What running taught me this week.
Being the vessel.
Writers block? Is there such a thing? Some people say ‘no’. They say you’re just being lazy, or scared or some other trait that dishonors the art. They use quotes that are the equivalent of “There are no bad weather days, just soft athletes!” No pain no gain.
I hear them. I do. But in my creative process I wait for the voice of the muse. Sometimes they are quiet. Or more exactly, sometimes their soft inspiration is drowned out by the noisy urgency of life. Writers’ block comes when you don’t listen or you get so caught up in self and outcomes that you forget to pick up the quill, the stylus or the keyboard. Then the momentum of not doing starts to outweigh the urgency of doing.
I’ve been writing about endurance sports for over 25 years now. It used to flow so freely from experience. In the beginning there was so much I needed to share with you. The word and topics forced themselves out onto the page. I had no choice. The challenge then was there was too much to say and I spent most of my time teasing organization out of the messy piles of experience.
Once all that ground was tilled and turned I began to look for nuances. What could I say differently about that specific hill workout or trail run? I began to unpack new adventures that had a narrative of their own – the ever-popular race reporting that we all love. (The more disastrous the race the better!)
I struggle now as I move into the twilight of my endurance career to find new and interesting things to share with you. I try to force my stories into what I think you’ll want and need and find useful. But, how many times can you write the same advice about shoes or Achilles tendons? (Unless, of course you’re that Running Magazine, then the answer is ‘once a quarter like clockwork’)
In the current version of this podcast, which I specifically created to force me to write creatively, I set myself a goal of one 1500-word article relating to endurance sports every fortnight. I find this recently to be a creative constraint.
I wait for inspiration.
Inspiration comes when I’m out on my run. Inspiration comes when I actively listen.
What did the muses whisper over these last few weeks? What was the conversation? The conversations were about mortality and pain and untold gifts.
- Running in the heat is hard.
Yeah. I learn this every year right? More so when I get older. As I ran down to the car dealership last week to pick up my truck and give $1,000 dollars to the economy for, ironically, the pleasure of functional air conditioning, I felt that heat.
On the busy road in the heat of the late afternoon sun. Baking sun above, hot tarmac below. Only 4 miles. No pace required. Literally just running an errand. The heat busted me. It busted my pace. My legs ached and my head swam. I walked.
Sure, it was a long week with a lot of miles but, Come on! 4 miles? That should be a stroll. The heat doesn’t care how experienced you are. The heat demands respect and takes it’s toll.
And I smiled as I walked because it was ok. It was all good. The heat could beat me down and steal my precious bodily fluids but here I was trotting down the road anyhow. Privileged and fit enough and able to appreciate those gifts that brought me here.
- Falling down hurts.
As I ground out these long days in the trails my legs were tired. These weeks I pushed my mileage on top of my busy life through the heat and humidity, deep in the technical trials and trails. The combination of fatigue, hurry, and I suppose age got me into the annoying habit of letting roots and rocks reach up and grab my wandering toes.
At one moment shuffling along in mindless, sweaty reverie, the next face down on the rocky trails cursing at myself for inattention and ineptitude.
It isn’t so much about the physical pain. It is the frustration of the 2nd and 3rd and 4th fall that boils me. The frustration of trying not to fall down and falling down anyway.
I knocked my left knee pretty hard and it ached and clicked for a couple days under the scabs and bruises. I tore a hole in the palm of my left hand that I kept reopening in subsequent falls. At one point I used the dogs leash, winding it around my palm as a tourniquet, to staunch the blood running from the reopened wound.
I ran on the road the next day because I couldn’t bear falling down anymore. I started wearing my mountain bike gloves to protect my palms.
Falling down hurts. But, you know what? If you run in the trails you are going to fall. You’re going to trip. Sometimes you’ll get bloody and bruised. And when you’re tired it hard to see that as a sign of life. But it is. You’re still out there running 8 miles in the technical trails. You’ve still go blood to give. Your legs still work. Entropy may be nipping at your heels but you’ve got the energy and ability to kick it in the teeth when it gets too close.
Another valuable lesson is that the faster you run, the less you fall. That’s right. I only fall when I’m putting in the slow stuff and trying to go easy. When I’m ripping out the tempo, even in the most technical of terrain, I don’t fall. That’s a life lesson. The daemon roots of life are waiting for you to relax. That’s when they grab you.
- Relaxing into the pain doesn’t remove the pain.
In these hot, long trail runs. In these hard edge tempo runs. On these rocky hill climbs the pain will come. The discomfort in your muscles and lungs. The pushing fatigue that runs counter to your self-image and expectations. That pain comes. It comes in different forms and at different times. Sometimes when it’s expected and sometimes in disguise and by surprise.
The lesson we learn over and over again is that pain is part of endurance sport. It can’t be avoided and it shouldn’t be. When we find ourselves saying, “Oh god! why is this so hard?” We forget that pain is a gift and we need to stop fighting and except.
It is when we reach this point in our workout that we start to reap the benefits of our training. The physical benefits of pushing or holding on past the point where it starts to suck. And the under-reported mental benefits of knowing you can hold on and live in this place where discomfort is a familiar.
When the fatigue comes recognize it for the gift that it is. Stop trying to push through, stop trying to grit your way through the workout. That’s not the way to use the pain. Relax. Let the pain crawl in and curl up with you. Shorten your stride. Pick up your cadence. Straighten up your form and forget about the watch. Be in the moment with your guest and enjoy the company. Just because it hurts doesn’t mean it’s bad. You don’t have to stop. Relax, adjust, and take a moment to physically and mentally let go.
The pain of the workout is neither good nor bad. It’s just part of the journey. The gift you have that is unique to you is that you are exploring this forgotten neighborhood of pain
Those are the things that my muses whispered to me as I was lost in the dark secrets of my mental forests over the last few weeks. Are they worthy of ink and electrons? Maybe. It’s not for me to decide.
I’m just the vessel.
You are the destination.