[veeeerrry genuine disclaimer: this post is about physicality (running). I include #s in it because these #s are specific and real to my story. I cannot emphasize strongly enough that the #s do not matter, in themselves; I am disgusted with myself because these are my #s, and my failure to reach them is my failure. Many people have #s that are faster/stronger -- awesome awesome awesome friend, good for you; some people have #s that are maybe lower/less fast -- if you are crushing your #s you are crushing it. With hardness. If any of my self-snark conveys some opposite point, that is the bile of my heart staining the intent of my expression; that is the opposite of the meaning I'd like to present. When I fail my goals I feel bad; here's a way I kinda got around that sort-of close-to, today. That's the point; the #s don't matter and should be normed to the reader's experience.]
Last night, as I often do, I kind of sketched out my hope for my run this a.m. The hope that I sketched out was 10 miles; I knew as I "sketched" it that it was very unlikely, almost surely would not happen. My right abductor is screwed up, I've got some kind of "sportsman's hernia" bullshit going on, my hip flexors are all out of whack probably because of ways I've been compensating for these things.
Also, I'm in Chicago, which means that
(a) the weather is more likely to be sh1tty (indeed: was forecast to be sh1tty, and was sh1tty), and
(b) I'll be running just on endless flats, and after years of trail-running I find the mental stamina of long flat runs pretty draining; after 2 or 3 miles I feel like I've run 7 or 8, mentally, because physically and spatially it's all just boring/the same.
And (a) and (b) interact, because (a) meant I would not have music (my phone works crappily enough already, without another soaking in the Chicago rain).
I woke up this morning and the weather was sh1tty; I at once downgraded my run to a "fast 4" -- 4 miles, splits under 7'/mile. I knew, as I sketched this, I wouldn't make it -- my legs are messed up fatigued excuses excuses.
I got out by around 5:45am; my f#cking feet got wet at once and I was like, "fuck this. my legs hurt my shit's tired my feet are wet; fuck this."
0.31 miles into my run I turned around to go back in. I was gonna do a Yoga Sculpt class at Hyde Park's Core Power Yoga; this wasn't a great idea because (a) I did one of these yesterday; psychologically and physically it's probably better to cross-train; (b) those classes are freaking expensive (especially compared to a free run); and (c) it was 5:55a.m. or whatever -- the class was at 8am. So basically the morning would be chopped up into unusable bits and I'd be burning a lot of the day fuddling around.
But I was so mad and disgusted with myself that I literally turned around, not "turned around", and then turned around again to go back out on the run because...well here we go: first, I told myself I'd do intervals.
There's a workout I've programmed in my Garmin called (natch) "Intervals"; 6 2.5-minute splits of running fast (target is low 6s or high 5s) with cooldowns of equal length in between. So I'm like, "look, your splits will suck, but at least you will have pushed it...done a thing. It'll be a short run but you'll have done a thing."
I did very, very shitty intervals. They were slow. I was running into the wind for the first half and my legs were tired and I am a weak litany of failures; they were terrible intervals.
But I did them. And I was finishing, having run about 4 miles, approaching the point to turn back inland off of the lakefront trail, I was like: okay, so, okay this sucks you suck fine but you're not in pain fine run 2 miles or 15 minutes, whichever comes first.
So I did that and, to my ongoing shame and disgust, 15 minutes came first (just!) and whatever I pushed past it a bit ran 2.3 or so miles.
Running back I made an honest mistake (ran out on a promontory that did not reconnect to the land, had to double back) that added some more distance.
Total length for that segment: 5.63 miles.
So my total length on the day was 9.67 miles.
This is no big deal. I did not reach my goal; it was a slow crappy moody crappy run, and I am a slow crappy moody crappy guy. BUT there was something useful/interesting to me, here.
Like anyone who works out, ever, I of course do various things to "trick myself" into pushing past certain obstacles. "Just run fast until..."; "just swim hard for...". Whatever whatever. And of course when you have someone training you, that's the big advantage of that--if they're good, the point of them is to take on some of theme metering and pushing. But most of us do it our own in some way, and even in my anger right now I recognize that as part of the satisfaction of these physical activities at which I am such a pathetic and abject failure.
But what I did this morning was interesting and different, in that I actually tricked myself. I was not saying, "just do the shorter interval run and we'll see how we feel." I was not thinking "2 miles or 15 minutes, whichever comes first" (fingers crossed). I meant it! In every part of my conscious brain and intention, I thought that that's what I was going to do. I was going to stop after my intervals -- even though they were crappy (I knew they'd be crappy, although they were perhaps even crappier than feared). I was totally going to run "2 miles or 15 minutes".
But maybe I wasn't? Maybe somewhere in me--and again, I really really do not mean with any conscious intention at all--I had some idea that I wouldn't, that I'd push past if I could? Because as I run past the 2 mile mark (I ran about 18 minutes out, the 2.3 miles or whatever), I did shake my head and laugh and talk to myself as if to someone else: "James you motherfucker. Ha. Okay. Okay."
So that's the point of this post: that maybe this is a good strategy, too. It's probably a natural extension of just do it; that's probably basically still the best strategy ever. And the knowing mental games are useful -- you can't trick yourself all the time. But I mean: I really did, or insofar as I could have told you at the time I did, this morning. And I'm certainly glad I did -- pathetic and mismade I may be (am!), I'm less pathetic and mismade than I'd feel if I hadn't pushed past and at least kinda done a thing.
Wish I'd done the math earlier and just finished the 10.
Last night, as I often do, I kind of sketched out my hope for my run this a.m. The hope that I sketched out was 10 miles; I knew as I "sketched" it that it was very unlikely, almost surely would not happen. My right abductor is screwed up, I've got some kind of "sportsman's hernia" bullshit going on, my hip flexors are all out of whack probably because of ways I've been compensating for these things.
Also, I'm in Chicago, which means that
(a) the weather is more likely to be sh1tty (indeed: was forecast to be sh1tty, and was sh1tty), and
(b) I'll be running just on endless flats, and after years of trail-running I find the mental stamina of long flat runs pretty draining; after 2 or 3 miles I feel like I've run 7 or 8, mentally, because physically and spatially it's all just boring/the same.
And (a) and (b) interact, because (a) meant I would not have music (my phone works crappily enough already, without another soaking in the Chicago rain).
I woke up this morning and the weather was sh1tty; I at once downgraded my run to a "fast 4" -- 4 miles, splits under 7'/mile. I knew, as I sketched this, I wouldn't make it -- my legs are messed up fatigued excuses excuses.
I got out by around 5:45am; my f#cking feet got wet at once and I was like, "fuck this. my legs hurt my shit's tired my feet are wet; fuck this."
0.31 miles into my run I turned around to go back in. I was gonna do a Yoga Sculpt class at Hyde Park's Core Power Yoga; this wasn't a great idea because (a) I did one of these yesterday; psychologically and physically it's probably better to cross-train; (b) those classes are freaking expensive (especially compared to a free run); and (c) it was 5:55a.m. or whatever -- the class was at 8am. So basically the morning would be chopped up into unusable bits and I'd be burning a lot of the day fuddling around.
But I was so mad and disgusted with myself that I literally turned around, not "turned around", and then turned around again to go back out on the run because...well here we go: first, I told myself I'd do intervals.
There's a workout I've programmed in my Garmin called (natch) "Intervals"; 6 2.5-minute splits of running fast (target is low 6s or high 5s) with cooldowns of equal length in between. So I'm like, "look, your splits will suck, but at least you will have pushed it...done a thing. It'll be a short run but you'll have done a thing."
I did very, very shitty intervals. They were slow. I was running into the wind for the first half and my legs were tired and I am a weak litany of failures; they were terrible intervals.
But I did them. And I was finishing, having run about 4 miles, approaching the point to turn back inland off of the lakefront trail, I was like: okay, so, okay this sucks you suck fine but you're not in pain fine run 2 miles or 15 minutes, whichever comes first.
So I did that and, to my ongoing shame and disgust, 15 minutes came first (just!) and whatever I pushed past it a bit ran 2.3 or so miles.
Running back I made an honest mistake (ran out on a promontory that did not reconnect to the land, had to double back) that added some more distance.
Total length for that segment: 5.63 miles.
So my total length on the day was 9.67 miles.
This is no big deal. I did not reach my goal; it was a slow crappy moody crappy run, and I am a slow crappy moody crappy guy. BUT there was something useful/interesting to me, here.
Like anyone who works out, ever, I of course do various things to "trick myself" into pushing past certain obstacles. "Just run fast until..."; "just swim hard for...". Whatever whatever. And of course when you have someone training you, that's the big advantage of that--if they're good, the point of them is to take on some of theme metering and pushing. But most of us do it our own in some way, and even in my anger right now I recognize that as part of the satisfaction of these physical activities at which I am such a pathetic and abject failure.
But what I did this morning was interesting and different, in that I actually tricked myself. I was not saying, "just do the shorter interval run and we'll see how we feel." I was not thinking "2 miles or 15 minutes, whichever comes first" (fingers crossed). I meant it! In every part of my conscious brain and intention, I thought that that's what I was going to do. I was going to stop after my intervals -- even though they were crappy (I knew they'd be crappy, although they were perhaps even crappier than feared). I was totally going to run "2 miles or 15 minutes".
But maybe I wasn't? Maybe somewhere in me--and again, I really really do not mean with any conscious intention at all--I had some idea that I wouldn't, that I'd push past if I could? Because as I run past the 2 mile mark (I ran about 18 minutes out, the 2.3 miles or whatever), I did shake my head and laugh and talk to myself as if to someone else: "James you motherfucker. Ha. Okay. Okay."
So that's the point of this post: that maybe this is a good strategy, too. It's probably a natural extension of just do it; that's probably basically still the best strategy ever. And the knowing mental games are useful -- you can't trick yourself all the time. But I mean: I really did, or insofar as I could have told you at the time I did, this morning. And I'm certainly glad I did -- pathetic and mismade I may be (am!), I'm less pathetic and mismade than I'd feel if I hadn't pushed past and at least kinda done a thing.
Wish I'd done the math earlier and just finished the 10.
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