miles (which increase to 20 miles as race day approached)
Sunday AM - 15 miles
I warmed up for all my morning runs by exercise biking for an hour (I warmed up on race days in like fashion). I never took a day off. I was also full-blown anorexic, so I usually ate less than 1,000 calories a day. I was often so weak that I had to will my legs to take one more step. Stopping was not an option. Slowing down was not an option. I was fast and I would endure. Or else.
Each time I laced up my shoes (which I had to replace monthly) and hit the road, I raced against myself. I had a variety of courses I could take. I lived in a small town, but there was enough open road to run almost any distance. To say that I monitored my time and my pace religiously is a gross understatement. I was surgical. Keep in mind that this was the days before cool computerized gadgetry like we have today. I had a stop watch and markers to hit in a given amount of time. In my mind, every day was race day. There were no easy runs. Leisure wasn't allowed, just pain and sheer will.
My hard work paid off in a big way. I won the Wichita Marathon in October 1993. My goal was to run it in less than three hours, a huge feat for a first marathon or so my coaches told me. I was on sub- 3 hour pace until mile 16. Then a stress fracture in my tibia became a full blown fracture and I was forced to hobble through the final eight miles at a full minute per mile slower than I had planned. I won, but I was disappointed. My goal had been within my grasp and I failed. I didn't run again for five months. I only won one more race before unceremoniously leaving the sport in December 1994. I didn't plan to quit. I just quit. One day I decided not to run (I had a stomach ache) and I never ran again.
I was tired of the pain, tired of pushing, tired of racing. I no longer had the will and I stopped. I joined a gym for the first time in my life and changed my cardio routine entirely. I no longer wanted every workout to be a race, so gave up my stopwatch and discovered the stairclimber. I'd set it to full blast and grind out an hour. I read, watched TV, and listened to music. My pace was set and totally controlled by the machine. I didn't have to think, worry, or surgically monitor anything. I could breathe and enjoy, something I rarely did when I was running. I seldom let myself run for fear I would fall back into my old habits. I wanted to enjoy working out; I didn't want to torture myself physically and emotionally like I did when I was running competitively.
When I moved to Austin, I couldn't find a gym I liked so I started walking. It was also a great stress relief. I could listen to music and enjoy the great outdoors. A friend told me about the Hike & Bike trail at Town Lake and I was hooked. I'd head out after work and do a leisurely four miles. I never wore my watch and didn't much care how long it took me. Then one day I wore my watch and just out of curiosity I timed myself. Then I did it again and again and again. I didn't monitor it too carefully; I was simply curious. I could do it in about and hour and five minutes, give or take.
I was cool with that until last week. At some point, my curiosity turned into a race day mentality. I wanted to do it in an hour flat. I set a starting line and a finish line. I looked at my watch, noted the time,and took off walking. I did my 4.17 mile course in 1:02, 1:01, 1:03. I was frustrated, so today I decided to truly race against the clock. I hit the starting line, started my stopwatch, and pushed myself to walk as fast as I could in the hopes of making my goal. I finished in 59 minutes, 3 seconds (with a small delay while trying to navigate my way around the triathlon set-up team at the halfway point). I was happy, then sad.
I feel myself backsliding into my old habits. It's good to push and have goals, but what used to be a fun, leisurely way to workout has become reminiscently surgical. I don't want to have to quit walking because I do like it. That said, I know me and how I can be. Soon enough, every walk is going to be "race day". I'll try for faster and faster times and berate myself when I don't set a new PR (personal record). It'll be just like the old days. Maybe I need to leave my watch at home, but I also know I can tend toward lazy and need some way to push myself to keep up a good pace. I am stuck.
If I keep this up, I know I'll start running again. I'll want to go faster and faster. Soon enough, I'll walk-jog-run it. Then I'll jog-run it. Then I'll run it. Then I'll push and push until I'm using sheer will to get through the pain and my sanity dangles precariously over the precipice. All this because I couldn't find a gym and needed a stress reliever. I haven't changed much in twenty years (except for the anorexia... or would that come back too?). In any case, I was good once upon a time. Maybe I'd be good again. What if the wind at my heels is God willing me to push the limits of pace and pain and race competitively as a Master? I've been contemplating my gifts recently. I always saw endurance as one of God's gifts to me. Who am I to deny God? Oy. In my next life, I'd like to sign up for a less painful gift.
A sample week would be as follows -
Monday AM - 8 miles
Monday PM - 4 miles
Tuesday AM - 10 miles
Tuesday PM - 8 miles (I called it "going double long")
Wednesday AM - 8 miles
Wednesday PM - 4 miles
Thursday AM - 10 miles
Friday AM - 8 miles
Friday PM - 4 miles
Saturday - 15 miles (which increase to 20 miles as race day approached)
Sunday AM - 15 miles
I warmed up for all my morning runs by exercise biking for an hour (I warmed up on race days in like fashion). I never took a day off. I was also full-blown anorexic, so I usually ate less than 1,000 calories a day. I was often so weak that I had to will my legs to take one more step. Stopping was not an option. Slowing down was not an option. I was fast and I would endure. Or else.
Each time I laced up my shoes (which I had to replace monthly) and hit the road, I raced against myself. I had a variety of courses I could take. I lived in a small town, but there was enough open road to run almost any distance. To say that I monitored my time and my pace religiously is a gross understatement. I was surgical. Keep in mind that this was the days before cool computerized gadgetry like we have today. I had a stop watch and markers to hit in a given amount of time. In my mind, every day was race day. There were no easy runs. Leisure wasn't allowed, just pain and sheer will.
My hard work paid off in a big way. I won the Wichita Marathon in October 1993. My goal was to run it in less than three hours, a huge feat for a first marathon or so my coaches told me. I was on sub- 3 hour pace until mile 16. Then a stress fracture in my tibia became a full blown fracture and I was forced to hobble through the final eight miles at a full minute per mile slower than I had planned. I won, but I was disappointed. My goal had been within my grasp and I failed. I didn't run again for five months. I only won one more race before unceremoniously leaving the sport in December 1994. I didn't plan to quit. I just quit. One day I decided not to run (I had a stomach ache) and I never ran again.
I was tired of the pain, tired of pushing, tired of racing. I no longer had the will and I stopped. I joined a gym for the first time in my life and changed my cardio routine entirely. I no longer wanted every workout to be a race, so gave up my stopwatch and discovered the stairclimber. I'd set it to full blast and grind out an hour. I read, watched TV, and listened to music. My pace was set and totally controlled by the machine. I didn't have to think, worry, or surgically monitor anything. I could breathe and enjoy, something I rarely did when I was running. I seldom let myself run for fear I would fall back into my old habits. I wanted to enjoy working out; I didn't want to torture myself physically and emotionally like I did when I was running competitively.
When I moved to Austin, I couldn't find a gym I liked so I started walking. It was also a great stress relief. I could listen to music and enjoy the great outdoors. A friend told me about the Hike & Bike trail at Town Lake and I was hooked. I'd head out after work and do a leisurely four miles. I never wore my watch and didn't much care how long it took me. Then one day I wore my watch and just out of curiosity I timed myself. Then I did it again and again and again. I didn't monitor it too carefully; I was simply curious. I could do it in about and hour and five minutes, give or take.
I was cool with that until last week. At some point, my curiosity turned into a race day mentality. I wanted to do it in an hour flat. I set a starting line and a finish line. I looked at my watch, noted the time,and took off walking. I did my 4.17 mile course in 1:02, 1:01, 1:03. I was frustrated, so today I decided to truly race against the clock. I hit the starting line, started my stopwatch, and pushed myself to walk as fast as I could in the hopes of making my goal. I finished in 59 minutes, 3 seconds (with a small delay while trying to navigate my way around the triathlon set-up team at the halfway point). I was happy, then sad.
I feel myself backsliding into my old habits. It's good to push and have goals, but what used to be a fun, leisurely way to workout has become reminiscently surgical. I don't want to have to quit walking because I do like it. That said, I know me and how I can be. Soon enough, every walk is going to be "race day". I'll try for faster and faster times and berate myself when I don't set a new PR (personal record). It'll be just like the old days. Maybe I need to leave my watch at home, but I also know I can tend toward lazy and need some way to push myself to keep up a good pace. I am stuck.
If I keep this up, I know I'll start running again. I'll want to go faster and faster. Soon enough, I'll walk-jog-run it. Then I'll jog-run it. Then I'll run it. Then I'll push and push until I'm using sheer will to get through the pain and my sanity dangles precariously over the precipice. All this because I couldn't find a gym and needed a stress reliever. I haven't changed much in twenty years (except for the anorexia... or would that come back too?). In any case, I was good once upon a time. Maybe I'd be good again. What if the wind at my heels is God willing me to push the limits of pace and pain and race competitively as a Master? I've been contemplating my gifts recently. I always saw endurance as one of God's gifts to me. Who am I to deny God? Oy. In my next life, I'd like to sign up for a less painful gift.
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