Not-So-Great Expectations
The next Kim Yu-Na?*
For almost two decades, running was never a loaded thing for me. I was just happy to go the distance at a 9 to 10ish minute-mile pace, a speed I scientifically determined my clocking my run on my Timex, then driving the same route in my car, post-run, and grabbing the calculator when I walked in the door.
For a variety of reasons (a coach started me on speedwork, I bought a Garmin, I thought I needed a challenge) I’m no longer the runner who is pleasantly surprised when I rip off a sub-nine-minute mile. Now I expect sub-9 to be the norm, not the exception. I gotta admit, at the risk of sounding like a poser and not a runner, this whole what’s-my-split? thing is not working for me.
Check that: running faster is working for me. Who doesn’t like to see their name climb up the ladder of race results? But the mentality that comes with running faster–obsession with numbers, not fully appreciating the race’s scenery and my fellow runners, and, most importantly, marking a race a failure if I don’t meet my goals–is not working for me.
On the heels of the Austin half-marathon over Valentine’s Day where I had no race strategy and that really didn’t work for me, I lined up at a 10-mile local race, the third in a 3-race series, on Saturday morning. (FYI: Not one to constantly test myself, I wouldn’t have raced 13 days after just racing, but I signed up for the series, instead of individual races, to save $10. So my cheapness forced me to run it.)
For most of Friday, I kept thinking about how I wanted to run it:
Start with a 9:30 mile, and then every mile, go 10 seconds faster. I’d end with a 8:00-minute mile, which is super ambitious for me after running 9 miles. The upside? At least I’d finally negative split a race.
Plan B: Maintain splits between 8:20-8:40 for 10 miles. Evens out the ups and downs, both with regard to hills and my ridiculous, PMS-worthy mood swings that hit me in races.
No. No more math. Just run at an effort that feels good. Maybe a 6 on a scale of 1-10? O.k., a 7. This is a race, after all.
Find somebody after the first mile who looks about your speed and like she knows how to pace herself, and follow her. Do whatever you need to do to stay with her.
And on and on. My brain, which chugs with the same efficiency as a green-screened Apple computer from 1984, did not need this distraction on an already hectic Friday.
Still, around and around it went, until the race started and I still had no firm plan. So I stayed with option B for about 5 miles, until the course went uphill for 2 miles and–bonus for you today!–into a healthy headwind. My splits shot up to 9:40 or something. Once again, I became discouraged, even though my groaning hamstrings, straining from the incline, and the fact that my short hair was actually blowing in the wind, provided very tangible reasons for the deceleration.
I was able to get back below 8:40 for the last mile. As I sped in as quickly as I could, checking my Garmin more often than I check e-mail on days I feel lonely, I realized I’m sick of sucking the fun out of running. There’s a reason why I work with words, not numbers: I like vague concepts and the ability to interpret a situation in many ways. Numbers, concrete and with no room for error, tell a very flat story.
The more I fixate on my splits, the more frustrated and disappointed I get. Right now, trying to get faster feels like looking for love: the more you force it, the more elusive it becomes. Or, in other words, preoccupation with anything often has the opposite effect of what I want.
So for at least a week, I’m officially taking my eyes off the prize (or at least my Garmin) to see how that feels. I’m hoping that I’ll accidentally meet up with another kind of love–the love of running–out on the path.
As I embark on my mini-experiment, I’m wondering: do you get too numbers obsessed? If so, how do you tone it down? Or is there no such thing as being too split-headed in your view?
*I couldn’t resist posting this picture of Lydia, just two weeks old. She’s wearing American Girl skates, which belong to her sister, Isabel, who slyly slipped them on her when their mom wasn’t watching. If you’ll look closely, she’s slyly giving me the finger.
A Running Mom Redefining Her Kids…and Herself
If you’re like me, every time you watch the P&G “To their Moms, they’ll always be kids” commercial during the Olympics, you tear up as you nod your head in agreement. My children are just 8 and 4.5 (twins), but sometimes I envision a day in their future, say, my older daughter’s college graduation or my son’s wedding day, and I think how I’ll envision them still as the sweet babies they once were. Even now, when I see my twins happily play at the sensory table at preschool, I so vividly picture them crawling around in our playroom or smeared with food in their high chairs. No matter their age, they’ll always be my babies.
In athletics, I often feel frozen in time as well. Even as I train for my sixth marathon, I sometimes feel like the newbie runner I was in college. Or, time-travel even further to the non-athlete I was during childhood. Yup, my self-perception is warped. Take this morning: A few blocks into my run, I saw a leggy woman clipping along at a nice pace. I thought, “There’s no way I could catch up to her—she’s too fast!” Yet as the blocks clicked by, I realized I was gaining on her without trying.
And now I’m the co-author on a book about running. Hard to believe on so many levels—and so exciting as well. Guess it’s time I updated my self-perception.
And We’re Off!
We’re thrilled you’re here. We’re counting down to the launch of Run Like A Mother–March 23, if you need another entry on your calendar–but more importantly, we’re here to create a dynamic, supportive community of running mothers.
We know there are millions (or at least hundreds of thousands) of you out there: women who already run; who used to be runners but stopped when they had kids; who race yet wonder if training eats up too much family time; who need a gentle nudge to lace up. We’re here to entertain, encourage, and support runners of all levels, whether you want to vent about IT band issues, tout your first half-marathon finish, or ask for recommendations for the best sports bra for your DD ladies. We’ll toss in our own experiences on this blog too, of course, but all celebrations, whining, and questions from you are strongly encouraged.
That said, we’re writers and runners–and not IT wizards or even fluent in HTML. The only place for reader input so far on this blog is in the comment section–the link to comment is in the upper left corner–where you can agree with us (or blast us) on a post, ask a question, or otherwise contribute. As we grow, our goal is to create a more robust community, where you can find running partners and have forums to address crucial questions like, “Does your child throw a tantrum when you get dressed to run, too?” Option B, if the comment section doesn’t work for you: Contact us at runmother@gmail.com.
Likewise, this blog is a little like an arts + crafts project you see in magazine: We have the gist of it (yes, that sock puppet does look like a penguin) but it’s far from polished (since when do penguins have one wing and three feet?). Like the rest of our lives, it’s a work in progress.