Re-ignition

The number of years that have passed since I last published a submission on this blog (seven, but who's counting?) far exceeds the number of people who have given it a read. I am fully aware that, at this present moment, I am writing for myself and myself only. Thus, I feel zero guilt as it regards the lengthy hiatus.

In any case, I acknowledge that there is at least some level of possibility that my remembrance of and commitment to this blog increases some in the next few months. This is strictly due to the shift in lifestyle, time, and significant dearth of professional fulfillment that has resulted from the COVID-19 pandemic. My hope is to reignite these published ideas during this unprecedented time, but further, to continue that pattern as we (hope to) reenter times of "normalcy". My track record doesn't indicate any level of likelihood of this actually occurring, but we can all goal-set, right?

I'm going to start this new wave with something only loosely tied to coaching ideas. While I wore my "coaching hat" while making the decision alluded to in the forthcoming paragraphs, it is far more related to my personal running journey than that of my coaching career. That said, the coaching-related vein runs through this, so perhaps it is appropriate to post on here. We'll ignore the fact that I've already written these words and posted them elsewhere. We surely wouldn't accept any level of laziness during this pandemic, would we?

I'll end my introduction abruptly and simply paste what I posted on my Strava yesterday. I am proud of these words and I'm leaving them here unedited and without further explanation:

"17 days ago, I pulled my quad while lifting a heavy box. I had run 26 miles the day prior, so my muscles were certainly in a state of relative fatigue. Any physiologist would tell you that overloading a fatigued muscle is a recipe for injury. Not the smartest decision on my part.

Anyway, I took some time to rest. A run here, a run there. A week after I strained the quad, I decided that I felt good enough for a longer run. I set out to do an 18-miler, but that proved to be too ambitious as I had to walk the final three miles home (uncomfortably, I might add).

In normal circumstances, I could tolerate these setbacks reasonably well. This time, however, it was rather depressing. As I walked (limped) home, all I could think about was that I was going to have to pull out of the only thing I've been training for all spring: The Beaverhead 100k, a Western States qualifier. It was to be my first attempt at such a distance, and training had gone fairly well. I felt prepared physically, mentally, and I had done plenty of practice with nutrition and hydration.

I held onto the idea of finding a way to pull through. I took more days off, but the more time that passed, the more pessimistic I became. Finally, I resolved to give it one last test. If I could run an hour without pain (Sunday), then I could try again the next day. If I could run day two (Monday) without pain, then I could graduate to the next day. If I woke up on day three (Tuesday) with no pain, then I was going to give the race a shot. My thought process was that if I couldn't at least do that then there was no way I was going to be able to complete a 62-mile race a mere five days later.

I graduated from day one, but failed on day two.

The other overarching thought that couldn't escape my mind was my overall ability to get out the door and run. There has never been a time in my life - or many of yours - where running has been this important. And I don't mean training. I mean just straight up, pure, joyful RUNNING. The last thing I can afford to do during these trying times is to strip myself of the ability to carry forth with my running lifestyle for the remainder of the unknown stretch of difficult times that lie ahead. My emotional health, mental health, and physical health cannot tolerate such a void.

Trying to run this race on this leg - in its current state - puts those overwhelmingly important aspects of health at high risk of great peril.

Despite knowing that the injury had been improving overall, I decided to email the RD as I was on my way out the door for today's run to inform him of my decision to pull out. In my mind, today's venture was my first in a new journey. My main objective was to run in such a way and at such a distance that I aided my effort of recuperation.

But we are runners. I am surely not alone in being fixated - throughout the entirety of the run - on the very race I had just officially pulled myself out of. Especially tantalizing was that, as you might guess, the run was absolutely perfect. No pain. No discomfort. Ironic, yes. But completely predictable.

I stand resolute in my decision, despite its deep disappointment. It has been several years since I trained for a race as seriously and as committed as I did this. And while that makes the regret more real, it is also refreshing to know that the fire is still there, that I still have the ability to channel it.

And of course, this run presented the positive notion that this injury is not too far from being in the rearview mirror. I'm looking forward to many more good runs this summer and beyond.

If you read all of that, two things: 1. Bravo, and 2. What is wrong with you?

For the rest of you:

TL;DR:

I signed up and trained for a long race. I injured myself. I pulled out. I am sad. But today felt good.

And I love (and need) running."

1. A Workout is Not a Performance

A Workout is Not a Performance

Nothing beats a great workout. You write it out and the athletes hit every split. They look fit, smooth, and confident. When it’s all over, there are smiles abound. High-fives, back-slaps, and laughs are shared by athletes and coaches alike. As coaches, we love those days.

But what about the other days? People are struggling to hit the splits, or they’re working too hard to hit times you though would be cake for them. The athletes are growing increasingly frustrated, you’re becoming confused and irritated; today was not meant to be.

We must not react this way. As coaches, we tend to look at a workout as a performance, and, for most hard training sessions, it’s not. It’s a means to a performance, a step in the process of becoming fit and fast. Yes, we possess a strong desire for the athletes to hit the prescribed paces. That’s why we write them in the first place! But that’s not what a workout is about. Each hard training session should have a purpose, and it is a great deal more important for the athletes to achieve the goal of the workout than it is for them to run a particular split.

Of course, it is not enough for us as coaches to understand this concept. The athletes have to grasp this as well.

This article was prompted by our distance squad’s first workout as a team post-Winter Break.  Most of them were dedicated over the holiday and returned to campus relatively fit. That said, a team workout in a practice has a proclivity to differ from solo sessions in the athletes’ respective hometowns, incongruent in intensity, accountability, and competitiveness. So, despite the fact that we had a group that was in shape, that first day was so-so at best. I was not necessarily surprised given what I just stated, but the athletes were clearly discouraged. They started to doubt their fitness, their ability, and their preparedness for our upcoming indoor meet.

“A workout is not a performance,” I told them. “Are you fitter now than you were when you began the day?’ I elaborated further, explaining that the goal that day was not to see how well they could tackle that set, but to use that training session to aid them in preparing for their upcoming season and races it encompasses. They agreed, and walked off the track with their confidence still intact.

Before I conclude, I would be well-served to note one potential hazard of this concept, and that is that, as coaches, we cannot allow our athletes to become soft. Although I told them off, I loved that they were so displeased after that workout. It validated to me that we have a group of people who want so badly to get better.

Always remember the purpose of the workout you wrote. For the most part, the purpose ought not to be to “run X distance in Y time with Z recovery.” That’s an important piece of the process, but seldom should that be the goal of the session. Our athletes must not train to run great workouts; they should train to run great races. If we remain focused on the purpose of the workout, and the athletes execute that objective, then we have all done our job that day and can walk away with our heads held high.