It would be dishonest to say I love running every time I go out. Some days I flat out don’t want to run and for no other reason, I do not run. And a lot of the time my runs suck. They start feeling awful, get slightly less crappy, but nonetheless, wrap up lousy. But I hit some post run routine stuff and move on. Having run for over 20 years you learn to absorb the ups and downs of running.
Then one day, it happened. I can’t tell you the day or the time or the run. But it happened.
I was out of gas. Like a driver stranded on the side of the road in the dark.
My shoes still got laced up. I was still out on my favorite paths, still running. Yet for the first time in my life, it felt like I was getting dragged behind an invisible tow truck to a destination I had not picked out.
I wasn’t running because I really wanted to or because I had some big training goal that required me to push through the monotony sometimes associated with ambition. The best way it could be described is an analogy from my time as a less than mediocre 1500m runner in college.
Some days, in a big meet, you get put in a heat that is above your pay grade. The whole time you warm up, the final run outs on the back stretch, you know ahead of time. This is going to be bad. If you were to PR by 5 seconds maybe you will be off the back by 2-3 seconds.
The front runners are going to run my 800 race pace the entire “metric mile”. Most of the runners will go out with them. If I go too, i’ll be toast with 500 to go. Truthfully, if my mind reflected the imaginary blue-collar I pretended to wear, it would be a great opportunity to ride that tow truck as long as possible and be proud of where ever that ended up. Likely a good result I could be proud of in the end.
But when you don’t want to be there, the race is over before it starts. When your goal isn’t the same as the guys in the race, when their purpose is to test the limit and you’re just…there. Yeah, that’s not good. You run toward the finish line because it’s the only exit from a room you do not want to inhabit.
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I started running occasionally as a habit in eighth grade. I kept running over the years because I enjoyed it. The challenge, the struggle, the feeling that I can actually do stuff that is hard. And eventually what was once hard, a 4 mile run, a mile run in under five minutes, a college cross country 8k, running every day for 18 months. training for AND completing a marathon, these became normalized and within my capacity.
I do hard stuff because most stuff worth doing is pretty hard sometimes. And as I became a better runner (relative to my beginning), somehow, in ways I’ll never understand but have spent my entire coaching career trying to convey, running contributed to me being a better, more complete version of myself.
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Social Media influencers. College coaching. Strava. I was in a heat with these guys, going some place I never really wanted to go, as slowly and painfully as you can possibly get there.
After over 20 years of running and 14 years of coaching, running became my way of proving something. To someone who wasn’t even watching. Or worse, didn’t even know I existed.
Why did I need to prove my way was better than social media famous runners even though I wasn’t one of them? Why did I need other coaches to think my balance of being an award winner and still finding time to run 30 miles a week, even in season (no one gasped) was impressive? Why did it bother me that relatively new runners were accomplishing “my running goals” (you know runners never have the same goals) because I was “sacrificing” for other people?
While I’m at it, embarrassingly, I even became jealous of dear friends who have successfully raised thousands of dollars for charity while also exponentially exploding into better runners and not surprisingly, inspired hundreds to join their cause.
Suddenly my easy runs were a frustratingly endless cycle of life sucking failures to relax. And of course when you’re in the wrong race the pace will always be too hot to hang on to.
One night, after suffering through a 45 minute “easy” run, I returned to the house and my wife asked me how it went. When I had to pause and admit it was crappy, it finally hit me. For the first time in 20 years of running, I didn’t want to admit it. Running was the worst.
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It’s not the worst anymore. In fact, it’s a lot better than a few months ago. And guess what, I’m in worse shape than I was in October when I ran the best 10-mile race time i’ve posted in 10 years. But who cares.
I look forward to running 4-5 times per week and hopefully my life allows to me to turn two decent years of running into a new 13.1 mile PR this summer. It’s definitely the race I should be running and I want to be there.
It’s honestly really cool if you have a ton of followers that are inspired by your passion and accomplishment. It increases my belief in God that people are able to raise a frigging mega-ton for charity using their running. And I am convinced it’s a good thing for our sport that so many “everyday” runners are using their personas to get freebies or product discounts.
But I put my experience out there knowing maybe a few people will relate and I can encourage them. It’s okay if running sucks right now. It’s okay if you don’t have 11.1k followers or raise $10k (but please do if you have that gift), or influence enough people to get discounts or free stuff.
I know I didn’t start or keep on running for any of those things. And I bet you didn’t either. You know hard stuff sucks sometimes. You know the difference between the normal struggles and when you’re simply in the wrong race. But you are the only one who gets to decide which race you’re running.
Be the runner you enjoy being. It may not be the fastest or easiest way to a better performance. Yet it is the surest way I’ve found to stay true to the sport itself and keep on running.