My Counterintuitive Motivation

I fired the abusive coach in my head

Photo by Janusz Walczak on Unsplash

As it was

I ran with a new sense of joy this week, and I’d like to share it with you. As with most things in life, it started in my head.

Coaches exist to get us further than we can go on our own. Usually, that is in the context of working to help a team improve. There are goals for both the individual and the collective. We are measured against our teammates as we vie for playing time, and then we compete against others.

The coach is judged by his win/loss record. He or she may take your individual contribution to their success very seriously. Thus, they drive you to lift heavier weights, post quicker times, and do more reps.

The root of most motivation is competition. First, you compete against yourself. If you started the season running seven-minute miles, you peel away the seconds, elated at progress, deflated by setbacks. Those little mental rewards become the carrot and the stick: run faster, feel the joy, run slower, poke yourself with guilt.

Your emotional outlook is determined by your progress, or lack thereof. When you join a team or even a group of runners, you invite a new set of voices into your training. Both teammates and coaches contribute to the narrative in your head. Still, the emphasis is on improvement, which is defined by faster times and longer distances.

No one progresses along that journey at a steady, uninterrupted arc, but that’s the standard we, and others, hold ourselves to. The results can range from winning trophies to walking away from the sport.

Good athletes tend to be hard on themselves. They choose trainers who will push them. They set expectations that the rest of the population would find insane. Pushing through pain, injuries, and obstacles, they soldier on.

At some point in life, we become our only coach. We employ the methods we learned from others who trained us. “It worked on me in the past,” we reason, “it should work now.”

Many of us never stop to consider that there are different schools of thought in coaching. The old school is steeped in negativity: pushing, guilting, driving. You run to stay ahead of punishing words, thoughts, and consequences.

What if there’s a better way, or at least a way to improve without feeling like you will never measure up?

What it becomes

Long after their prime years are behind them and the award ceremonies are over, runners need new motivation to continue running. Or, maybe, they never competed against others and simply took up the sport later in life to improve their mental and physical health. Something has to get them out of bed early or urge them to run late in the day.

Motivation is key. It separates the millions who start running from the few who make it a lifelong habit. In the first quarter to a third of your life, quicker times may be your pursuit. But everyone turns a corner; they can’t avoid the loss of the ability to run faster forever.

You can choose to keep pushing for what won’t come, and some do. Maybe that was me for a while. I’m in a new season now. I leave the stopwatch at home. I run, but I no longer push myself. There are times I’m surprised by my pace, and times I consciously tell myself to slow down.

Why? Why would any runner settle for less than their body is willing to give? I’m now running for the long haul. Having a good run today isn’t enough. I want to be out there again, and again.

At the beginning of this week, my goal was to run three 3½ mile runs. This morning was the third one of those. Both prior runs were on unusually hot mornings for this time of the year. Normally, that’s a real dread of mine. Permitting myself to take a shortcut if I started to feel unusually stressed, I started each day with a relaxed pace.

To my surprise, I enjoyed those runs more than most. The old me would have scolded myself for even considering taking the short way home. Under this new paradigm, giving myself that permission brought a new freedom — a freedom that helped me run strong and finish the whole course.

What it is

It rained all night last night and was still going at it this morning. I took a variety of rain gear to the gym. I settled on a baseball cap, windbreaker, reflective vest, shorts, and an older pair of running shoes.

I’ve run in the rain plenty of times, but today was one of those kinds of rains farmers pray for, especially on a year like this one where the weather dudes and dudesses keep crying about drought conditions. After 40 years of running, I was too excited about getting out there to be deterred.

The right worship song hitting the radio as I pulled into the parking lot further inspired me. It felt like my ever-present Running Partner was more excited to hit the street than I was.

Once again, I had a shortcut in mind if the wind and rain proved to be too abusive. The worst part of runs like this is hitting a deep puddle and soaking my socks. Before I was out of the lot, my socks were soaked, which made me laugh and permitted me not to dodge any of the remaining thousands of puddles ahead of me. Like a schoolboy, I splashed through them, letting out a loud “Woo-hoo!” when the water hit my thighs and crotch.

There I was, an old man acting like a child. It was freeing, invigorating, and wonderful. That’s right, it wasn’t just doable, it was fun. I’m running better than I have for a while, and it’s all because I’m no longer approaching it as if my life or worth depends on it. Strange, right?

The forecast is calling for a chance of rain every day for the next week. I can hardly wait. It’s a good thing I run in the dark, or someone might have me committed. If you’ve been struggling lately, why not try not taking it so seriously?

Happy running!