A Case of Mediocrity

I really don't care about winning medals as much as my previous posts imply.

Not that it wasn't awesome to win a medal, but I really don't consider myself to be racing against anyone but myself. I have no expectations of awards or prizes and I don't really care about how many other runners I finish ahead of. (Though I admit that I do desperately hope that there were more than 3 people in my age group on Sunday so that my award isn't completely a sham. I do after all, have one last-place medal to my name from a very small 5K.)

I'm out there trying to run the best race I can, and if I can tell myself after crossing the finish line that I've done so, I'm happy with that. My 23:55, bronze medal-winning race on Sunday is my 2nd-fastest 5K ever, but I would rather have run a 23:41 (one second under PR) and finished out of the medals in a bigger field.

Last week, I pulled this quote out of an article about Sammy Wanjiru's victory in the 2010 Chicago marathon:

Sammy Wanjiru has run faster races, he has won more celebrated races, but never has he run a more inspiring race. He proved that even when you are not at 100 percent, you can still give 100 percent of what you have.

I do think I've done this in most of the races I've ever run. Sure, I walked more of the marathon than I wanted, but I was coming off an injury that had cost me my longest training runs. I dogged the Kelly Shamrock 5K on purpose this year because I was tapering. I took the 2008 Orioles Advocates 5K, my first race that year after a bad winter of running, really easy because I knew I was under-trained. I didn't push for my goal time in the Broad St. Run because it was 30 degrees warmer than I anticipated. I've run some 5Ks where I just didn't feel great and was several minutes slower than usual. Still, I think every time I've toed the line, I've run the best race that I could possibly run at the time. I'm satisfied that I've given 100% on race day. This spring it's paid off with three 5Ks in which I did very good or great (by my standards).

The problem, for lack of a better word, is that I know I can be faster. I've always given my best effort on race day. It's the things I haven't done on other days that are the issues. The one place I really feel like I failed in my marathon training was my complete inattention to the speedwork (track workout) portion of the training program. Even before my knee acted up and made it a risk that I didn't feel comfortable taking, I only bothered to attend one of the weekly track workouts. Though I don't really care about how fast I am on marathon day, that track work might have given me a little more endurance to run more of those last four miles. (Instead of pretty much having to alternate running and walking for a few minutes at a time). It would almost certainly lower my 5K times and is probably my only shot at my goal of a sub six-minute mile at Harrisburg.

I've ignored it. I've settled for mediocrity. On one hand, that's ok. This is a hobby. I need to keep it enjoyable (or as enjoyable as possible in the humidity, at least. Ugh!). Adding speedwork will probably take away 1 regular run, and I've had enough trouble getting those in due to a busy work schedule, let alone getting back in a good lifting routine and reacquainting myself with my old bike as I'd planned.

I don't think there's anything wrong with my current approach. I've been unscientific and maybe undisciplined, but I think it's been an honest effort. Running means different things to different people and I think the relaxation and stress relief aspect of it has been more important to me than the competition. With the exception of one summer where all I did was run a 3-mile course over and over again, finishing longer-distance races has generally been more important to me than how fast I got to the finish and my training has reflected that even if I did love to see how fast I could go on race day. This spring I've fallen back in love with the 5K and have been having a good time in my (so far unsuccessful) attempts at new PR and breaking the 23-minute barrier.

I continue with my current approach, I think I probably need to realize that I'm getting very close to the limit of how fast I'll ever be. If I really care about lowering my PRs and taking these lead legs and occasional bronze medal and turning them into gold, then change is needed.

I know I can be faster, but how badly do I want it? I'm not sure that I really know the answer to that question yet, but it's a month and a half before the Harrisburg Mile and I think that's time enough to do some long-overdue experimenting.