Running Past Phoenix: Three Insights from My (1st) Marathon Year

“The pain of training is nothing compared to the pain

of not reaching your potential.”

~Josh Cox

"When did you run the marathon in Phoenix?"

"January."

"Wow, look what you've accomplished in a year!"

"Pfft."

"No, seriously. Think about it."

This conversation took place as Julia and I crossed a parking lot to our favorite Chinese restaurant. Since it is the time of year when we tend to reflect on the last twelve months, I’ve been following orders and thinking about it—not so much what I’ve accomplished, but what I’ve learned. In January, I was a guy who ran a few times a week and thought completing a marathon would be cool. (And because I ran that first 26.2 in Phoenix, I can say, “Oh yeah, I’ve run with Josh Cox!”) Now, I’m a runner, pursuing my hobby with as much passion as I do my profession. I’m aware of this shift, this result of at least three insights collected on the journey.

• Running is an exercise in self-discipline. Sure, this includes getting up and getting out there, but it reaches beyond donning technical fabric and task-specific shoes.Honestly, just about anyone can muster that much self-discipline. Stretching to achieve goals, however, requires sustained attention. Training gives every run a purpose, and how I run needs to match the run’s intent. I’m learning that I need to attend to more than distance. Pace matters. Form matters. Nutrition matters. Even what I do on my non-running days matters. Thankfully, running also strengthens my self-discipline. Research suggests this is more than an insight. Fitness contributes several cognitive benefits, including greater self-regulation ability. When I’m forced to miss runs due to injury or a travel schedule, I can tell. My emotions lie closer to the border of irritation than contentment, and my concentration abilities suffer. I runas much for my mental health as my physical health (which really is a false dichotomy since we have embodied brains).

• No substitutes exist for a good “fan” and a good guide. A card that sits on my desk reads, “Your art and my art go hand in hand.” Behind the words lie a series of photographs. Close-ups, from various angles, of my running shoes. My “fan,” is a photographer, one whose support makes the occasional craziness of running possible. When I need three hours (or more) on a Saturday morning for a long run, my wife encourages me and asks, “How was your run?” when I return home. When I suggest running a race that requires travel, Julia investigates potential, photo-worthy subjects in the area. And she’s always there, at the finish line, camera in hand, chronicling and cheering my efforts. A good fan can be the infrastructure of goal achievement.A good guide takes you places you weren’t sure you could go, never doubting your potential to get there. I know many runners who find the go-it-alone approach works for them, but I’ve experienced the benefit of having an expert focus on my goals and training. Though I began working with a coach out of frustration, I now find this collaboration contributes to the joy of running. Many think the main benefit is accountability. Sure, it’s good to have someone watching over your shoulder, but this is a rather negative perspective of a positive partnership. A good coach invests in a runner—invests time, energy, expertise, and ongoing strategizing. Training is more about continual adjustment and refinement than rigid plans, and an effective coach helps a runner make the necessary tweeks. I know, without an iota of doubt, that I am a better, stronger, and more passionate runner because of the investment my coach has made.
  
  One of the most re-tweeted posts I’ve contributed to the Twitterverse reads, “There may be nothing more powerful that you can give another than your belief in his potential.” A “fan” and a guide—believers you need on your side.

• Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the feeling of achieving a goal. I wrote previously about my ping-ponging emotions as I crossed the finish line of my second 26.2, the ING Hartford Marathon. Crossing the finish line is not the sole source of these emotions. It’s more the recognition and appreciation of the work it took to get to that finish line, the work that took place before race day. I’ll never forget my wife finding me in the finish area and asking, “Was it worth it, all those early mornings?” No hesitation. “Yes!” Working for something and seeing it happen changes you. Even though my major running achievement puts me squarely in the average bracket of marathon runners (3:55), it still required a price, and it still paid rewards. One reason I’m still running and chasing goals is to experience it all again. I frequently say, “I’m fine if such-and-such running goal is beyond my reach, but I don’t want the regret of having not tried.” I’m still learning, still growing, still striving to discover my potential. And this process is exhilarating.

Yesterday, UPS delivered a new pair of running shoes. My usual shoes lay beneath the orange lid. Nothing new. Same brand, same model, same size. I ordered the same color I had a pair ago, so I already knew exactly what the shoes looked like. Still, I opened the box, thinking, “We’re a long way from Phoenix. Hope you’re ready for what’s next.” I’m not sure it was the shoes that I was talking to.

Why Run 26.2 Miles?

Believe it or not, this is only the second most popular question I get asked. The most popular? “What do you think about when running that far?” That question is a modern inquiry, I think. Our world offers us so little sustained reflection time that we no longer know how valuable such time can be or what we would do with it. Runners cherish the time and know how beneficial it can be for dealing more effectively with every other area of life. Our forefathers who were runners probably only had to deal with the question at hand: why run a marathon?

My first marathon was all about finishing. So many times I had begun training for the distance, and so many times I had quit before paying a race registration fee. I believed I wanted to meet the challenge, but my desire for ease overcame my discipline. Was I so mentally weak that I could not dig deep enough to find the discipline to finish what I started? Oh, I had excuses, and I offered them anytime anyone asked how my training was going. Work. Travel. Alabama weather. The justifications sounded valid, as if my only course of action was to quit. In January, when I finally stood at the starting line in Phoenix with thousands of others, I realized I had already finished the hardest part: the preparation.

When I finally crossed the actual finish line, my wife was elated. “You did it!” she said excitedly, camera in hand ready to catch a victory smile. I shook my head. “I know I can do that faster,” I grumbled. I thought the camera was about to become an assault weapon. “What? Are you kidding me? You just ran 26 miles!” I relaxed. She was right. Finishing that day was my only goal, and I had done it.



So, why, after reaching goal, do I want to run the ING Hartford Marathon? Because it is no longer about finishing. I have proven that to myself. Now it is about potential. I want to achieve the possible and know that I have pushed myself to the point of being my best.



Returning from Phoenix, I thought this would be easy. I knew how to train for the distance. How hard would it be to just run it quicker? My optimism dissipated as my running fluctuated wildly within the range of mediocrity. This brought me face-to-face with a humbling reality. I needed someone to help me. I could not, on my own, figure out how to reach my potential.

Again, my wife spoke wisdom before my ears were ready to hear her words. “Why don’t you get a coach?” Am I that pathetic—that I need someone with a clipboard and whistle to scream verbal abuse while I run mind-numbing laps around a track? (You could accurately describe my views of coaches as archaic!) But then my mind replayed snippets from my first marathon. There were coaches along the course—coaches who stepped out and ran a few paces with their runners, offering encouragement and advice. I liked what they did so much that I wanted to be one! But at this point, I needed one.

A bit of searching brought me to information on a local running coach. I contacted him, and he responded with an application. That’s right, an application—like what you might fill out for a potential employer. Wait a minute, I thought. This seems backwards. I completed the paperwork and sent it back to him. I was so frustrated that I expected bad news. I believed he would look at my responses and say something like, “I’m not the right coach for you.” (In ending relationships, this line is “It’s me, not you.”)

His reply could not have been more different. “I’d love to work with you,” he said. “Let’s meet after this race next Saturday. You are running it, right?” Well, I was now. Meeting my coach apparently required a 15k run. “Great! Your finishing time will give me some more data to work with.” I groaned, imagining him standing at the finish, looking at his watch, and wondering, “Where is he?”

We met. He had finished the race several minutes before I had, but he was gracious. “That’s a respectable time for this course,” he said. “Now, let’s talk about your running and where you want to go with it.”

Working with a coach has been good for more than my running. Yes, I am improving and even getting faster. He thinks my potential is greater than I do, which is both encouraging and challenging. He gets on my case for getting down on myself and provides a more nuanced and balanced long view. In short, he helps me focus on the finish and not the potholes in the road. He educates, strategizes, and keeps me moving forward.

So, back to the original question: why am I excited about running in Hartford?

Yes, I am running for me. I do not want to regret never achieving what I could in this area of growing interest. And, in some small part, I am running for my coach. I want to perform as he believes I can—not to gain his approval, but to validate his excellent work. And I am running for my wife. She always supports my pursuits, and if I finish even a minute faster this time around, she will be initiating reason.

So bring on the New England fall colors and let’s run! Let’s discover what we CAN do because we’re told too often what we can’t. And as we run, may thoughts of gratitude for those who helped us get to the starting line bring on that beautiful tension of looking back while pressing ahead that can only running allows.

See you at the start line!

Purple and Pink: Marathon Reflections

I can check it off my list. Yesterday I ran my first full marathon, the Rock & Roll Marathon in Phoenix, AZ. It didn’t unfold exactly as I had imagined it, but it was still an incredible experience. The last sign I saw before the finish line read, “You are no longer just a runner. You are now a marathoner!” I’m not sure I feel like a marathoner, but it’s a cool thought.

Two some-what related incidents from the marathon made a lasting impression on me.

The first involved a number of participants running the race in purple tops. These runners participate in the The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s “Team in Training” program and use their training and marathon run to help raise money for continued research on these devastating diseases. That alone is impressive—the physical training they endure for a cause that benefits others.

But it was the coaches in this program who really made an impression. They were an almost constant sight along the route, and they’d eagerly abandon the role of spectator each time one of their runners appeared. They’d run alongside their runners, inquiring about everything—how the runner was feeling, what the runner was thinking—and then offer an appropriate encouragement and word of advice for that point in the run. They were easily as excited by their runners’ accomplishments as the runners themselves. They worked to equip and empower individuals who ran to equip and empower others in much more significant struggles. These runners and coaches formed a community within the morning’s larger community of runners.

The second incident was both personal and fleeting. Somewhere around the 22-mile mark I hit a low point. I ran a strong first fifteen, and then I started to feel the presence of the proverbial wall—that point where a runner feels like he’s running the that day’s last steps. At seventeen, a pace group passed me. This was a bit defeating, but when a second pace group passed me at the 22-mile mark, I was really feeling defeated. (I know—it was my first marathon and finishing should have been my focus and source of contentment. It is, honestly!) I slowed to a walk and hung my head in frustration. About ten seconds into my self-pity party, a woman ran by me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said, “You can do this.” I thanked her as she ran by. I never saw her face. I only know she wore pink and spoke to me on her way by. (If angels run marathons, this on

e had her halo concealed.) I wanted her to be right, and that helped me find the motivation and strength to finish.

Distance running is largely an individual sport that generates an often-gracious running

community. I find the dichotomy intriguing. The goodwill and genuine hope for someone else’s success is unlike any sport-related experience I’ve had. It enables me to converse with people 180° different from myself and to feel immediately like I know something about my fellow runner—more of an understanding than I sense when I meet someone from my profession or organizational affiliations. I’ll leave it to the social scientists to assess the validity of this sense, but evidence of its existence was on full display at yesterday’s marathon.

And I, thankfully, benefitted from it.

Lady runner in pink, whoever and where ever you are, thank you! The power of a pat on the back and an encouraging word should never be underestimated. I think the runners in purple would agree.