Life is an Endurance Sport
I'm reading this book about running. Now before you say 'Oh, God....another blog about running', roll your eyes and click off, hear me out. Yes, it's a book about running and surviving and succeeding in the world of professional distance running, but I urge you to keep one thing in mind - Life is an endurance sport. The lessons Deena Kastor lays out in her book, Let Your Mind Run, apply to every aspect of our lives. Not just sport, and certainly not just endurance sport. All. Of. Life. So, dare to read on. You won't be disappointed. Well, maybe you will be in my writing and interpretation of her message, but the message itself is absolutely magnificent and the key to winning at life.
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I won my first race in December 1992. It was a 10k and only the second time I'd raced that distance. I PR'd by three minutes. I thought it was a fluke - either the course was short or the timer was off - so I raced again the next day. I hadn't thought of that second race in years - forgotten about it totally, if I'm honest - until I saw an Instagram post earlier today that tagged Fiesta Island. That's where that second race was held. It's not much of an island. At least it wasn't back in the day. A sandy intrusion in Mission Bay where they played (and according to Google just now still play) an annual Over-the-Line tournament. The course wasn't much. Just the paved road that circumnavigated the island. I seem to remember two loops, but I could be way off. Anyway, I won again that day, finishing within seconds of my time in the previous race. It hadn't been a fluke.
I was still running in the 40s (Translation: 40:00 for a 10k) then and today I attribute those victories to a lack of good competition rather than my speed. My dad was proud. He was present at both races but only got to see me cross the finish line the second race. The first race I hadn't expected to run as fast as I did so he wasn't anywhere near the finish line. When I told my sister, she shrugged and said I needed to break 40. Tough love. A couple months later, I ran a 38.
That's when shit got real. I had coaches and untapped potential, track workouts and growing expectations. I collected a lot of trophies, won a little money at a couple races, and I hated it. I liked winning, but each victory came at a huge emotional and physical cost. The pressure was intense. To train harder. To perform at an even higher level. To be the runner everyone expected me to be.
I just wanted to run (which I seldom enjoyed) and burn calories (which I enjoyed immensely) so one day in the summer of 1993 I announced to my coaches that I was going to run a fall marathon. They washed their hands of me and said over and over again how stupid I was. It wasn't the right time in my training, in my career. I needed a fast 10k or 10,000m first, maybe qualify for the Olympic trials, before I expanded my portfolio to include the marathon. Blah, blah. I quit the Tuesday night track sessions (I'd never gotten used to the pain) and started doing longer and longer runs (which were a lot less painful). Long story short... I won the Wichita Marathon in October 1993, but snapped a stress fracture in my tibia at Mile 16 and limped my way to the finish in 3:08, a far cry from the sub-3:00 I predicted and expected. After five months off, I resumed running and won one more race before I quit running all together in December 1994. My running career lasted a little over two years.
I had potential, that much is true, and maybe with the right coaching and the right mindset I might have actualized some of it. I dunno. I think about that now sometimes. I'm back running and considering the amount of training I do, I'm reasonably competitive. After each half marathon season, I contemplate the next. What if I joined a running group, a team? Got coaching? What if I did structured workouts? What if I increased my speed? Competed more? Pushed myself more? How good could I be, even at forty-nine? The answer is that I'd probably be pretty good. I have incredibly good genetics for endurance sport. I have the build, the physical strength.
The only thing I lack is the mind.
So somewhat coincidentally, I started reading Let Your Mind Run, the book by Deena Kastor that I mentioned above. In her day, Kastor was a highly competitive professional distance runner and she still holds the U.S. record for women's marathon. In the book, she attributes much of her success as a runner to psychology, her ability to properly re-frame her thoughts and mindset to overcome the challenges and pressure that elite athletes inevitably face. Ok, so my genetics aren't hers nor is my natural ability, but if I knew then what Kastor writes about now, how different would my running career have been? Would I have handled the expectations, the pain, my dislike of all things running differently? Would I have found a way to balance the mental and the physical?
I guess I could test that theory now, but - not to burst anyone's bubble - I'm not going to. Not on a grand scale anyway. I am far too diversified in my extracurricular pursuits to focus too heavily on one. I simply lack the time and bandwidth to make competitive distance running anything other than a hobby. I'll always set goals and put in the work, but never enough to be truly competitive. And I'm ok with that.
That's not to say that the lessons from Kastor's book won't come in handy. Like I said above, life is an endurance sport. There are pressures, expectations, stuff we hate, bad days, bad weeks, injuries, bosses who try our patience, goals we struggle with. What Kastor discusses isn't rocket science, nor is it mind games or slight of brain. It's basic psychology. Call it How to Live a Successful Life 101.
~~
I won my first race in December 1992. It was a 10k and only the second time I'd raced that distance. I PR'd by three minutes. I thought it was a fluke - either the course was short or the timer was off - so I raced again the next day. I hadn't thought of that second race in years - forgotten about it totally, if I'm honest - until I saw an Instagram post earlier today that tagged Fiesta Island. That's where that second race was held. It's not much of an island. At least it wasn't back in the day. A sandy intrusion in Mission Bay where they played (and according to Google just now still play) an annual Over-the-Line tournament. The course wasn't much. Just the paved road that circumnavigated the island. I seem to remember two loops, but I could be way off. Anyway, I won again that day, finishing within seconds of my time in the previous race. It hadn't been a fluke.
I was still running in the 40s (Translation: 40:00 for a 10k) then and today I attribute those victories to a lack of good competition rather than my speed. My dad was proud. He was present at both races but only got to see me cross the finish line the second race. The first race I hadn't expected to run as fast as I did so he wasn't anywhere near the finish line. When I told my sister, she shrugged and said I needed to break 40. Tough love. A couple months later, I ran a 38.
That's when shit got real. I had coaches and untapped potential, track workouts and growing expectations. I collected a lot of trophies, won a little money at a couple races, and I hated it. I liked winning, but each victory came at a huge emotional and physical cost. The pressure was intense. To train harder. To perform at an even higher level. To be the runner everyone expected me to be.
I just wanted to run (which I seldom enjoyed) and burn calories (which I enjoyed immensely) so one day in the summer of 1993 I announced to my coaches that I was going to run a fall marathon. They washed their hands of me and said over and over again how stupid I was. It wasn't the right time in my training, in my career. I needed a fast 10k or 10,000m first, maybe qualify for the Olympic trials, before I expanded my portfolio to include the marathon. Blah, blah. I quit the Tuesday night track sessions (I'd never gotten used to the pain) and started doing longer and longer runs (which were a lot less painful). Long story short... I won the Wichita Marathon in October 1993, but snapped a stress fracture in my tibia at Mile 16 and limped my way to the finish in 3:08, a far cry from the sub-3:00 I predicted and expected. After five months off, I resumed running and won one more race before I quit running all together in December 1994. My running career lasted a little over two years.
I had potential, that much is true, and maybe with the right coaching and the right mindset I might have actualized some of it. I dunno. I think about that now sometimes. I'm back running and considering the amount of training I do, I'm reasonably competitive. After each half marathon season, I contemplate the next. What if I joined a running group, a team? Got coaching? What if I did structured workouts? What if I increased my speed? Competed more? Pushed myself more? How good could I be, even at forty-nine? The answer is that I'd probably be pretty good. I have incredibly good genetics for endurance sport. I have the build, the physical strength.
The only thing I lack is the mind.
So somewhat coincidentally, I started reading Let Your Mind Run, the book by Deena Kastor that I mentioned above. In her day, Kastor was a highly competitive professional distance runner and she still holds the U.S. record for women's marathon. In the book, she attributes much of her success as a runner to psychology, her ability to properly re-frame her thoughts and mindset to overcome the challenges and pressure that elite athletes inevitably face. Ok, so my genetics aren't hers nor is my natural ability, but if I knew then what Kastor writes about now, how different would my running career have been? Would I have handled the expectations, the pain, my dislike of all things running differently? Would I have found a way to balance the mental and the physical?
I guess I could test that theory now, but - not to burst anyone's bubble - I'm not going to. Not on a grand scale anyway. I am far too diversified in my extracurricular pursuits to focus too heavily on one. I simply lack the time and bandwidth to make competitive distance running anything other than a hobby. I'll always set goals and put in the work, but never enough to be truly competitive. And I'm ok with that.
That's not to say that the lessons from Kastor's book won't come in handy. Like I said above, life is an endurance sport. There are pressures, expectations, stuff we hate, bad days, bad weeks, injuries, bosses who try our patience, goals we struggle with. What Kastor discusses isn't rocket science, nor is it mind games or slight of brain. It's basic psychology. Call it How to Live a Successful Life 101.
- Seek happiness.
- Explore gratitude daily.
- Re-frame the negative into a positive.
- Visualize your success/goals daily.
I'm only halfway through the book but this is what I've taken away so far. I do a lot of it already. Always have. A few years ago when I found myself near the bottom of life's bottomless pit and decided the only way to go was up, I started paying closer attention, doing it a little more and a little more vociferously. In time, a funny thing happened - I discovered a buoyancy I never thought possible, a level of happiness and contentment I'd never encountered.
The way I see it, the sky's the limit. How happy can I be? How strong? How positive? How content? How successful? How thankful? Man, there's no telling. If I just keep doing what I'm doing, if I focus on what's important (See the list above), I can't miss.
Since delving into the book (That I found only by happenstance, by the way. I subscribe to a blog for half marathoners and came across a quote from the book in a blog post. It intrigued me so much that I decided I needed to read the source material) I've begun experimenting with even more of the good stuff. During my weekly long run this week, for example, I battled a stomach cramp and a hitch in my left calf by telling myself that I was merely getting ready for race day. Easy doesn't make you tougher...or race ready. The next day, during an hour long Spin workout, my legs were understandably tired. I could have stopped, but instead I persevered telling myself that weakness was simply strength waiting to discover its full potential. Moreover, after a lifetime of saying that visualization is a load of bunk (even though I've read the scientific studies and know there is some credence to it), I've started doing a little. When I feel stressed or anxious (occasional issues for me), I visualize the happiest and most content place I can imagine being (traveling on a train or bus somewhere, cheek against the cold window, scenery a blur, and music in my head). Strangely, it works. I almost immediately feel calmer, more myself.
I doubt that any of us out there are elite endurance athletes. Truthfully, that ship sailed long ago for me, if it ever made it into the water. That said, we can and should strive to be elite at life. You can define success anyway you want, but for me it involves happiness, perseverance, hard work, and kindness. One day I may write a best selling novel or win my age group in a half marathon, but that's not what I call a successful life. Life for me is in the day-to-day. It's putting in the work and coming out on the other side smiling. It's saying "I love you" and "thank you" and holding a door for a stranger. It's holding myself accountable on one hand while giving myself a high-five with the other. It's staying positive and buoyant regardless of the condition of the seas around me.
There isn't a one of us that's going to get out of this alive. I've said it before - we get this one go-round and we get to make it what we will. It's either chicken shit or chicken salad, lemons or lemonade, and then we die. I'm partial to chicken salad and lemonade. What about you?
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So, yeah, it was another blog about running...but running is a lot like life, don't you think?
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