How getting faster spoiled running for me

Somebody posted this article on Facebook the other day about how being a "slow" runner is really all in your head.  The writer made a lot of really good points.  For example:

1)  "While thinking you’re slow may seem harmless, every time you preface a statement with the phrase, 'I know I am slow, but …' you condition your mind to believe that you can never be fast."

and:

2) "The feeling you get after a new PR, the satisfaction from a tough workout well done, and the disappointment from a bad performance all feel the same no matter how fast you are."

and of course this:

3)  "Unless you’re Kenenisa Bekele, Mo Farah or Galen Rupp, chances are there is always going to be someone faster than you. Fast is relative."

then she drove it all home with this:

4)  "...speed is merely a state of mind."

None of the points in the article are earth-shattering revelations for me.  They are things that I've told myself time and time again as I realize that I am giving myself a mental beat down for "going slow" on runs.  They are things I've tried to convince myself of over and over in the past year.  But I still have yet to truly believe them.

And to be honest, in the realm of my running world, I'm not slow.  It was just three years ago that I was amazed by my ability to complete runs with average paces under 10 mins/mile.  But now, not all that much further down the road, I find that I feel a quiet inner disappointment every time I finish a weekday run that clocks in at an average pace slower than an 8:40.

As much as I mentally tell myself to listen to my body, to do what it tells me to, and to be happy with what I can do right now, in the not too far away corners of my mind, I am disappointed in myself.  And then I get ashamed of my disappointment.  Because, in reality, I know it's silly.  I'm still recovering from an injury.  I've been running much less than I usually do.  I can't expect myself to be hitting the same paces as I was a year ago while in the midst of two consecutive marathon training seasons.  But it seems like I just can't keep that nagging negativity out of my head.

So what do I do on runs?  I push myself.  I run fast.  I try to hit the paces I'm looking for.  As much as I preach about "listening to your body," I've been ignoring mine.  So how do I feel at the end of each run?  Exhausted, disappointed, frustrated...and then to top it all off: ashamed that I'm feeling all of those things.

How did I get this way?

When I first started running, "being fast" was not a goal, even in the farthest back, dustiest corners of my mind.  Back then, I ran because I had a crazy dog who needed to run more than my desire not to.  And I ran because I wanted to feel good about myself again.  Other reasons began to emerge after I learned to like running.  I ran because it became that wistfully quiet, enjoyable time of day that I'd look forward to each afternoon as I sent my first graders out the door.  I ran because it was the one time of day that I got to be alone with my thoughts.  I ran because it calmed me.  And it helped me make sense of the endless number of thoughts that traipse through my mind on a daily basis.

I ran because I enjoyed running.

But because I enjoyed running, over the course of a couple years, I started getting faster.  I went from a 2:16 first half marathon in 2009 to a 1:48 half last May.  I went from a 4:52 first marathon to a 4:18 a couple years later.  

I didn't try to get faster.  It just kind of happened.  Sometimes, after runs, I'd look down and my watch and realize that that run was way faster than it felt.  And then that "fast" pace would slowly become the norm.  Until I would look down again after a run one day, and find I'd accidentally gone faster again.  And the new fast would become the new norm.  And the cycle would repeat.  Over and over again.  Without really trying.  
Everything felt great.  I loved running and I kept getting faster.  Nothing could be better.

But then one day, I made a fateful decision.  I decided that I wanted to be faster.  I wasn't just going to let it happen anymore.  I was going to make it happen.

And that's where it all fell to pieces.  That's kinda where I fell to pieces.

After completing the Goofy Challenge last January, I was on a high.  I felt strong, and I felt fast.  So for my fifth marathon, I decided to set my first ever specific time goal.  I had had goals before (to finish, to PR, to have fun), but I had never set a specific time goal.  For marathon #5, I wanted to break 4 hours.

Four hours.  A very specific time.  With very specific paces.  And very specific numbers.  And I can get a little obsessive when it comes to numbers.

So when I put a number in my marathon goal, everything became about that number.  Runs became less about stress relief and enjoyment and more about clocking paces and being faster.  My favorite day of the week in marathon training (long run day!), became somewhat torturous as I pushed myself faster and further than I needed to go.  Running became less and less enjoyable with each passing week.

And the result of all that unhappy training?  Not exactly what I was hoping for.  Twenty three minutes slower than what I was hoping for, to be exact.

And then I pushed running to the side for a bit.  I tackled biking and swimming and my first half iron distance triathlon.  Then I walked a half marathon with my mom.  And then my knee started hurting and I faced months of slowly progressive recovery.

And now here I am.  Stuck in this hole of never feeling good enough, or more specifically, "fast" enough.

So not unexpectedly, as I stare down the oncoming road of Eugene Marathon training, I've been getting a little stressed out.  I thought I would be more physically and mentally ready by now.  The Eugene Marathon is supposed to be my huge comeback from the disaster that my last marathon was.  The Eugene Marathon is supposed to be my redemption.  It is supposed to be me finally achieving that sub-4 hour marathon.

But that's a lot of pressure.

So I've made a new decision.  I'm not going to do that to myself again.  I'm resetting my goals.  Instead, I'm going to aim for a PR.  I think that's reasonable enough.  A sub-4:18 seems much more achievable than a sub-4:00.  While I may always secretly wish for a 4 hour marathon, I'm not going to put pressure on myself to make it this one.

With that decision made, I already feel myself breathing a little easier.  I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders that I didn't really know was sitting there.  With my new "who cares about fast" frame of mind, I went for a run today.  I ran 4.5 miles and I tried my hardest not to look at my paces as I stuck to my 8:1 run/walk intervals (unfortunately I can't leave the watch behind because I'd be unable to keep track of the intervals).  If I felt like I had started breathing a little too hard and not enjoying the run, I slowed it down.  I went the pace that my body wants to go right now.

At the end of the run, the first thing I did (of course...) was check my pace.  9:12 min/mile.  I tried really really hard to be happy with this.  And I was.  But I still felt that internal pull of disappointment--because I'm not perfect and this change isn't going to happen overnight.  I realized that this is going to take some time.  I need to retrain my brain.  I've been feeding it these negative thoughts for a year, after all it had known was positivism for it's 4 years of prior running.  I need to start telling it positive things again.  Until it starts to believe it.

And as for the speed, here's my new theory: Right now, my body can do what it can do while still recovering from a bum knee and months of low-mileage running.  I'm going to let my body do what it can do and not push it.  I want to finish each run feeling good, not feeling as though I'd like to keel over and die and not run for at least a week.

If, after weeks or months of "feel good" running, my speed naturally returns to me, great.  If not, this is where I'm at.  And I'm going to try my absolute best to learn to be okay with that.