Translating running goals to real life

In one of the commercials he reads for his podcast, “Revisionist History,” author Malcolm Gladwell, who also likes to run, muses that maybe he spends too much time thinking about sneakers and running. He doesn’t make his living with his arms and legs, he explains, but his head and his heart.

In a similar boat, I’m having to justify to myself why I spend so much of my free time not just running, but in the depths of running Youtube channels and running books.

It’s a longshot, bucket-list kind of thing to maybe one day qualify for the Boston Marathon. So let’s call it a goal. Or even to just run a marathon under 4 hours. But, to be sure, neither of those things are why God put me here.

When I think about what I want and need and am actually supposed to do with my life, I can give you goals like being a dad that makes my kids’ lives better and expands their potential; a husband that is just as ambitious; to keep my hometown newspaper going into retirement and beyond; to put to use the writing gifts God hardwired into my brain into publishing a book that affects people. 

So why is it that a considerable chunk of my head’s processing power is consistently churning away at running?

Probably because running goals are much more consumable, digestible, even, in some ways, achievable. While physically it’s so much harder, mentally and emotionally it’s so much easier.

For example, I’m hoping to run a half-marathon in October, and in doing so, I hope to do it faster than I ever have before.

I have never been capable of running 13.1 miles in under one hour and 50 minutes, but each day, my Garmin watch feeds me manageable workouts that will likely stair-step me to a personal record.

As someone who came to running later to lose weight, to get healthier and prolong my life, I didn’t know you could do any of that — train to not only complete races, but improve your outcomes — until I decided to tackle a marathon. To run that far, you need a plan. You have to carefully design several days of training every week, building and building and building each week, until eventually you’ve gone from being able to run 26.2 minutes to 26.2 miles. 

Some people, when you tell them you ran a marathon, it’s unfathomable. It might as well be a jog to the moon. But you just take it, literally, one step at a time. From lamppost to lamppost; or sidewalk crack to sidewalk crack. Run the mile you’re in, they say; you can’t run the 25.2 others until you have.

Which is, as I work to break down what I’ve learned in running, to translate and apply it to the goals I’ve actually been put on this planet for, maybe the top lesson.

1. Break your big important goal into smaller, bite-sized, manageable goals.

In marathon training, maybe you start with a goal of running 22 miles in the first week, then 25 in the second, climbing each week, until the end you hit 40 or so; I’m working the same way with writing.

In John Steinbeck’s “Writing Days,” he talks about this. Having goals of a thousand words a day, or a few pages. At the moment, a thousand in a day can be a bit much, but I’ve learned, like running, to build. You don’t sit down to write 100,000 words. The first day, shoot for a couple hundred. A couple days later, 500. Then 1,000. Even sticking to 500 words, if you start writing in January, by July, you can easily have a book.

2. Form habits. 

A lot of people talk about dreading workouts, but I’ve found that if I do it at the same time every day, if you make a habit of it, you do it without thinking. When I smoked, I popped one in my mouth and lit it without thinking. When I guzzled pop, I’d pop the top and guzzle without thinking.

We just have to use the same slippery slope for good. Instead of packing a pack of cigarettes without thinking, slip on a pair of running shoes, or chug a preworkout drink. 

I’ve set a daily alarm on my watch for midnight. Around that time, my wife goes to bed and when the alarm goes off, it’s loud enough to shake me out of my haze. Experts will tell you to have a space devoted to your habit. Like, with running, you go outside, or you hit the treadmill. I don’t have an office, which means I do most of my writing on the coach, a space devoted to Netflix and napping. So, I’ve found when I’m on best streaks, when that alarm goes off, I get up, remove myself from the space, walk on the treadmill for a bit, then come back. If I just pop open the laptop without taking the literal extra steps, too often I just stare at it. 

Getting the habit started, and at the beginning, that should be the goal — consistency — can be the hardest part. Once it starts, your brain will  start subconsciously gearing up to write even before the alarm goes off..

But while nicotine-fueled habits are hard to kill, good habits are often hard to keep alive. Keep the inertia going. Hit the habit every day. Because once you stop, in my experience, there’s a good chance your habit dies. Fear that death.

3. Don’t give up.

In running, they say the first mile is a liar.

It takes a while for the body to warm up and find some kind of efficiency. Until then, and often after, a part of my brain will chirp away about how it shouldn’t feel this hard. Or that it’s too hot to run today. Or how a nap might be more enjoyable.

The same goes for writing. As soon as I get that laptop open, a small portion of my brain is putting together words for whatever column, article or book I’m working on, but a louder portion is letting me know that I might be tired. And feeling more tired. Or might need a snack. It will remind me how great the show I was just watching was, or how long my day was and how I deserve a break.

Don’t give up. One foot after the other, or word after word. Even if you have to walk, you’re still getting closer to your goal.

The only way to fail, they say, is to quit.

Similarly, it seems, just like it takes a little while to get my heart rate up and my muscles interested in moving, it takes 10 minutes or so for my brain to find and light up the neural pathways I’ve built to facilitate writing.

Be patient. Don’t give up. Just keep moving. 

I’ve focused on running and writing because they’re applicable to me, but also because they’re quantifiable.

Being a better dad is a little more difficult. But I think there’s still ways to apply the lessons.

For example, being a better dad has a lot to do with spending time with your kids. So maybe you quantify that by spending at least a day a week doing something that means a lot to them, then two. Maybe that’s riding bikes or playing my daughter’s favorites, ninja turtles and Barbies. Or spending 10 minutes a night with them on homework, then 20 minutes and half an hour.

I am not a patient teacher. It’s something I’ll have to work up to, but something I can accomplish.

As for a better husband, my wife’s love language is touch. Massages and shoulder rubs are something that mean the world to her, and something I don’t do enough. I should set a goal of doing it every week, at least once a week. My hands get tired, and I get bored, but if I focus on how much it means to her, and keep plodding away. Once a week, then maybe twice a week.

Good luck with your goals, and I’ll keep working on translating what works in running to what works for the rest of my life.