Posted by
Laura Parson on
It’s beginning to look a lot like the off-season! The interwebs is full of off-season running tips this week, whilst I’m finally ramping up for my next FKT attempt in December. If you have FOMO, hit me up and I’ll tell you about how you can virtually join or support the next speed record attempt.
Posted by
Olive on
I checked the temperature on my iPhone again to see if it had changed in the last 30 seconds. Nope, still 18 degrees. Sighing, I pulled up my socks, reluctantly put on my shoes, started my podcast and headed out the door for a 6-mile easy run. I turned left out of my driveway and began to climb the giant hill. Quads burning, eyes watering and nose running, I audibly groaned. “Why am I doing this to myself?” I thought as I wiped my nose on my glove. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”
Ah, running. It’s our biggest hobby and also our biggest pain in the ass. We knew it was hard when we started. All of us can remember the days when a mile was a huge accomplishment and we thought we’d have shin splints and blisters forever. We even enjoy the hard part. There’s nothing better than that feeling of accomplishment after nailing a hard workout, or finding that point in a workout when it goes from being impossible to manageable.
But what happens when running is ALWAYS hard? When we never find that sweet spot and every run is a struggle? Do we push through and keep suffering for its own sake? And if so, why?
Posted by
Pimento on
Junk miles. You know, the runs where you run with no particular purpose in mind: no workout, or necessary distance even, at whatever pace you want. We’ve written about them before, and explained why it’s important to avoid them because they might be keeping you from your goal of getting faster. But, um, what if you need a break from that one-track-minded getting faster thing, of hitting a determined number as you cross a finish line? What if junk miles feel right?
What if what you actually need in your life are more junk miles?
Posted by
Pimento on
We’ve all made the comparison between running and drugs before, that ubiquitous term “runner’s high” refers to that rush of endorphins our brains release during or after a run. It’s that feeling that keeps us pounding the pavement in search of more.
We need our daily fix, we freak out if we can’t run, and we do all sorts of crazy things to fit the miles in, like getting up in essentially the middle of the night to run, missing out on girls’ night out, or skipping a shower … again.
But is running actually addictive like that? Do we love running or are we hooked on our own feel-good chemicals, chasing an ever-harder-to-reach high as the miles increase our tolerance, so we constantly need to go further, or faster, or on new terrain to obtain that same buzz?
The research is out there, and the answer is yes. That edgy, moody, fidgety feeling you experience if you’ve gone too long without running is called withdrawal. Read more >>
Posted by
Coriander on
I still can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened. I don’t remember a specific day or run where it hit me. There was no voice in my head, no doctor or coach or friend telling me what was happening. It just happened. I was burnt out, overtrained and sick of running.
It all happened gradually, a slippery slope. I had come off an amazing 2014, when I had several podium finishes at ultras and even a win at my first 100K. It was Christmastime and life seemed pretty good. I was starting to bump up the mileage again in anticipation for the Sean O’Brien 50 mile in early February. It was going to be my first time in California and first time out west. I was pretty excited to crush it. Then at our annual waterfalls run, a local trail run in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park along which runners take photos with waterfalls and enjoy the day after Christmas running with friends, I was finishing up the run and started feeling a sharp pain in my right hip. By New Year’s Eve, I could barely walk, sit, stand, put on pants or do anything without pain. It should have been a sign; I needed a break. Worse still, I was on the brink of overtraining.
