Workout matchmaking

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This Tuesday my strength session overlaps with Gwen. This is our first workout with just the two of us. She is a champion triathlete, currently training for the marathon. That doesn’t lend itself to much overlap with a mid-distance runner. But we are both planning to compete on the track at the USA Championships in a few weeks. I’m entered in the 1500, she’s in the 10k.

The workout is sets of tempo 800s with short rest. I’m going to do 9 reps, and she’ll continue with 3 more. It seems like it should be pretty manageable. We are getting closer to USAs. It’s not yet a taper, but Jerry does seem to have pulled back from the impossible sessions. This helps with recovery from accumulated fatigue, and it’s nice for confidence.

It’s a treat to workout with someone new. Usually we are segregated by distance. On event specific days, I’ll run with the other 1500 specialists. A new pairing is a bonding moment. You laugh and banter to get out the pre-workout jitters, and learn to rely on each other as you switch leads. And at the end, you share the accomplishment.

Still, I’m a bit nervous. It’s Gwen!! I really respect her, her athlete accomplishments (Olympic gold medalist in triathlon, for one) and the career she’s built, and I want to be a good workout partner. In this situation, we are given the pace, and we take turns leading one rep at a time. Being a “good” partner means that I hit the prescribed pace on the reps I lead, and do so evenly (if the goal is 2:34 for two laps, an ideal leader would run 77 and 77). It also means pulling my weight throughout the workout. I don’t want to blow up and leave a workout buddy hanging at the end, right when it gets hard. It feels like more responsibility with just two people, but it’s not as if any of this is new to me. If anything, I’m more experienced on the track than Gwen is. Still, the thought crosses my mind, “don’t mess up.”

Tempos are a unique kind of pain. They hurt, but not enough that you have to stop immediately. And it’s a slow build, so you start feeling the pain long before the end is near, long enough that your brain can get in the way. Today, I find myself forecasting. It’s maybe the 4th or 5th rep, only halfway through, and I start to worry about how much is left. I’m suddenly very aware of everyone at the track, especially those taking pictures. I let it start to agitate me. Stop with the camera, turn away! What if I can’t finish?!

I don’t usually get thoughts like that in the middle of a rep. The goal is to stay too present for the negative predictions. But tempos are just easy enough that my mind can wander. And I’m probably predisposed to a bit more performance anxiety right now. I ignore the mental interruption, or don’t add emotional importance, and focus on each piece individually. By the last set, I’m thinking I could have done one more.

Back to altitude

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Returning to Mammoth means I have to relive the post-race lull for a few days. People ask about my takeaways, I give some lightened version of the last post. There is no escaping the result, and the result is a buzzkill. I want to hide from their questions. I don’t know how to say this except to say it, at this moment I feel like the worst of the group. And when my confidence is strong, I see that as an incredible opportunity; I will never grow more than when pushed by these people. But my confidence is shot right now. A cheap boost would be nice.

I have Tribe of Mentors on my Kindle. It’s a collection of quotes and advice from the guests on the Tim Ferriss podcast. One question I highlighted is: “where do you go when the ego is low?” I believe it’s from a trainer talking about how the best performers will seek to be challenged even when they are down. He says it’s a mark of the good ones that they don’t back away in difficult times, when the first instinct is to run for comfort and reassurance. I’m clinging to that thought now; I can stand this discomfort. I try to not overthink results and just keep moving.

The mountains help. Up here we’re isolated physically, it’s easy to disconnect from news or social feeds and enjoy the camp atmosphere and the training. We are connecting with other runners in town, the Mammoth Track Club hosted us for a group dinner. I’m thankful for the camaraderie and distraction.

Post-race is a daze

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It’s been a few days since the meet, and my outlook is deteriorating. Lauren Paquette is another runner training in Mammoth. I see her on the trip back, and she mentions how says she thinks of post-race emotions as a series of stages, akin to the stages of grief. At first, I’m done — physically spent and sheepish. Then, I’m reassured by Jerry and focused on the positive progress and on Shelby’s breakthrough, maybe denying the sadness of my result. Over the next few hours and days, I move to disbelieve, embarrassment, anger, and the slightest bit of doubt.  

The questions start coming: Am I cut out for this program? Will I thrive under this system eventually, like other people have? What happens if I don’t? I try not to linger too long, but the thoughts do arise. I joined last October, it’s now been seven months, and my results at this point are subpar compared to last year.

I try to reframe my thoughts. Do these results fit in with my greater understanding of how development in this program will work? Yes. Shelby and Courtney both talk with me about how they felt in their first year of racing, they describe a similar, disconcerting, sense of tired legs. It’s helpful to get that first-person perspective. Though the question still lingers: when faced with a series of mediocre results, when do I continue forward with resolve, and when do I reevaluate the underlying assumptions?

I know I’m supposed to be all-in, but my theory of training is that the best results come when you can honestly reflect on what’s working, and what’s not. One size does not fit all. One size doesn’t even fit one, if you take the length of their career, or changes in outside variables. You have to be able to take results (good and bad!) into account, and iterate if necessary. Wait forever and you’ve missed your shot.

But I trust my teammates and their shared experience; I believe this training is a new and needed stimulus, and that my body will respond; and I have faith in this program.  I redirect my questioning from the training to myself. Am I doing everything to support myself in my goals? If I’m going to give this my best shot, the answer has to be yes.

Photo by Al Lacey

Team

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I was thinking more about that last update, and the psychology of working with a coach in the early stages, before you have experienced success in the program. That’s when training partners are more important than ever. 

Physical training of this intensity is hard (understatement!). You are exhausted a lot of the time, and while at altitude camp, you’re mostly isolated from friends, family, partners. And on top of all that, there are no guarantees it will pay off. Improvements at this level don’t come easy. You have to endure months of work without much positive feedback, from a coach or the outside world. It’s a recipe for some depressing moments.

Having teammates in this situation is what makes the setup at all bearable.

When I first joined, I was warned a lot about the trials of the first year with Bowerman. Courtney, Colleen, Shelby, Emily, Amy, everyone had a story about how hard it was at different points, how they weren’t able to finish workouts, and that in itself was a new challenge. So I was at least prepared. But commiserating can be a slippery slope. You want keep the bar at the level of the best of you, not let it fall to the lowest common denominator. I think we do a good job of this. On the workout days, no one is given much sympathy. It’s not that anyone is mean, it’s just that the focus is on the people completing the full session. Which is exactly as it should be. People still working to get to that point (me!) can gain strength knowing that teammates who are crushing it now went through the same growing pains. You aren’t given the chance to wallow or slow down in the pursuit.

And this all makes it sounds so serious, when there is so much fun. We giggle and bond over shared struggles and goals, use humor to deal with hard days. We explore new places together, cook together, share stories. We get on each other’s nerves, but even that turns eventually to jokes. The experience of a training camp is itself unique, and you grow close from sharing it, living with each other’s messes and faults.

A few of us struggled on the tempo mile day. There is power in simply knowing that someone else is going through a similar ordeal. We didn’t talk about it too much, we all went home and kept each other on the same routine: did a second run, shared dinner duties, got up the next day and repeated. Simple. But at a point when I am desperately wanting more approval, from Jerry, from the outside world, from myself and my expectations, I am so thankful for this camaraderie. I want that stuff, my ego wants the validation, but I don’t need it when I have them. And maybe you could say I don’t need training partners, but on this day, it sure as hell makes it easier to keep my head up and keep on the train.

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Altitude camp is underway

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I took two days off to cross train before we left, because heel stuff was getting acute. I’m trying to follow advice I would give myself… catch things early.
Am I being too conservative? Maybe. I tell myself it’s a good mental break regardless, end the sea level stint and prepare (and pack!) for the next training block. ⠀ ⠀
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The opportunities to question your training and lifestyle decisions are never more available than at an altitude camp. You share a house with teammates for 4-8 weeks, spend most of the day training together, eat most meals together. You’re bombarded with examples of how other people do it. How hard they run, do they double, or cross train. What they eat after workouts, what they eat in general. Do they nap or sleep in, read or watch tv, keep busy with lots of projects or protect their down time.⠀
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It’s important to remember that everyone is unique, and what works for one person might not be the answer for someone else. You don’t want to get sucked into the comparison game (see previous posts!!).
But charging ahead with no regard for the knowledge of others is not the way to go, either. Sometimes I can get too bullheaded in that sense. And if I don’t watch it, I miss a learning opportunity.⠀ ⠀
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I don’t know where the line is, between protecting what works for me, and keeping an open mind to the habits and methods of others. Maybe the whole point of this post is that I don’t know a lot of things. Or, a lot of things are unknowable, regardless of how much we would like there to be a scientific and singular right answer. There are so many paths to reach the pinnacle, it can’t be summed up in a one size fits all solution.
So… how does one thrive in an altitude camp, or any working environment, maintaining their principles and also growing where possible? Eep eeppp. That is the question. I’m going to coin my mindset confidently curious. And also carry some version of the serenity prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And *wisdom to know the difference.* 👊🏼