How I run now

Some years ago I became intrigued by the science of running. Tempted, you might say. I was in the best shape of my life, and I began dreaming of what more I could accomplish.

I began poring over training charts, which told me exactly what I needed to do in order to run a 40-minute 10K. On paper, the requirements looked reasonable. How pleasant it was to fantasize about completing that fail-safe recipe!

And how different the reality! As I threw myself into the training, every assigned workout became an obstacle. What had looked like like a hill I could easily climb soon seemed insurmountable. Most foreign to me, and most difficult, were the track workouts: repeated fast intervals around a quarter-mile oval. I began each session—each interval—with fresh determination. And ended each in failure and heaving anaerobic distress. After a handful of these experiences I grew discouraged and gave up.

What happened? First, I was ignorant. I had no experience in running track, and knew no one who could reassure me, or translate those cold numbers into human terms that I could digest. Second, I was too impatient to go back and puzzle out what I was doing wrong. I lacked respect, started too fast, expected too much too soon.

But I think I was also turned off by the reduction of running to numbers. The rigidity of the goal drained the joy from running, made it a grind.

For me running had turned from torture to joy on the grace-filled day when I discovered what it felt like to run at my own pace. Since then, it had been a perfect escape, the pursuit of lightness, a rhythmic grace.

I remain intrigued by the science of performance. But for me to bind myself to a performance chart was and is to violate that spirit of freedom.