I was on a diet that my nutritionist friend had recommended, and for the first week it appeared to be working beautifully. But then my tail began to drag. What was wrong? Was I overtrained? Was the diet failing?
After thinking and logicking for several days, I gave up and simply asked for help, “What’s going on?” And the answer came as a quiet intuition: “The diet you’ve been on isn’t giving your body enough vitamin B. Try taking more B and see what happens.” I took an extra B, and the next day I ran for two hours in 100-degree heat and felt fine.
It was a hard, hilly course, and I didn’t want to run it as a death march, so I turned inside at the start and asked for guidance, and the answer came: “Don’t worry about it.”
I set off at a slow pace – the heat! – and felt fine through the first miles, then stopped to fill my water bottles. The next three miles had little shade, but I continued to feel very good, and even picked up the pace.
While I ran, I was thinking about Arthur Lydiard, the legendary coach from New Zealand. I had been seeking answers to questions about my training. I prayed for help, and the next day I wandered into a used book store and found a copy of Lydiard’s 1979 book, Run the Lydiard Way. It answered all my questions. I thought, “Lydiard’s ideas are perfect for me!” But then I thought, “Who guided you to Lydiard?”
Coaches tell us to “listen to our bodies,” but how can we do that? In fact, runners routinely do it badly, ignoring the body’s signals when an emotional whim or attractive new training theory sweeps them away.
I often wonder if the reason we have so much trouble hearing what our bodies are saying is that we’re listening with the wrong instrument. We’re trying to listen with our rational minds; meanwhile, our bodies are speaking to us through our hearts.
Every runner must answer countless questions for which the data are too complex, or too deeply hidden, for the rational mind to grasp. Why am I feeling sub-par? Is it my diet? Sleep? Stress? The weather? The start of illness? It can be difficult to know. Logic is only as good as the data we give it.
I suspect runners would be more inclined to listen to the “inner coach” if they realized how reliable it is. But the source of intuition is shy. In fact, I never receive answers until I ask for them – and then only if I pay careful attention. That source wants to help, but it rarely makes the first move. And it doesn’t cast its guidance into indifferent hearts or wandering minds.
I finished the run feeling light and joyful in spite of the heat – spine straight and relaxed, head high, body energized, running form flowing smoothly. I was filled with gratitude for all that God has given me. More than a body that runs well, His greatest gift is the sweetness of His friendship.
