When I woke on Saturday to a layer of snow blotting out the morning light from my skylight, I knew my long run would be a rough one. I’ve learned to lean into the meditation of long runs, but when that peace was disrupted by a four-inch layer of wet cement snow, my zen dissipated. Most if not all of my runs have highlights — miles or minutes where the runner’s high kicks in and I remember why I love this sport. But I can honestly say I didn’t experience more than a minute of joy throughout this entire 11 mile run.
I was actually excited to spend two hours in the snow, running in a winter wonderland. And it started off great — the five minutes I spent walking to where I normally start my run were truly romantic. The first obstacle I encountered, about 0.1 miles into my run, was a series of slush puddles that I awkwardly skipped around. I missed the dry spots a few times and plunged, about as gracefully as a baby elephant, into the slop. I’ve been meaning to take an ice bath, but wet shoes in the first minute of a two hour run isn’t exactly how I imagined it.
The first four miles jogging, or should I say slogging, through Amazon Park wrecked my spirit. I was trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I couldn’t see much through my icicle covered eyelashes. I looked more like an Everest base camper than a Pacific Northwest runner, and the shocked looks from families sledding and building snowmen served as confirmation of this fact. When I finally caught a break, running downhill on the mostly hard pack road, I was greeted by a mini ice storm. I dropped my head and charged, at about five miles an hour, into the wind, ice ferociously pelting my cheeks. At mile four when I slowed to refuel, I discovered that my Honey Stinger energy chews were frozen solid. Running and eating is awkward as it is, and with my sinuses dripping and malfunctioning from the cold, I was mouth breathing heavily as I gnawed on the solid gelatin.
By mile eight, the three miles between me and home were the only reason I was still running — that and the fact that my roommates’ cars were iced over so I couldn’t phone a friend for a ride. My hamstrings were cramping from running in the snow, but I could barely feel them because my legs, protected only by soaked Lululemon leggings, were on fire from windburn. When I showered later, the hue of my skin suggested I had just returned from a tropical vacation without SPF. It’s honestly a miracle I made it home. When I stopped running at the 11 mile mark, one block from my house, I felt feverish and weak.
During my journey with running, I’ve learned a thing or two about pushing through the hard runs. Sometimes the hard bit is getting out the door, sometimes it’s the last three miles and often it’s the first three. But when I have a run on my schedule, I don’t wait until I feel motivated to go because some days that would mean waiting forever. I simply take a step out the door, and then another step and a few thousand more until I’m done. Once the run is finished, even if I fought the whole way, I’m always glad I did it — even if, like Saturday, I have to lay in bed the rest of the day to recover.
In hopes to spark a little inspiration, I’ve been reading a bunch of books about running. Last week I finished “Bravey,” a memoir by Alexi Pappas, professional runner, Olympian and UO alumna. In the book, Pappas preaches the rule of thirds. That is, when you’re training for something big, your runs should feel good one-third of the time, bad one-third of the time and just OK for the rest. Hearing an Olympian admit that only one-third of her runs feel good was strangely comforting.
In my normal workout routine, I became accustomed to skipping the bad days when I felt tired or unmotivated. Before I started training for the half and now whole marathon, I regularly took extra rest days. But when you’re actually training for something, the regular rules don’t apply.
Anyone who has read into the marathon has heard of the “wall” around mile 20 — the feeling of complete exhaustion that tricks you into thinking you can’t go any further. Mile 20 is six whole miles from the finish. If every marathoner quit when they hit the wall, no one would ever complete marathons. So when I feel tired during a run or unmotivated to leave the house, I think of the wall. Each workout I complete under bad or just OK conditions builds mental strength that I will need to employ on race day.
On that note, I feel I should be candid and admit that yesterday, after four weeks of training and not missing a day, I skipped my first workout. I’ve enjoyed most of my training so far but the workouts I always dread are Friday speed runs. Ever since I lost my half marathon speed, these workouts have felt like a battle — one that I always lose. So when I skipped Friday’s workout I wasn’t just being lazy, I was avoiding the inevitable disappointment of a slow time. The regret of skipping a workout I had the energy to do felt way worse than the disappointment would have.
Moving forward, I’m going to have to relieve the pressure if I want to succeed. When I go out for my easy or long runs, I have no goal except to finish. So when I run at a slower pace than normal, I still feel accomplished. My frustration toward my slow speed run pace has drained all the satisfaction I normally feel from finishing a workout.
According to the rule of thirds, what I’m experiencing is normal. The more runs I complete that are bad or just OK, the more good runs I will have to look forward to. Being dedicated doesn’t mean you will perform at your best each time — it just means that you showed up and got it done and now you’re a little bit better because of it. So when I braved the storm again on Monday, I was proud of myself for showing up, even if all I had to show for it was a massive bruise on my ass from slipping on the ice. I was tempted to skip the workout after Saturday’s unfortunate series of events, but a frustrating run is more rewarding than no run at all.
