It’s happened again. I was sure it wasn’t going to happen this season. I mean, I’ve got a coach now – this shouldn’t happen when you have a coach. But it has.
I’ve plateaued.
The idea in a race season is that, as the season progresses, your race times get faster. That’s the way coach C has been training us, but that’s not the way it’s worked out for me. I look at my race paces for the season, and all I can see in every direction is flat ground – flat sandy ground and tumbleweeds, actually.
Here’s my 5k race pace “progression” – 3:26, 3:24, 3:24
Here are my 10k/6 miler paces; they’re even worse – 3:34, 3:35, 3:35
Now don’t get me wrong: I’ve had a great season so far. I set PBs at every distance I raced; I made the provincial Timex team; I even won a race and a pair of shoes. It’s been a good season. But like every other season, I didn’t get faster as the season went on.
It’s a little bit troubling. At the beginning of the season, coach C told me that if I focus on the short stuff, given what paces I was training comfortably at and based on his instinct after decades of training hundreds of runners, I should be capable of squeaking under 34 for 10k this season. But I haven’t even run under 35:30. I haven’t lived up to my potential.
I look at guys running 33min or below for 10k, and I ask myself why I’m not running as fast as they are. They don’t look a whole lot different. In track workouts, I seem to be making the same kind of effort as they are; it’s just that I’m going slower. Is it talent? Are they just born better? Maybe, but I think a 33min 10k doesn’t take all that rare a talent. So why am I not even close? What does it take to push a guy from a 35 to a 33?
Honestly, as far as I can see, there’s only one big difference between me and the faster guys, and it’s not talent. Those guys running 33 and below – well, they run a lot. They’re regularly putting in 100k+ weeks; I’m lucky to get 70 or 80k. On their own, all the Wed-Sat speed work sessions won’t make me a 33 runner. If I wanna run faster, then I haffta run more. Simple. Sure, there’s a point of diminishing returns with mileage, but it’s well beyond the 100k mark. I’m hitting a ceiling in my racing because I’m hitting a ceiling in my mileage.
But this raises what I think is the really vexed question for achievement-oriented recreational runners, or maybe it’s just a question that vexes me: how much time and energy can I invest in running before it’s just stupid?
I suppose if I had a good answer to that question, I wouldn’t bother raising it – it wouldn’t haunt me. But the mere fact that it does haunt me means that I haven’t committed to the 33, which is why the 33 is so far away. Those guys and gals I train with who keep improving never ask this question. The question they ask is how do I get faster? Whatever coach C says, they’ll do it without flinching. They don’t bellyache; they don’t reflect; they get their asses out the door and they run.
I tell myself that I don’t commit like this because my situation is different. These folks aren’t carrying the guilt of not making a living wage in pursuit of an artistic dream. They earn their living and then they run. But that assessment is a bit too simple. Take D, for example, one of my t-shirt nemeses. She’s a single mom of 3 – she sacrifices way more to log her miles. The result? She’s a world-class marathoner. But she didn’t start world class – and there was no way to predict that was where she’d end up. She just got her ass out the door and ran and ran. She made sacrifices, but never questioned the value of what she was doing – or not openly, at least, and not in a way that slowed her down.
But me? Well, I can’t even replace my shoes when I should because I can’t stand spending the money. There’s an ambivalence that I haven’t conquered – and that ambivalence is slowing me down. Part of me says, train like a champion and see what your real potential is because there’s more value in pursuing something you love fully than half-assed. The other part of me says, you’re a fool for spending so much time on running when you don’t have the talent to be any better than a middle-of-the-pack varsity runner – you’re wasting time and money and being incredibly selfish.
There’s no easy answer here, but one thing I know for sure is that ambivalence feels like crap. Piss or get off the pot, they say – don’t just sit there.
But still, I hem and haw as the National Timex Championships looms. I’ve got until October – plenty of time to break out of this 35-high rut – but it will take work, time, and commitment. If I stay ambivalent, then I’ll run a 35-low at best. If I commit, then I’ve got a shot at 34-low or better. Really, it’s up to me.
