It's the little moments in life. I've become convinced that the only thing I need every day is just one thing to make me smile. I'm not talking about the little grin I give the barista at Starbucks as they make small talk over my extra shot of expresso, or the sluggish chuckle that falls out of my lips as a customer answers that they "didn't find that 100 dollar bill" when I ask if they found everything okay. I'm talking about a whole-hearted smile, one that starts on the inside and makes it's way out. It's slow and bright, like a sunrise peeking over some clouds on the beach. Sometimes we (and by "we" I mean "I") need to be reminded that overall happiness doesn't come from the big things in life. It comes from a compliment from a stranger, the way the sun reflects off the clouds on an early morning drive to work, or running in the cool of the rain; the smallest of successes.
Oftentimes, we look to the objectives to determine how our lives are going at the moment. We set our goals, and set them high. We pay little attention to the subjective trail that leads up to achieving the said goal. I'm familiar with this conundrum, often looking to the numbers in order to gauge my abilities. But it's not about the numbers. The things that matter the most in life are those that can't be quantified. Sometimes they can't even be put into words, as I'm trying to do now. For example, I couldn't tell you every detail of how I felt when I jumped off the bar after completing my 10th pull-up, (I had been trying to do so all summer) or how great of a hug I received when I ran my marathon PR. Emotions simply can't be described. I know that we've all felt something in which the words "sad" or "happy" fails to represent the emotion flowing through our bodies. Part of dealing with the ebb and flow of life is allowing emotions to have this mystique; this misunderstood understanding that we won't always know why we feel a certain way.
We all are focused on "the next big thing". Whether it be graduation, a promotion, the birth of a child, marriage, a big race, taking a job, or retiring. What we should be doing, however, is reminding ourselves where we are in the present. This day, this hour, this moment. Without fail, looking too far into the future will cloud the present. Take each step in stride, and find joy even when it isn't apparent. Find those little moments that make your heart smile, because that is the only true smile to be smiled.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Monday, November 11, 2013
Savannah
Allow me to preface this race report with the fact that I regretted signing up for this race. It was a spur of the moment decision (and a bargain) that arose from a tough race in Boston. I guess I felt like I needed revenge from the 26.2 distance; I really hate anything that kicks my ass as hard as that race did. However, this race meant much more to me than I thought it would.
As soon as I heard the first few beats of my alarm (Clocks, by Coldplay), I jumped out of my king-sized hotel bed and commenced pre-race prep. I was awake, excited, and ready to go. Any anxiety escaped me; I thought only about the finish line, not the 26.2 daunting miles I had to traverse before getting there. After a quick breakfast of a pumpkin bagel, a banana, granola, and some Gatorade, I loaded myself and my GU's into my car and headed for the International Trade and Convention Center. I arrived in the parking lot at 5:20 am, with plenty of time to spare. I sat in my car and listened to some music before foam rolling a bit in the parking lot. I then boarded the ferry to the start, chatting with other runners along the way about marathons past and the one in front of us. I was talklative and at ease, soaking up each and every moment up until the start.
I reached the start line with an hour until go time. I wandered around, walking to stay warm and take in the sights. The temperature was a cool and humid 46 degrees, and I was waiting until the last minute to take off my sweats. Several runners were huddled underneath the gas-powered lights because they gave off quite a bit of heat, but I preferred to walk around and watch the sunrise over the Savannah River. Once I dropped my gear bag off, I headed to corral one, where I would begin my journey for the day. I stretched and jumped around, met a few friends, and traded finishing time hopes with a few other runners. When the time came, the announcer began a countdown: 10...9...8... It's going to happen today, I thought. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1... and then we were off, running down the streets of Savannah with the echo of "Good luck, y'all, see you in Forsyth Park!" careening off of the buildings.
At mile 5, there were speakers blaring the Wobble, and a big group of spectators dancing in a line. I had to fight the urge to join them for a sequence or two, but instead did a little shimmy and shake as I ran by. Man, I love the Wobble. I maintained a really even pace, splitting every mile off between 7:27 and 7:40. Perfect. We winded through neighborhoods with front porches akin to those you read about in books, crising through tree-lined streets before heading up a ramp to a freeway. The sun beat hard on my body, and I began to sweat a lot more than I had been previously. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by that stretch, but as it turns out, that freeway led to the best part of the entire race.
I came up to a water station around mile 18 (this was one I wanted water from, I had been taking fluid from every other water station and that seemed to be working out well), and I could hear a volunteer yelling "Roll Tide" obnoxiously as all of the runners passed. Once I came up to him, I shouted "Go Gators!", and went to grab a water cup to him. To my surprise, he yanked the cup away from my reach. I called him a special name (it's like itch, but with another letter in front), and ran up to the next volunteer. Everyone around, including myself were laughing hysterically. It was like the comedic relief to a Shakespearean play. It somehow made the race for me, even though there were far more amazing things that occurred that day.
We headed towards Savannah State University (at about mile 16 or so at that point), which had a beautiful campus. We winded through small groups of college students before exiting the university through a lap around their track. I high-fived their tiger mascot and went on my way. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. In the two marathons that I had done before this one, I began to suffer around mile 16. I was at mile 20 and still feeling great. I was wary of hitting some sort of wall; they usually seem to come without warning. But no such structure was constructed. I knew I was at the final push as I ran up the ramp back onto the freeway. I knew that once I got back across that long stretch of beating sun I would be close to the finish line and that clock. I took a quick inventory of my body, which still felt strong, and my form remained intact. I felt almost as if I were running outside myself; on some sort of physiological autopilot that was inexhaustible. Based on this assessment, I took off at the 23 mile mark, pouring the rest of my effort into the last 3.2 miles.
I flew down the last street with a lot on my mind. I thought of my coaches, who got me physically where I was in that moment. I thought of my friends, who got me where I was mentally in that moment. I could feel the "good luck" hugs that I received, wrapped wound my heart and body, both of which were still going strong. I thought about dropping the anchor and flying away. The whole race seemed like such a perfect storm. I entered the finishing shoot, which was lined by cheering spectators on either side. As the finish line and clock came into a view, a smile spread itself a mile wide across my face. I saw the "18" next to the "3", and it became real. I did it! Just after crossing the finish line, I jumped and did a little spin (in mid air I worried a bit if my legs would buckle upon landing, but it turned out okay). "I got your best side", said the finish line photographer after snapping a few pictures. I'm assuming he was talking about my back side. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed; it went as well as it could have gone.
A 5 minute PR in the marathon should indicate that I am as fit as I've ever been. But I don't think that's it. The difference in this race was my mindset and approach. I think I'm beginning to grasp what endurance sports are all about: having confidence with grace, appreciation of the little things, fierce but friendly competitiveness. Before the race, I felt like I knew the outcome already; but I also was already at peace if that didn't actually come to fruition. I had the perfect mix of the here and now and there and later. I am grateful for everything and everyone who led up to this race; I gained so much more than a medal and a PR. I gained perspective and genuine happiness. Thank you, Savannah.
As soon as I heard the first few beats of my alarm (Clocks, by Coldplay), I jumped out of my king-sized hotel bed and commenced pre-race prep. I was awake, excited, and ready to go. Any anxiety escaped me; I thought only about the finish line, not the 26.2 daunting miles I had to traverse before getting there. After a quick breakfast of a pumpkin bagel, a banana, granola, and some Gatorade, I loaded myself and my GU's into my car and headed for the International Trade and Convention Center. I arrived in the parking lot at 5:20 am, with plenty of time to spare. I sat in my car and listened to some music before foam rolling a bit in the parking lot. I then boarded the ferry to the start, chatting with other runners along the way about marathons past and the one in front of us. I was talklative and at ease, soaking up each and every moment up until the start.
I reached the start line with an hour until go time. I wandered around, walking to stay warm and take in the sights. The temperature was a cool and humid 46 degrees, and I was waiting until the last minute to take off my sweats. Several runners were huddled underneath the gas-powered lights because they gave off quite a bit of heat, but I preferred to walk around and watch the sunrise over the Savannah River. Once I dropped my gear bag off, I headed to corral one, where I would begin my journey for the day. I stretched and jumped around, met a few friends, and traded finishing time hopes with a few other runners. When the time came, the announcer began a countdown: 10...9...8... It's going to happen today, I thought. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1... and then we were off, running down the streets of Savannah with the echo of "Good luck, y'all, see you in Forsyth Park!" careening off of the buildings.
At mile 5, there were speakers blaring the Wobble, and a big group of spectators dancing in a line. I had to fight the urge to join them for a sequence or two, but instead did a little shimmy and shake as I ran by. Man, I love the Wobble. I maintained a really even pace, splitting every mile off between 7:27 and 7:40. Perfect. We winded through neighborhoods with front porches akin to those you read about in books, crising through tree-lined streets before heading up a ramp to a freeway. The sun beat hard on my body, and I began to sweat a lot more than I had been previously. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by that stretch, but as it turns out, that freeway led to the best part of the entire race.
I came up to a water station around mile 18 (this was one I wanted water from, I had been taking fluid from every other water station and that seemed to be working out well), and I could hear a volunteer yelling "Roll Tide" obnoxiously as all of the runners passed. Once I came up to him, I shouted "Go Gators!", and went to grab a water cup to him. To my surprise, he yanked the cup away from my reach. I called him a special name (it's like itch, but with another letter in front), and ran up to the next volunteer. Everyone around, including myself were laughing hysterically. It was like the comedic relief to a Shakespearean play. It somehow made the race for me, even though there were far more amazing things that occurred that day.
We headed towards Savannah State University (at about mile 16 or so at that point), which had a beautiful campus. We winded through small groups of college students before exiting the university through a lap around their track. I high-fived their tiger mascot and went on my way. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. In the two marathons that I had done before this one, I began to suffer around mile 16. I was at mile 20 and still feeling great. I was wary of hitting some sort of wall; they usually seem to come without warning. But no such structure was constructed. I knew I was at the final push as I ran up the ramp back onto the freeway. I knew that once I got back across that long stretch of beating sun I would be close to the finish line and that clock. I took a quick inventory of my body, which still felt strong, and my form remained intact. I felt almost as if I were running outside myself; on some sort of physiological autopilot that was inexhaustible. Based on this assessment, I took off at the 23 mile mark, pouring the rest of my effort into the last 3.2 miles.
I flew down the last street with a lot on my mind. I thought of my coaches, who got me physically where I was in that moment. I thought of my friends, who got me where I was mentally in that moment. I could feel the "good luck" hugs that I received, wrapped wound my heart and body, both of which were still going strong. I thought about dropping the anchor and flying away. The whole race seemed like such a perfect storm. I entered the finishing shoot, which was lined by cheering spectators on either side. As the finish line and clock came into a view, a smile spread itself a mile wide across my face. I saw the "18" next to the "3", and it became real. I did it! Just after crossing the finish line, I jumped and did a little spin (in mid air I worried a bit if my legs would buckle upon landing, but it turned out okay). "I got your best side", said the finish line photographer after snapping a few pictures. I'm assuming he was talking about my back side. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed; it went as well as it could have gone.
A 5 minute PR in the marathon should indicate that I am as fit as I've ever been. But I don't think that's it. The difference in this race was my mindset and approach. I think I'm beginning to grasp what endurance sports are all about: having confidence with grace, appreciation of the little things, fierce but friendly competitiveness. Before the race, I felt like I knew the outcome already; but I also was already at peace if that didn't actually come to fruition. I had the perfect mix of the here and now and there and later. I am grateful for everything and everyone who led up to this race; I gained so much more than a medal and a PR. I gained perspective and genuine happiness. Thank you, Savannah.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Mirror, mirror...
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Do you even tell me anything at all?
How much weight I can lift?
And what about how swift?
As someone who works in the fitness world, I see a lot of people who are clearly dissatisfied with their bodies and musculature. As I peruse the gym, I see multiple attempts to duplicate the cover of a fitness magazine. There's "that guy" bicep curling so close to the mirror that he's fogging it up with his dramatic exhalations. There's "that girl" on the elliptical, drowning a Law and Order re-run with her sweat. Obviously, the college population is quite skewed towards the stereotype direction and isn't completely representative of the country as a whole, but it's a stigma that permeates fitness facilities everywhere. Everyone wants to look good and feel good, but not everyone looks and feels good the same way.
For example: How are all of these women different?
Everyone is a product of their day to day activities and choices. Obviously, these three women exercise very differently from one another because they have diverse goals. They all look great, but do they look the same? Of course not. Yes, I know you must be shocked that I have yet to mention the genetic chasm of difference displayed here. I would, but that's not my point. My point is that fitness takes form in a variety of ways.
similarly, take a look at these two groups of guys:
They are similar in that they train very hard and very specifically, but for very disparate goals. What would happen if they swapped training regimens? Over time, their bodies would change...but would they really change that much?
Aesthetics are by far the number one motivation for people to work out. What happened to working out because it's fun? Or because it makes you feel, well, awesome?
Don't get me wrong, I love muscles and leanness just as much as the next girl (or guy), but I also have a firm belief that fitness is something that you feel, not see. We learn from early on that in biology, structure equals function. However, at the organismal level, this isn't always true. There's a lot of unassuming people out there that can do some really awesome things.
Judge your body by what it can do, not by it's reflection.
Do you even tell me anything at all?
How much weight I can lift?
And what about how swift?
As someone who works in the fitness world, I see a lot of people who are clearly dissatisfied with their bodies and musculature. As I peruse the gym, I see multiple attempts to duplicate the cover of a fitness magazine. There's "that guy" bicep curling so close to the mirror that he's fogging it up with his dramatic exhalations. There's "that girl" on the elliptical, drowning a Law and Order re-run with her sweat. Obviously, the college population is quite skewed towards the stereotype direction and isn't completely representative of the country as a whole, but it's a stigma that permeates fitness facilities everywhere. Everyone wants to look good and feel good, but not everyone looks and feels good the same way.
For example: How are all of these women different?
Everyone is a product of their day to day activities and choices. Obviously, these three women exercise very differently from one another because they have diverse goals. They all look great, but do they look the same? Of course not. Yes, I know you must be shocked that I have yet to mention the genetic chasm of difference displayed here. I would, but that's not my point. My point is that fitness takes form in a variety of ways.
similarly, take a look at these two groups of guys:
They are similar in that they train very hard and very specifically, but for very disparate goals. What would happen if they swapped training regimens? Over time, their bodies would change...but would they really change that much?
Aesthetics are by far the number one motivation for people to work out. What happened to working out because it's fun? Or because it makes you feel, well, awesome?
Don't get me wrong, I love muscles and leanness just as much as the next girl (or guy), but I also have a firm belief that fitness is something that you feel, not see. We learn from early on that in biology, structure equals function. However, at the organismal level, this isn't always true. There's a lot of unassuming people out there that can do some really awesome things.
Judge your body by what it can do, not by it's reflection.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
2 months till my next marathon! Wait...WHAT?
I have the worst excuse for registering for a race that you've ever heard. I hope you're somewhere where a chuckle or two is appropriate. Ready? Here it goes...
I registered for the Rock n Roll Savannah Marathon because it was National Running Day, and I got $10 off of the entry fee. Yes, that's it. It was literally like window shopping in New York, walking by a boutique with a big sign that said "SALE", and proceeding to make frivolous and obnoxious purchases.
Lucky for me, running was the most accessible form of training to me over the summer, so I've been running relatively consistently over the past 3 months or so. As I look at the date: September 9, 2013, I realize that my bargain is now just 2 months away. Whelp, I guess I better start training for this thing. I find myself struggling with my approach to this race. To me, marathon training is serious stuff: you have to train with a plan, have a goal time, take extra care with nutrition and sleep, and be mentally prepared for 20 awesome miles followed by 6.2 miles in which you question your very existence, wondering how it's even possible to feel such a level of pain. It's hard to line up an air of intensity with such a whimsical decision.
Another factor that can't be overlooked here is that I'm three weeks into my last semester of undergraduate classes. Needless to say, I have laundry list of things that I want and need to do. Throwing this marathon into the mix is somewhat of a tight squeeze. It reminds me of when I was on the subway in Boston and had a 6' 4" guy leaning up against me as if I were a pole on the train, not a human being. I, like many city residents and endurance athletes, think that there is always room for one more thing. Even if the situation is akin to fitting an elephant into the passenger seat of a car to take him to the circus, we believe that we can do it. We stretch our realm of ability as if it cannot, and will not, break.
There are many practical, intelligent solutions to this problem. I could not run the race (it was cheap in the first place, right?). I could run, but not consider finishing time a factor. I could switch to the half, since it's a R n' R race and offers both distances. Of course, none of those solutions appeal to me. There something in my hard-wiring that will just not allow me to do so. My rationality and common sense wires don't always, or rather rarely, connect. It's funny, sometimes I think that those connections are there...but when I check the wires, it appears as if a rat has chewed straight through them. Yet another attempt at being smart and grounded has been foiled, once again.
So, of course I have a goal in mind. It's the same one I've had in marathon's past, and the same one that I've come up short (i.e., slow) on twice. Even though it's not right for me to chase after this right now, I'm going to. It's in my nature to chase; it's not like I'm unfamiliar to the view of something's rear end. In all reality, there's nothing wrong with chasing. Sure, the one in front gets the medal and the glory; but their suitor has something that they don't: resilience. Parading around in victory is easy, not giving up after falling short is hard.
I'll be the first to admit (and have admitted several times over the previous paragraphs) that this marathon is quite extraneous in the scheme of my life right now. I'd even argue to say that training for anything competitive should be on the periphery. I know and believe this to be true, but I still can't put it down; I can't let go. I may complain about having to put in the runs and about even having to race in general, but I really couldn't have it any other way.
I know what I'll be doing November 9th. I'll be racing.
One of my favorite marathon memes...
I registered for the Rock n Roll Savannah Marathon because it was National Running Day, and I got $10 off of the entry fee. Yes, that's it. It was literally like window shopping in New York, walking by a boutique with a big sign that said "SALE", and proceeding to make frivolous and obnoxious purchases.
Lucky for me, running was the most accessible form of training to me over the summer, so I've been running relatively consistently over the past 3 months or so. As I look at the date: September 9, 2013, I realize that my bargain is now just 2 months away. Whelp, I guess I better start training for this thing. I find myself struggling with my approach to this race. To me, marathon training is serious stuff: you have to train with a plan, have a goal time, take extra care with nutrition and sleep, and be mentally prepared for 20 awesome miles followed by 6.2 miles in which you question your very existence, wondering how it's even possible to feel such a level of pain. It's hard to line up an air of intensity with such a whimsical decision.
Another factor that can't be overlooked here is that I'm three weeks into my last semester of undergraduate classes. Needless to say, I have laundry list of things that I want and need to do. Throwing this marathon into the mix is somewhat of a tight squeeze. It reminds me of when I was on the subway in Boston and had a 6' 4" guy leaning up against me as if I were a pole on the train, not a human being. I, like many city residents and endurance athletes, think that there is always room for one more thing. Even if the situation is akin to fitting an elephant into the passenger seat of a car to take him to the circus, we believe that we can do it. We stretch our realm of ability as if it cannot, and will not, break.
There are many practical, intelligent solutions to this problem. I could not run the race (it was cheap in the first place, right?). I could run, but not consider finishing time a factor. I could switch to the half, since it's a R n' R race and offers both distances. Of course, none of those solutions appeal to me. There something in my hard-wiring that will just not allow me to do so. My rationality and common sense wires don't always, or rather rarely, connect. It's funny, sometimes I think that those connections are there...but when I check the wires, it appears as if a rat has chewed straight through them. Yet another attempt at being smart and grounded has been foiled, once again.
So, of course I have a goal in mind. It's the same one I've had in marathon's past, and the same one that I've come up short (i.e., slow) on twice. Even though it's not right for me to chase after this right now, I'm going to. It's in my nature to chase; it's not like I'm unfamiliar to the view of something's rear end. In all reality, there's nothing wrong with chasing. Sure, the one in front gets the medal and the glory; but their suitor has something that they don't: resilience. Parading around in victory is easy, not giving up after falling short is hard.
I'll be the first to admit (and have admitted several times over the previous paragraphs) that this marathon is quite extraneous in the scheme of my life right now. I'd even argue to say that training for anything competitive should be on the periphery. I know and believe this to be true, but I still can't put it down; I can't let go. I may complain about having to put in the runs and about even having to race in general, but I really couldn't have it any other way.
I know what I'll be doing November 9th. I'll be racing.
One of my favorite marathon memes...
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Focus
This post has nothing and everything to do with training. This is about how I finally realized that you have to let some things go in order to achieve focus; and to have that focus where it needs to be. We generally are able to handle a lot (more than we think, most of the time), but we also have to have a sense of when the load is a little too wide for our shoulders.
I'm not sure when I realized it, (probably during one of my extra-packed weeks of this long and taxing summer) but I wear tasks like a badge of honor. I love telling people about the things I'm involved in. I often would think that with each addition to my schedule, I was making myself stronger and a better person. Which it did. But at times it would make me miserable and unable to put effort where it was needed. I realized that the reason I was frustrated with my abilities wasn't because I'm not capable, but rather because I was spreading myself too thin. Until recently, I would see such a revelation as giving up or admitting defeat. True maturity is knowing when and how to pick your battles, and how many to put the armor on for.
You have to treat your focus as a limited and nonrenewable resource, and remind yourself that it is inseparable to time. It is impossible to be engrossed in a task if your mind keeps wandering to some obligation elsewhere. Sometimes you have to take a step back and ask yourself , "Am I spending the majority of my time doing the things I love, or things that take me down the path that leads to what's really important in life?" If the answer is no, then it's time to re-evaluate and think of what it would take to get you there. Usually, it's not to work harder, but rather to have direction. It's kind of like re-orienting the sails of a sailboat. The wind could be perfect, but you still won't go anywhere if you don't have the sail pointed in the right direction. Spend your energy moving the sail, not fighting the wind.
So, where's the tie to training? Like focus, our energy is limited. We can only exert ourselves so much before our bodies break down. A huge part of training is finding out what we can and cannot handle. However, our capacity is viscoelastic. We have the ability to stretch our abilities and cause permanent change, but still have to fight that resistance to return to baseline. For that reason, we have to be focused to cause the change that we want to see...or else we'll end up either injured or disappointed. Having no plan in training is like going on a road trip without a map.
The best part about life is that it will always surprise you. Rarely is it ever what you expect. You never know when something that you've been struggling with will click; change of attitude isn't always as deliberate and laborious as it appears.
I've closed some doors and opened others. I can't wait to see what lies beyond that doorjamb.
I'm not sure when I realized it, (probably during one of my extra-packed weeks of this long and taxing summer) but I wear tasks like a badge of honor. I love telling people about the things I'm involved in. I often would think that with each addition to my schedule, I was making myself stronger and a better person. Which it did. But at times it would make me miserable and unable to put effort where it was needed. I realized that the reason I was frustrated with my abilities wasn't because I'm not capable, but rather because I was spreading myself too thin. Until recently, I would see such a revelation as giving up or admitting defeat. True maturity is knowing when and how to pick your battles, and how many to put the armor on for.
You have to treat your focus as a limited and nonrenewable resource, and remind yourself that it is inseparable to time. It is impossible to be engrossed in a task if your mind keeps wandering to some obligation elsewhere. Sometimes you have to take a step back and ask yourself , "Am I spending the majority of my time doing the things I love, or things that take me down the path that leads to what's really important in life?" If the answer is no, then it's time to re-evaluate and think of what it would take to get you there. Usually, it's not to work harder, but rather to have direction. It's kind of like re-orienting the sails of a sailboat. The wind could be perfect, but you still won't go anywhere if you don't have the sail pointed in the right direction. Spend your energy moving the sail, not fighting the wind.
So, where's the tie to training? Like focus, our energy is limited. We can only exert ourselves so much before our bodies break down. A huge part of training is finding out what we can and cannot handle. However, our capacity is viscoelastic. We have the ability to stretch our abilities and cause permanent change, but still have to fight that resistance to return to baseline. For that reason, we have to be focused to cause the change that we want to see...or else we'll end up either injured or disappointed. Having no plan in training is like going on a road trip without a map.
The best part about life is that it will always surprise you. Rarely is it ever what you expect. You never know when something that you've been struggling with will click; change of attitude isn't always as deliberate and laborious as it appears.
I've closed some doors and opened others. I can't wait to see what lies beyond that doorjamb.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
The Comfort Zone
I'll be honest, this is probably my fifth attempt at writing this post. I thought I had plenty of material, and certainly experience, to write about something I love--the comfort zone. Maybe I like it too much for an endurance athlete, but that's besides the point. I had almost given up on this topic, and was close to leaving it for dead on the side of Idea Road. I had written and re-written the first two paragraphs, only to read them and discover that they were paradoxical and flowed just about as well black strap molasses. So, what led me to finally be able to write this post? The Melon Run. My first 5K-ish distance race since...oh dear, I don't even remember.
I decided to do this patriotic and melon-themed Fourth of July run on a whim. If anything, it would be a "fun" workout and a way to gauge how my fitness is coming along. It did cross my mind about how I hadn't raced such a distance in recent memory, and how I had been on marathon mode for a solid 8 months or so...but I pushed it aside. It was three miles, how hard could it be? Oh boy, would I find out. Surprisingly (or maybe not-so surprisingly) it was my brain that gave up before my legs did.
The morning was on the cool side because of the barrage of rain that we had been getting (typical Gainesville summer), but the temperature was rising rapidly and the humidity was thick. I found myself at the starting line feeling devoid of nerves, or really of any feeling at all. I felt almost out of place. The only races I have done over the past few years have been triathlons, half marathons, or marathons. What was I doing here, running only 3 miles?
The siren went off, and I turned my legs over to a 6:30 pace. It wasn't anything crazy for me right now, at least through the first mile. As I coasted past the one mile sign, I glanced down to see my watch tick to 7:15. Confusion spread through my body, starting from the back of my head and shooting to my toes. I knew I was running faster than that, and I've always understood that small races like this weren't always marked accurately. But I wanted no part of that rationale. I began to convince myself that I was struggling, and some imaginary fatigue began to settle in. It took me until the 2-mile marker (which I think was off as well) to get my head under control, just in time to go up the biggest hill of the race. Chugging up that hill was probably the most physically challenging part of the race, but it was ironically in that moment that I had an interesting epiphany. My legs weren't tired. I was breathing hard, yet under control. Why, then, did I want to stop or back the pace down? I was out of my comfort zone. My legs had the fitness, but the unfamiliarity of such exertion made me want to quit. Yet another struggle with something out of my security bubble.
So, without further ado, here is my post about the comfort zone:
The comfort zone is familiar. There is little ambiguity, and you know what to do and how you should feel. There's nothing that can sneak up on you; no reason to look over your shoulder. It's not necessarily that the task at hand is easy, but any difficulty is met with confidence and seems manageable. The comfort zone helps you feel like a superstar: you feel proficient, talented, able. It's that workout that you do when all else fails, the city you live in, the things you're good at, the job that you've worked at for years, the people that know you best. There are plenty of positives that come along with stability and consistency. Consistency is the key to anything in which you wish to accomplish, and builds ability over time. But there becomes a point where you stop growing; where you suck all of the benefit from a situation. That doesn't mean that you get worse or that something suddenly becomes awful...but rather you stop changing. There is no change without challenge, and I think all of us want change on some level. But before we can meet the challenge, we have to take that leap. It's like trying to cross a fast-paced river by way of stepping stones. We have to try to leap to that stone that seems an inch or two too far away.
In training, we have to be able to do those workouts that make us uncomfortable or feel like we suck (pardon the informality, but there's just no better word to use for that "I can't do this" feeling). We have to be willing to suck...something not many type A's can come to terms with. A certain level or frustration is good, and by "certain level" I mean as much as you can stand. I'm convinced that the best athletes and the best people are able to handle a large spectrum of obligations.
Lately, I've had a good dose of things that have made me uncomfortable. It has felt like getting pushed into the pool at a party...unexpectedly disturbing and taking a while to dry off. It easy to understand that all will improve with time, but it's difficult to find the patience and bide that time. It's a process that involves little successes and sometimes big failures; and ironically progress is made during the failures, not the successes. Once you completely sell yourself on that idea, you're over halfway there.
"Nothing worth it in life is easy."
I decided to do this patriotic and melon-themed Fourth of July run on a whim. If anything, it would be a "fun" workout and a way to gauge how my fitness is coming along. It did cross my mind about how I hadn't raced such a distance in recent memory, and how I had been on marathon mode for a solid 8 months or so...but I pushed it aside. It was three miles, how hard could it be? Oh boy, would I find out. Surprisingly (or maybe not-so surprisingly) it was my brain that gave up before my legs did.
The morning was on the cool side because of the barrage of rain that we had been getting (typical Gainesville summer), but the temperature was rising rapidly and the humidity was thick. I found myself at the starting line feeling devoid of nerves, or really of any feeling at all. I felt almost out of place. The only races I have done over the past few years have been triathlons, half marathons, or marathons. What was I doing here, running only 3 miles?
The siren went off, and I turned my legs over to a 6:30 pace. It wasn't anything crazy for me right now, at least through the first mile. As I coasted past the one mile sign, I glanced down to see my watch tick to 7:15. Confusion spread through my body, starting from the back of my head and shooting to my toes. I knew I was running faster than that, and I've always understood that small races like this weren't always marked accurately. But I wanted no part of that rationale. I began to convince myself that I was struggling, and some imaginary fatigue began to settle in. It took me until the 2-mile marker (which I think was off as well) to get my head under control, just in time to go up the biggest hill of the race. Chugging up that hill was probably the most physically challenging part of the race, but it was ironically in that moment that I had an interesting epiphany. My legs weren't tired. I was breathing hard, yet under control. Why, then, did I want to stop or back the pace down? I was out of my comfort zone. My legs had the fitness, but the unfamiliarity of such exertion made me want to quit. Yet another struggle with something out of my security bubble.
So, without further ado, here is my post about the comfort zone:
The comfort zone is familiar. There is little ambiguity, and you know what to do and how you should feel. There's nothing that can sneak up on you; no reason to look over your shoulder. It's not necessarily that the task at hand is easy, but any difficulty is met with confidence and seems manageable. The comfort zone helps you feel like a superstar: you feel proficient, talented, able. It's that workout that you do when all else fails, the city you live in, the things you're good at, the job that you've worked at for years, the people that know you best. There are plenty of positives that come along with stability and consistency. Consistency is the key to anything in which you wish to accomplish, and builds ability over time. But there becomes a point where you stop growing; where you suck all of the benefit from a situation. That doesn't mean that you get worse or that something suddenly becomes awful...but rather you stop changing. There is no change without challenge, and I think all of us want change on some level. But before we can meet the challenge, we have to take that leap. It's like trying to cross a fast-paced river by way of stepping stones. We have to try to leap to that stone that seems an inch or two too far away.
In training, we have to be able to do those workouts that make us uncomfortable or feel like we suck (pardon the informality, but there's just no better word to use for that "I can't do this" feeling). We have to be willing to suck...something not many type A's can come to terms with. A certain level or frustration is good, and by "certain level" I mean as much as you can stand. I'm convinced that the best athletes and the best people are able to handle a large spectrum of obligations.
Lately, I've had a good dose of things that have made me uncomfortable. It has felt like getting pushed into the pool at a party...unexpectedly disturbing and taking a while to dry off. It easy to understand that all will improve with time, but it's difficult to find the patience and bide that time. It's a process that involves little successes and sometimes big failures; and ironically progress is made during the failures, not the successes. Once you completely sell yourself on that idea, you're over halfway there.
"Nothing worth it in life is easy."
Sunday, June 2, 2013
I don't have a watch, but I'm still watching
This summer, all 4 weeks of it, has been tough. I've been spending hours upon hours working and interning, and the remaining hours slumped on the couch or in my bed. I've had to drag myself to the pool, track, and gym, usually arriving with a chorus of grumbles and a long face. I leave each workout the same way, still feeling sluggish and genuinely glad that it was over. The intensity has been mismatched with the output; my arms, legs, and lungs give out far before the norm. Undoubtedly the work is taking a toll on my body, but it's not a toll I understand. I'm used to suffering, as all of us endurance athletes are. I'm used to sore muscles and heavy legs...the aftermath of the previous training day. It's baffling how something like scanning groceries or guiding patients for 9 hours a day can make me feel more exhausted than a 20 mile run, 50 mile ride, or a tough set in the pool. I've wondered at times if I'll just have to sacrifice this summer's training for the work and responsibility, but then I found the solution: take off my watch. It bares my horrible watch tan to the world, but it is all together worth it.
All too often, myself and other athletes judge their workouts on the metrics. They allow the watch to dictate how successful a given workout is; each split like another brick in the wall. The truth is, though, is that there are only certain phases of training (or life) in which this method is valid. Splits are for when you're clicking on all cylinders, rolling through the workout like an unstoppable steam engine. They aren't for those days when you show up to a workout with half of your heart and a dull or distant gaze. Classic athlete dogma will proclaim that you should work out at any cost, no matter how you feel, because it is lazy if you don't. I agree that 95% of the time, a workout will make you feel better than when you started. But what if it doesn't?
So then, what is the troubled, time-slaved endurance athlete to do? By nature, not working out isn't an option, and neither is simply backing down the intensity. The answer is to run, bike, swim, and lift naked (I mean of a watch, of course. Although I'm sure working out naked would be liberating in it's own right). Strip your workouts of time, meters, miles, pounds, sets, and reps. Do what you're body can, and what intensity comes naturally. Yes, maybe the interval or average speed will be slower than you expect, but what will it matter if you aren't wearing a watch or if you turn over your speedometer? Instead of touting the numbers associated with a workout, the victory becomes that the workout even happened in the first place, and the intensity was manageable. As hard as it can be to accept, this has the same affect as working on the clock. Time, after all, wouldn't exist if we didn't make it so. Time was created to quantify life passing us by, with each second, minute, and hour giving tangibility to something that can't be touched. As long as we achieve the necessary intensity, the workout suits its purpose.
Along the same wavelength, one thing worth measuring is heart rate. It tells you exactly how hard you're working, how well you've recovered, and, if taken in the morning, how physiologically ready you are for the day. I've read multiple times about how important waking heart rate is in determining if one is overtrained or not, but had never put it into practice. I started taking my heart rate every morning, and have become intrigued with it's fluctuations. For example, last week on a day when I got less than four hours of sleep, my HR was higher than my typical resting heart rate...just upon waking up. I also notice that it will be anywhere from 3-8 beats per minute higher the morning after a hard workout. This helps me put into perspective the damage that training (and life) does to my body, and will hopefully keep me on the injury-free track when I begin to seriously train for races again.
Taking a new approach to training is something I think we all should try every once in a while. Not only in the way I described above, but also just varying routine or trying something new. You never know when you'll stumble across something that will work for you. So I'll be watching my body, but not my watch, closely. I'll still wear it, but only to make sure that I make it to work on time. You can only rebel time for so long.
Kind of like this:
All too often, myself and other athletes judge their workouts on the metrics. They allow the watch to dictate how successful a given workout is; each split like another brick in the wall. The truth is, though, is that there are only certain phases of training (or life) in which this method is valid. Splits are for when you're clicking on all cylinders, rolling through the workout like an unstoppable steam engine. They aren't for those days when you show up to a workout with half of your heart and a dull or distant gaze. Classic athlete dogma will proclaim that you should work out at any cost, no matter how you feel, because it is lazy if you don't. I agree that 95% of the time, a workout will make you feel better than when you started. But what if it doesn't?
So then, what is the troubled, time-slaved endurance athlete to do? By nature, not working out isn't an option, and neither is simply backing down the intensity. The answer is to run, bike, swim, and lift naked (I mean of a watch, of course. Although I'm sure working out naked would be liberating in it's own right). Strip your workouts of time, meters, miles, pounds, sets, and reps. Do what you're body can, and what intensity comes naturally. Yes, maybe the interval or average speed will be slower than you expect, but what will it matter if you aren't wearing a watch or if you turn over your speedometer? Instead of touting the numbers associated with a workout, the victory becomes that the workout even happened in the first place, and the intensity was manageable. As hard as it can be to accept, this has the same affect as working on the clock. Time, after all, wouldn't exist if we didn't make it so. Time was created to quantify life passing us by, with each second, minute, and hour giving tangibility to something that can't be touched. As long as we achieve the necessary intensity, the workout suits its purpose.
Along the same wavelength, one thing worth measuring is heart rate. It tells you exactly how hard you're working, how well you've recovered, and, if taken in the morning, how physiologically ready you are for the day. I've read multiple times about how important waking heart rate is in determining if one is overtrained or not, but had never put it into practice. I started taking my heart rate every morning, and have become intrigued with it's fluctuations. For example, last week on a day when I got less than four hours of sleep, my HR was higher than my typical resting heart rate...just upon waking up. I also notice that it will be anywhere from 3-8 beats per minute higher the morning after a hard workout. This helps me put into perspective the damage that training (and life) does to my body, and will hopefully keep me on the injury-free track when I begin to seriously train for races again.
Taking a new approach to training is something I think we all should try every once in a while. Not only in the way I described above, but also just varying routine or trying something new. You never know when you'll stumble across something that will work for you. So I'll be watching my body, but not my watch, closely. I'll still wear it, but only to make sure that I make it to work on time. You can only rebel time for so long.
Kind of like this:
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