(Third in a series.)
So much of running is an individual pursuit that the fear of
running in isolation doesn’t seem to make much sense.
Yet there it is.
Not isolation while training on a breathtaking trail. That’s
bliss. The issue here is isolation of the race variety. Watching the pack pull
away right from the start, your confidence escaping into oblivion like a lost
helium balloon. Or even worse, the idea—even the faintest possibility—of being
flat-out finished before the finish line, dragging across with a gasping lack
of decorum as polite bystanders try to look away.
These are not views brimming with optimism. So taking a turn
for the positive by trying to adopt the tactic of running negative splits makes
sense. Except that nothing in this sport is as easy as it sounds.
“Don’t go out too fast.” Yes, I’ve heard that one. And
contemplated it. And tried to practice it. But fully grasping the concept of
slower, even if just at the outset, remains tangled with the enduring quest to
be faster.
Experience, I hope, will help resolve the paradox. After
only two Downtown Miles and a few timed miles at TRF practices, embracing both
ends of the distance is still as elusive as that “two trains going in opposite
directions” algebra problem I never solved. Each time, I try to run the first
half slower, but it’s faster, and the second half is more like the second
three-fifths.
Yeah, that makes sense.
Zen. Algebra. I think it’s time for a run to clear my head.
I’ll try starting out a little easier … .
