I did some intervals last weekend on my run for the first time in months. The last time I remember doing anything that remotely resembled speed work it was cold and raining. I could have used a little of that. Like a lot of days, I slept later than I should have given Atlanta’s August heat. As I moved around the house, getting out the door for my run, I was already thinking ahead to my afternoon’s activities and planning my day. Walking to the park my mind was on an argument from from the day before and some issues at work that have been taking up too much of my time and energy.
My planned workout (200 meter intervals, with time to walk and jog in between each) shouldn’t have been much of a stretch, but about half-way through I bonked. I honestly didn’t think that was possible after running less than two miles and I tried to make sense of it. Then it hit me: I’d forgotten to eat – I’d had nothing since dinner 14 or more hours earlier. Getting ready to run (and even in the early part of my workout), my mind was a long way from the training I had scheduled for that morning.
‘Mindfulness’ has become a catch-phrase, but I’m more hippie than new-age and haven’t paid the movement more than passing attention. One of the things I enjoy most about running is that it gives me time to think, quiet time for my mind to wander, to work through whatever challenges I’m facing. That might be fine for some runs, those where the only purpose is to put in some miles without concern for how I’m running them. But on this run it became obvious how much being present – focusing on the job at hand – would benefit me.
I’ve been trying to put that into practice this week, but it’s easier said than done. My life is full of distractions, a lot (but certainly not all) of them of my own making. On today’s run I worked hard to stay centered. When my mind wandered to the run that I should have put in yesterday (but didn’t), I reminded myself that the chance was gone, there was no getting it back and no reason to dwell on it. I enjoyed some flat, shady spots on my route. When I went uphill, I did my best not to worry about the next (longer) one along the road. (I did allow myself the luxury of cursing the incline while I was pushing up it.) I focused on my form – which is in desperate need of my attention – and saw how small changes affected how I felt. My mind also wandered a lot, but I noticed it when it did. That’s progress of a sort, I suppose.