Posted: March 7, 2005

Science of Sport: My Cousin Returns, and So Does My Excitement for Training

The Running Research News Weekly Training Update

Hi Everyone,

My cousin recently returned to me after a 37-year break.

Sure, Saga and I had been close friends when we were very young; we saw each other often and had great times together. At my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, we sat together in the church basement, slowly eating the white cake covered with syrupy lingonberries. Later that day, we perched precariously, seat-belt free, on the back seat of Dean Radke's car, exchanging excited (and scared) glances, as he rocketed down the deserted streets of Alta, Iowa. As we walked back to the church from Radke's hot rod, I felt very happy, glad that Saga was my friend. I also realized that she had helped me, a very shy child, make a shocking discovery - that girls were normal people, too, and that it was even possible to converse with them.

But after our adventurous ride with Radke, I didn't speak to her again for 37 years. Her father's work as an army chaplain took her far from my home, to places as diverse as Oakland, Honolulu, Sing Sing, Munich, and Story City. I heard about her many accomplishments from my parents and other relatives, and I was glad that she was doing well, but there never seemed to be enough time to visit her, to write a letter, or even to call her on the phone.

In truth, of course, there was plenty of time to do such things. I avoided communicating with her in part because it felt like a duty - an obligation which would have to be continued. I did not want to add yet another chore to my life.

Two years ago, in a time of need, I called her. Tentatively at first, we began talking about the old times - and about what had happened to us since that distant day in Alta. Without stating the thought openly, we each began to formulate the same question: Could we be friends again?

Of course Saga said some things which bothered me: She stated, for example, that she was really proud to be an Anderson, an affirmation which collided head-on with my feelings that I am an Anderson by accident, not as a result of something which I have accomplished, and that it makes little sense to swell with pride simply because other people with the same name (or even a roughly similar set of genes) do great things.

Magnanimously, I let the Anderson-pride thing go, and I gradually began to realize that Saga is a person who exudes caring and love. I became ashamed of myself, disappointed that I had ignored her for so many years - and then had called her only because I needed something.

Fortunately, we continued to talk on the phone. Normal human interactions are good things in their own right, even when little of an apocalyptic nature transpires during the exchanges. Homo sapiens does not fare well alone, and each peaceful communication with another person contains an element of cohesion which is good for the human soul. Saga and I simply chatted, enjoying the sense of bonding more than the actual words which were vibrating along the phone lines.

In recent months, we have managed to progress beyond this basic cohesion. We have talked about the things which are important to us, about how we are trying to do things to help other people. We have begun an exploration of trust and friendship which seems all-the-more miraculous after our 37-year silence. We are excited about the journey ahead of us.

My history with Saga may have something to say about the successes and failures of runners. When runners perform their workouts out of duty, because they feel they have to complete a certain number of reps on the track or run an absolute number of miles, their training is seldom optimal. As running becomes a regimen, excitement for training diminishes, the ability to complete great workouts fades, motivation sags, key sessions are missed, and performances stagnate.

When training becomes an exploration, however, excitement for specific workouts soars and fitness advances far beyond the usual level, often in great "leaps" of lactate-threshold lifting and economy enhancement. At its best, training is highly varied and interesting, and each session involves an attempt to answer an important question, to solve an important mystery about oneself: Can I really run these hills faster than I have done before? Can I hold my pace for just one more mile? Can I get more bounce out of each stride and spend less time interacting sluggishly with the ground? Can I really pull off this challenging, new, explosive workout?

Often, the questions to be answered are focused on competitive situations: Will I be in the top five in my AG? Can I beat my long-time nemesis? Can I PR in this race? However, as a great basketball coach once pointed out, the outcome of competitive situations hinges most-fundamentally on one's competition with himself/herself. What he meant was that full preparation for a competitive event involves the optimization of both mental and physical fitness - and then the ability to "take off the brakes" and put forth a complete and undeterred effort during the competition itself, using up every last bit of stamina and energy. This possibility of exploring one's inner character, discipline, determination, and overall "fire" makes competitions all-the-more exciting and rewarding.

In short, running is a mysterious journey that we take not just to beat other people or to stay in reasonable physical shape - but to find out more about ourselves. Like a ride in Radke's car, it is exciting - and at times a little scary. If it becomes humdrum, if its mysteries fade and questions are no longer asked, running ceases to be an exploration and no longer leads to important discoveries and lofty peaks of performance. When running is perceived as an obligation, the all-important communication lines with one's inner self can fall silent.

Saga's current home, Tulsa, is just a 90-minute flight from Detroit; I plan to visit her soon. She is waiting to see what kind of friend I really am.

Here in Lansing, there is a 150-meter hill with a 12-percent inclination waiting for me, standing by to see what I can do. I plan to visit it this afternoon to find out what kind of shape I am in, and I am pretty geeked about the encounter. If the hill wins, trounces me thoroughly, I'll still be excited: In fact, I'll be putting together plans for a return visit. If Saga and I can make a comeback after 37 years, I can do wonderful, unexpected things with my running - and so can you!

With very kindest regards,

Owen Anderson