Insecurities #4- Talking

This is a series I've thought about writing for quite some time now, and I hope it can be uplifting to anyone who can relate with the content. The amount of mental toughness it takes to be a serious distance runner is absolutely absurd, but with it comes mental struggles that can be equally absurd. I want to start writing typing about some of the mental struggles I've experienced and how I've worked through them. Of course, some will have encountered these same problems, some even worse than what I have had, but nonetheless they can be related to most people, I believe. With that, let's jump in to round 4.

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Person: “Do you run on the track team?”
Me (oh no): “Yeah I do”
Person: “So do you like run the 400?”
Me (I can see where this headed, and I don’t like it): “No, I’ve been running the mile the last few years, but now I’m moving up to the 3k and 5k.”
(I can predict the next question every time)
Person: “So how fast can you run a mile?”

There it is- the dreaded question. I now know that I have backed myself into a corner enough to where there is no escape. I have two options- try to sidestep the question or tell the truth. I choose the former.

Me: “Well, do we want to include altitude-converted times or not?” I’m hoping that by evading the direct question by bringing up a topic many people don’t know about, I can burn enough time to actually save myself. Usually this doesn’t work, because people don’t care about conversions; they just want to know the answer. We parse back and forth, but eventually it gets back to:

Person: “So how fast can you run a mile?” Checkmate. I brace myself and quickly stammer out:
Me: “Well I’ve run 4:09 at sea level.”

WWWHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTT. Are you serious? I don’t think I could break 8 minutes in the mile right now!

Or

I don’t even think I can drive that fast! Hahahaha

I sit there, turning red. I try to explain how this time is still a full 10 seconds above what I would need to run to even be considered a threat on a stage bigger than the Midwest, but it's too late. I’ve had this conversation plenty of times, and it all jumps back to the fact that everybody had to the run the mile in school growing up. This is a special distance that Americans can relate to, because most people have some sort of an idea how fast their mile time was, and how far a mile is anyway. We speak in terms of miles when driving, for example. This is such an insecure topic for me, because many people find it abnormal.

In many sports, athletes put in BIG hours. Nobody is surprised when the athlete shows up wearing workout sweats with the complementary ice bag, because it is assumed that they just got done with a long practice. Many people even remember those days themselves. Well, 3 hours of practice isn’t that big of a deal, they’ll say, because back when I was in high school etc etc. People can relate with long, hard practices. Many people know about drills, weightlifting, locker room banter, and teammate bonding, and so it’s a lot easier for them to understand the life of that athlete. I have never encountered that sort of understand from a random person.

When I try to describe my training to someone who doesn’t run competitively or didn’t run competitively, I usually don’t get an understanding nod with an interjecting ‘when I was in high school’, but rather wide, speculative eyes. When I say I’m running around 75-80 miles a week, people ask why I would even want to do that. When I tell them about the workout I just finished, they say that’s crazy. When I tell them my races times, they simply shake their heads and remember how much they hate running. I think this is the reason I’ve started spending more time reading about professional and high-level college runners on running websites. There, people talk about training with the full understanding that if you’re reading it or listening to it, you probably care.

What carves away at me the most though, is when people believe that I don’t care about their training or racing because I’m faster. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been talking to someone and they are telling me about some aspect of their training, and they eventually say, “but you probably don’t care about any of this”. It’s almost offensive in a way, because I put all of this time and effort into training, and when I’m listening to somebody share their experiences, they all of a sudden feel like they aren’t good enough. I love listening to people talk about these things, because I personally know how hard it is to find someone who will just listen to you talk about your training without getting googley-eyed. I enjoy listening to my little brother talk about his high school training, because maybe he doesn’t get to do that often. (completely unrelated, not in any way associated with my little brother’s high school team sidenote: if you’re a high school coach and a bunch of your athletes have shin splits and are exhausted from your training, you’re probably overtraining them. If they don’t run well at a meet, don’t make them run more in practice the next week)

So what am I getting at? Well, the insecurity I’m writing about this time is the fear I have of discussing my training with people who don’t run or train. The reactions I get from people, either non-caring or astounded, are actually disheartening. It’s refreshing to have someone who I can sit down with and talk training without expecting some crazy reaction. Maybe this post sounds really whiny, and maybe I sound like a high-and-might type that’s a little out of touch with reality, but the words I write are still true. My thesis is this: Be excited to talk about your passions without fear, and be equally excited to listen to others talk about their passions without fear. Not only will you learn a lot from each other, but you might have a reignition in your passion because of seeing a friend chase theirs. I get a fire burning in my soul whenever I talk about my passions, and I’m willing to bet you do too. Just let it out; I promise it’ll feel dang good. 

Blessings,

Nate