A new training season

The training season for a long distance race is like a good book - it teaches you something new every time you go back to it.

I've run a couple of full and half marathons and my goal so far had been to be able to finish. This year however, I'm trying to actually race i.e run instead of jog. So most of my focus this training season is on improving my pace.

The most remarkable thing about this season is how it has changed the way I look at each run. When I first started running, there was the thrill and challenge of running farther than you've ever done before, so each training run would be motivated by a sort of passion. Then after the first few races, the passion died down a bit and a training run became a relatively casual affair for me - be it 3 miles or 9 miles or anything in between.  I knew I could finish it no matter what, so the main struggle was finding the time and making myself run regularly. A sore muscle here, a little pain over there didn't matter much. The point of the run would be just doing it.

Now however, I need to run at a certain pace - slower initially, then at target pace, then hold it above a certain threshold throughout so that the final average pace is what I want it to be. So each run is special now. Which in turn means I have to care about keeping my muscles in their best working condition, can't just dive in hoping I make the pace. I have to actually pay attention to stretching and warming up and splits and posture and core workouts and strength training. This is novel for me. The same training season I did last year is now teaching me something new.

A Brief Lesson in Humility

Years ago as a kid when I made lemonade, I loved squeezing the cut lemon halves with my hands. We had one of those lemon squeezers that look like two arms of medieval catapults joined with a hinge at the concave ends. The squeezer would get a lot of juice out, but not all of it. I enjoyed the challenge of pinching and pressing the seemingly dry lemon halves till I got a few more drops of juice out of them. Part of the enthusiasm was to demonstrate my 'strength' (such as it was), and part of it was pride at not having wasted any of the lovely fragrant lemon juice. I'd press and squeeze it till my forearms and palms hurt. As I would display the now completely dry (to my eyes) lemon halves to my mother, she would pick one up and give it a nonchalant squeeze. A brief lesson in humility would then drip down steadily into the glass.

I'm older now but I'm pretty sure I still can't defeat her in getting all of the lemon juice out with my hands. A lifetime's worth of grinding, chopping, squeezing, pressing, kneading in the kitchen can always defeat mechanical strength training in the gym.