Today, I was “supposed” to do a 45 minute run session: 4 half mile intervals, 2 minutes easy walk/jog between each, at a 10K pace. Actually, a VERY easy interval workout for me. It never happened. I kept coming up with excuses not to do it. That’s nothing unusual; every single run I ever do involves a bit of denial, some period refusal to get out the door, attempts to bargain with myself to not do the work. I almost always lose that struggle, and actually do get it done, but not today.
The excuses I came up with are not important. And the probability that I will end up doing the workout tomorrow doesn’t matter right now either. Because this is actually going in another direction. My thoughts drifted from giving up on the workout to races in which I’ve given up, but then ended up winning.
Hmm, I wondered, how does that work? Remember, my races are *very* long affairs, a 12 hour day, more or less. So I can give up in the middle, and still have time to end up successful.
Ironman Coeur d’Alene, 2006. HOT day, 92 degrees or more as I get off the bike. I’m already qualified for Hawaii, so motivation is a little lacking, but I still have a bit of pride. At the start of the run, I’m feeling pretty good, but slowly, surely, I lose steam. I have to go slower, walk a bit more each aid station, just to get enough fluids in to keep going. By the time I see Cheryl at mile 16 or so, I’m totally giving up. I say to her, “I’ve shut down the race.”
“You’re not quitting, are you?”
“No,” at this point I’m shuffling along and she is trotting beside me, “I’m just trying to finish. I don’t care about the race anymore.”
Over the next ten miles, I pass five people, who are apparently going even slower than I am, and end up winning the race. I had no clue I’d won until two hours later, back in the motel, when I bothered to look up my result online. Huh. I “shut down my race”, feeling as if I’d given up, but keep going anyway, and win the thing.
Back in CDA, 2009. Again, I’ve qualified already for Hawaii. Weather just the opposite – by then end, I’m running in a drizzle at 48F. At the start of the run, I get passed by someone going 30 seconds/mile faster than me, and as he appears to get farther ahead at each turnaround, I drop all thoughts of success (first place, course record), and mentally “give up on the race”.
Mile 23, I see him ahead of me. I’m not going any faster, but he’s slowed down, I catch him a mile later, and go on to win. I gave up, convinced myself it didn’t matter anymore, all hope was lost, but kept on going anyway, more out of inertia than anything else.
Seven months later, down in Tempe, Arizona. Perfect weather this time (68F). About three miles into the run, Cheryl gives me the word that I am 20 minutes out of first place, so once again, I drop all thoughts of winning, of racing, and just motor on from habit, if nothing else. Guy in front starts walking instead of running, and I win by 35 minutes. By this time, I really can’t tell the difference between giving up and keeping on keeping on. It all seems the same in a “race” like the Ironman.
Discipline. Patience. Consistency. Humility. Words that have no meaning in the middle of a short, intense bike or run or swim workout, when I’m pushing my body into anaerobic exhaustion, creating pools or rivers of sweat and getting the muscle shakes from lactic acid overload. But on a larger level, that’s what I’m really training myself to do.
Humility: *never* expect success.
Consistency: the best performance comes from simply repeating, over and over, what one is capable of. “staying within yourself”.
Patience: “Let the game come to you”. Don’t try to finish before it’s over; save something for the end, then give everything you have left.
Discipline: Every day, get out and do *something*, and do as much as you can on that given day.
Today, I couldn’t, didn’t want to, do that workout. But with 12 hours of rest, I’m sure I can sneak it in tomorrow.