February 27, 2014


If it would save you time, consider skipping anything I post on Thursday evening. I ran hard, it will say, and then proceed to espouse the psychological and philosophical benefits of doing so in a group setting. If I'm being honest, there is nothing new to say on the subject. If there is, I haven't discovered it.

And yet.

There is the sensation, soon after such things, that one must share, not because the sensation is unique, but to confirm membership in a community of sorts. I get it, you say. Guys, guys. No, really. Seriously. This is actually cool. The magazine aren't totally full of shit.

Ten miles at a pace that sits between blistering and bliss, sweating profusely in a t-shirt and shorts, despite the 20 degree temperature. Veins throbbing through my neck and forehead at the end, sitting, exhaling, inhaling.

Three before, three after. Per usual. Warm up and cool down, in the most literal sense.

I feel marginally obliterated, at the moment, and very pleased. There is quite a lot to be said for training intelligently, and I think that I do, for the most part. At least, I have some idea of what intelligent training might be, and when I deviate from that, it's knowingly. But there is - if not more - as much to be said for going hard, at times. The kind of hard you wouldn't touch, by yourself.

And again, this is not news. Runners train together, through high school and college. Those that are quite fast continue to do so, if they catch on with an elite club. And, because we can't very well say something "works" otherwise, the Kenyans and Ethiopians famously do it as well.


What I am saying is, it feels very good to be dragged along by a 1:07 half marathoner, because I am not that, will never be that, but will be more fully what I can be with such efforts. And that is satisfying in a way that many of you will know, and what I am saying is that I do too. I hope you're nodding.

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