I’ve thought about this newsletter a lot over the last couple weeks. Trying to figure out what I was going to write. Where my head is at with running. Where things are going next.
I find it hard to put into words. In a way, I feel that I’m continually repeating myself.
“Things have changed.”
“I’m not enjoying running like I used to.”
“Will I ever get out of this rut?”
It’s all so odd.
Over much of the last five years, I spent so much of my down time thinking about running. Now, not so much.
Is that ok? I often ask myself that very question. How can I have gone from something I poured my heart and soul into, to this thing that’s more than tolerable but less than love?
Is this a running purgatory?
Excuse a sports metaphor I’ve undoubtedly used before, but I can’t help but come away from this moment in my life more impressed by the champions of sports that keep coming back for more and more. All that work they put into their craft for a shot at their championship. Perhaps they claim it; the pinnacle of their careers.
And then they wake up the next day, and it’s all over. Soon enough, another season will be approaching.
I’ve felt that way since Boston.
At this moment in time, I’m running for nothing other than it’s a habit; that this is routine that’s built into most days of my life since 2020. I have no goals; nothing to chase.
That’s how I felt, until the end of this week.
This week in podcasting:
You read that right, there’s a this week in podcasting again! For the first time in two months, I had a chance to interview someone for Chasing Three Hours. Episode 101 was a lot of fun, as I spoke with Scott Breeden about his running journey, a fork-in-the-road moment for him, and why he ran every street in both Cleveland and Omaha. It was good to be back! I hope you enjoy it.
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What changed? Nothing really. Except that I haven’t had any issues with my hamstring in weeks. As I made my way on the West Papio Trail earlier this week, and then around Flanagan the next day, it hit me that spots that had been giving me trouble — usually going uphill, in particular — weren’t.
I tried my hand at picking up the pace at various points the last couple weeks, for no reason other than to break up a run (or get home a little earlier), and again, nothing. On Saturday, I got out with temps climbing towards 80, wanting to run miles faster than normal, and decided to see how the old trusty 2:59:59 marathon pace would feel; one more test, to see if all of this has been a mirage (like it was during various points of my Boston block) or something real.
I think it’s real.
I hope it’s real.
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I was going to bed on Friday, when I told Riss I wanted to start lifting again; that I wanted to start upping the mileage again.
I have had this fear, going on for close to five months, that lifting again, or doing workouts again, would put me back to square one. I think that’s played a part in my mood surrounding running as of late; I’m not getting faster. But I’m not getting faster because I’m not allowing myself to get faster.
Sure, the weather hasn’t been optimal, but a year ago, or two (or three or four or five), I would be up and at it before the sun was up, instead of using it as an excuse to get in somewhere between six and eight miles (nine on a good day).
A year ago, I’d be craving the pain of a workout with temps in the 70s, knowing it would pay off come the fall.
I’m sick of being scared. I’m sick of being afraid.
I think my body is ready to get pushed again.
Only one way to find out.