I ran on trails by San Francisco Bay. Before I started, I prayed to know how to train. I decided I wouldn’t do any fast running until I received a clear signal that it was okay.
After 45 minutes of easy shuffling, I felt it would be all right to do some short repeats to prepare for hard speedwork. After each repeat, my body jogged a bit quicker.
I’m reading Michael Sandrock’s excellent book, Running with the Legends, most recently the chapter on Noureddine Morceli, the greatest middle-distance runner of all time. I was fascinated to learn that on his easy days, Morceli trains as slowly as 10 minutes per mile. Amazing! Yet on his hard days, he’ll generally do 12 x 400m in around 53 seconds, with a 20- to 30-second jog. Equally amazing!
I began doing hard two-minute repeats, running to the limit of my ability, inspired by Morceli. My legs felt heavy, but I persevered, hoping my body would “snap out of it.” Alas, it never happened. I prayed for guidance, and was surprised to hear an intuitive voice that said: “Is this expansive?”
I had to admit: “No, it doesn’t feel expansive.” But I thought, “Well, it’s expansive because it’s forcing my body to get faster – and I do enjoy fast running.” But it was time for the next repeat, and with a pounding heart and racing mind, I was too restless to reflect on the guidance I’d received.
I did twelve two-minute repeats, running them as hard as I could – a difficult workout for my age and condition. The final reps were little more than a fast jog, though I was working as hard as I could.
Afterwards, I was forced to concede that it had been a thoroughly unpleasant run, and that I’d have been much better off following the higher guidance.
I thought, “I didn’t stick to the training that always seems to works for me: being with a long warmup, and when my mind comes to a focus and my body feels ready, run faster, but never so fast that I lose my focus, or my heart feels violated. On that kind of training, I improve steadily and feel pleasantly energized. That’s expansive.
What’s the goal? Surely, not to force my body to get faster at any cost. Speed is secondary; what interests me is finding the training that brings fitness and harmony. By doing what the inner guidance suggests, I make steady progress.
Running twelve hard repeats was the opposite of expansive – a afterward, instead of feeling happy and healthy, I was too tired to work or even watch TV. I could only curl up on the bed and withdraw into my shell. The proof was in the pudding: my training was contractive today.
I got lost in thoughts of Morceli, recalling how his friends say he has no inhibitions when he runs – none of the mental doubts that prevent other talented runners from rising to greatness.
I thought, well, I believe I can run without inhibitions. And in that mindset I began the workout. And it failed, because it wasn’t a question of inhibitions, but of carefully and respectfully attuning my actions to my body’s actual needs.
What did I learn? I learned that I need to remain attuned throughout the run. It isn’t as if God says, “Okay, you’re in tune, you’re focused – now forget about listening and go like blazes!” If that were so, the results would confirm it, but the results today were dreary. Hours after the run, my heart was racing and my mind was heavy with fatigue. Those aren’t the fruits of expansive running.
I’m looking for the kind of training that stimulates my body to improve; that doesn’t dig a hole that my body must crawl out of, groaning and straining, as it painfully rebuilds what it formerly had.
Who wants to live in a hole? Who wants to waste time? I want to train in a manner that doesn’t drain all the oil out of my body, heart, and mind, but builds reserves of health, love, strength, wisdom, and joy.
