Empty Paces

I don't put paces in my posts. I think I may have in my first post, when I was in the final stages of considering pursuing Boston Marathon qualification. But I haven't since, and that is by design. Well, at least subconsciously by design. I don't think my training paces or racing paces are relevant to any one; except me. Not that I feel I need to hide them, but comparing running times is a little like comparing salaries: somebody is going to end up being disappointed. Too much focus on pace just gets in the way of enjoying running.

I started thinking about this back in September. I was training for the Denver Half Marathon and was out on a Saturday trail run. It was a beautiful day and there were a lot of people out on the trail. One of those people was a mom whose 10 year old daughter (an educated guess from a father of four daughters) was following her on a bike. I was running out-and-back and I passed her on my way out. I probably mumbled "morning" in passing, as I usually do. But I'm generally pretty unobservant when I'm running. I'm usually in my own world.

I noticed this pair because I thought it was pretty cool that a mom would take her daughter out with her on a morning trail run. That would involve getting the daughter up early, packing the bike in the car, unpacking the bike, doing the run, packing the bike, unpacking the bike back home. It seemed like it would have taken a lot of work. I thought it was special that in spite of the work to get there, they seemed to be enjoying the time together.

I'm sure I had forgotten them, until on my way back in I noticed the bicycle flag of the daughter up ahead. She was weaving around the trail a bit. I was smiling as pulled around them to pass, when the mom asked, "How far are going today?"

I responded, "11 miles."

"That's great", she said, "Your fast. I'll never be fast like that."

I think I said, "Thanks." Or something equally lame. And then I was on my way.

But for the rest of the run, I kept thinking I missed an opportunity. It took me a while to put my finger on it, but she sounded discouraged. At that point I thought, should it matter if I was running faster than she was? There were plenty of people who passed me that day. And there's a nearly endless list of people I'll never be as fast as (e.g. Paula Radcliffe, Meb Keflezighi, etc). For me, these truths were and are okay. But for her, the fact that she didn't think she could run as fast as I was running was discouraging. And I felt I had missed an opportunity to say something. Maybe to get her thinking about her running in a different way that would allow her take joy in her running accomplishments.

What could I have said to be encouraging? I'm not sure. The reality is we all have a God given ability to process oxygen. Through training, we can improve upon that ability, but that will only take you so far. Elite runners are born with a superior capacity to process oxygen compared to the typical recreational runner. I know I will never be an elite runner. No matter how much or how hard I train. I wasn't born with the basic physical abilities to be an elite runner.

There will always be people who finish in front of me in a road race. So why do I run? First and foremost, I love it. Second, I want to see how good of a runner I can be. It is a personal challenge. The only relevant measure for my progress is my own running times. Or how close to my theoretical maximum race pace can I run. And as I get older, I age adjust my times to compare to times when I was younger. The joy comes from challenging myself, setting realistic goals, and working to achieve them. Those realistic goals are based on my physiology and training history, which are unique to me. And so are my paces.

One thing that has helped me to feel okay about being passed while out on my runs, is to clearly know the purpose of the run, and what pace I should be running to accomplish that purpose. On that Saturday, I knew that my long run was intended to build my endurance, and that to accomplish that goal, my pace needed to be in a specific range. Running outside that range, either too fast or too slow, meant I would not accomplish building endurance. And if I ran the wrong pace, you could say that the run was actually time wasted.

That knowledge allows me to let people go by without picking up my pace, or to see people up ahead and not feel the need to see if I can catch them. I want to preserve the training value of my run. And it makes it easier not to compare myself to others. When I go out for a run I have a specific workout to accomplish - a specific distance at a specific pace range based on my current running ability. Presumably, the other runners have their specific workouts too. But it is their workout. I have my own.

I don't think I could have explained this on the trail that Saturday morning. I'm not sure I have explained it well here. Maybe I'm making this harder than it needs to be.

I remember being on a Saturday morning run this fall, when a high school cross country team passed me going the other direction. One of the runners said, "good job, sir", as they went by. That simple comment gave me real boost. And not just a burst of energy. It felt good to be acknowledge by a runner that was undoubtably a faster runner than I.

Maybe encouraging other runners is as simple as acknowledging the training that they are doing. To let them know that I see and appreciate the work they are putting in on their workout. A simple "good job", or "you're doing great", or even "I'm impressed that you're out here with your daughter this morning". It may mean I can't get quite as comfortable in that world off by myself. But that seems a small price to pay to be able to speak a word of encouragement to a fellow runner.

The mom on the trail that morning was doing great. She was running her pace. She was enjoying the morning with her daughter. And, she was giving encouragement to the runners passing her. Next time, I'll return the favor, and maybe beat her to the punch.