Run to be Fast.

So I should start off by saying that I can't believe I have not posted in 2 months, it felt like two weeks. The reason (and I think it's a good one) is that I was suffering through a grueling 2 months of graduate coursework compressed down into half a semester. I got some really good training in this spring and passed my big comprehensive exam, but not much else! Call me Hermit. 

Anyway, I'm glad to be back and what follows is some introspection about training... 

There were two recent instances that caused me to really reflect on the little voice that tells you to quit. The first was at the MIT track when I was solidly hitting my - albeit slower than desired - paces. These past few years it's been rare for me to make it through a whole workout, much less be able to maintain even pacing through reps. Most of this was out of my control from injury, asthma, or sickness. But on this warm tuesday night I could have called it quits at two sets. After all, I wasn't going as fast as I thought I was capable of at this point in my training schedule. But instead I took my full recovery jog and started into the third set, legs aching, face hot, and came out on the other side feeling accomplished. 

The second instance that called my attention to the anti-motivation devil on my shoulder was, surprisingly, a shout from a homeless man. During what was a pleasant run around Boston with Ben ended in annoyance after this man shouted at me "you don't need to keep running, you already look good". It peeved me because 1) getting catcalled is one of those frustrating and sometimes frightening realities of being a female runner and 2) I don't run to look good, my motivations are so much deeper and to assume that I'm only out there for superficial reasons is an icy insult to any runner. There is such a deeply entrenched social stereotype about women logging miles to chase impossible beauty standards. Some days I wish I could wear a t-shirt that screams "I'm running to be fast, not skinny!". But, sigh, I'll have to settle for giving the dirtiest looks (and the occasional snot rocket) in the direction of those irritating catcallers.

Recently I've come to realize that I had become too close of friends with the little voice in my head telling me to "take it easy". I get it. Not so long ago I ignored the voice telling me "you're too sick to work", but I succumbed to the pressure to work despite being sick, and got pneumonia. Before that it was "your shins are so sensitive, stop running!", but I convinced that voice that I just needed some soft trails. That I needed some cross-training and stretching. That I was standing up too much. And then, that I needed to only run on workout days and races, it was only a tibial stress reaction (read: pre-fracture) after all. And then, 1.5 track seasons later, the little voice screamed "if you won't listen to me, I'm gonna blow your calf up to the size of a grapefruit!". It did. And I listened. Crutches, a boot, some doctor appointments and lots of rehab later, I was back.

It wasn't all a loss; I gained the superb ability to listen to the warning signs. Nagging pains are not to be ignored and this led to some good things. Stretching! Icing! Hip strengthening! Proper form! But beyond that, the little voice told me when I needed a rest day, a shorter lift, to skip that last set, that last mile, that last push which turns you from a mediocre runner to a fast runner. 

Hold up! That last one is exactly what I'm trying to do. Run fast! Guess what little voice, your reign is over. Sure, I'll take your advice, but it's gonna have to swim through the boiling fury that is my racing blood. If your message is strong enough, I'll listen. If not, well, hold on for the ride because I'm not slowing down.

4x400m NE DIII's 2010

Sincerely,
Robyn "can't stop won't stop" Runner