What it's worth

I'm currently in training for the May 10 Mississauga Marathon. This has probably been this most demanding (largely self-imposed) training I've ever done, and lately it has me wondering how we value our accomplishments and those of others. I'm up to 45-50 miles per week right now, and I've been diligently lifting weights and doing core work twice a week. I've also been forcing myself to do 2x20 lunges after two of my runs every week to strengthen my quads (and therefore my knees and downhill running ability), and sometimes I think that this is actually the most difficult aspect of my training; I've never quite experienced rubber legs like those brought on by walking lunges after a 7 or 8 mile run. Happily, my efforts seem to be paying off: my times up hills and in speed intervals are a wee bit faster than they've ever been, and every second saved per mile is a big deal when you multiply it by 26.2. For the first time in my life, I actually have noticeable definition to my arms, which pleases me to no end when flexing in front of my mirror at home. My knees don't ache like they used to after a long run. I'm hoping that all of this will lead to a PR at Missy.

Still, I could be doing more: I don't stretch enough after runs (I'd rather drink my coffee); I haven't done yoga in months (boring); and I could easily stand to do another one or two core workouts per week (but at least I'm doing two right now). And if I really want to be a stronger, faster, more resilient runner, I know that I could add exercises like plyometrics to the mix. I never watch what I eat or drink, but I'm certain that, if I did, I'd probably lose five pounds and, in turn, five minutes off my PR. After reading about Kara Goucher's weekly training schedule in this month's Runner's World (110 miles per week, plus loads of strength work to boot), what I'm doing seems rather unimpressive indeed.

In some respects, I'm not that concerned. I'm not, after all, training for the Olympics, let alone hoping to win my age group in a race. I'm relatively fit, I never miss a workout, and I see modest improvements year after year. Why should I compare myself to Kara Goucher, a supremely gifted professional who devotes all of her time and energy to running? Are my accomplishments as a runner worth less because I'm simply not as fast and don't train as much or as hard, and no major sports brand would ever pay me to wear their clothing line? Or are they, perhaps, worth more, at least to me, because everything I've accomplished thus far has been against the odds?

Ten years ago, I would never have dreamed of calling myself an "athlete." (That still feels like a bit of an overstatement, but perhaps describing myself as "athletic" isn't so far from the truth.) Sports have never come naturally to me. I'm not very coordinated, I'm rather slow on the track, and I wasn't blessed with a naturally svelte physique. I've always been the academic one who got straight As and full scholarships. But I realize now, after 7+ years of running devotion, that, because I never had to struggle in school, it never brought me the same level of satisfaction as I now get through running. I feel absolutely heroic after I've run a "practice" 22 mile race on a Saturday morning or sprinted repeatedly up hills at 6 am in the freezing cold of winter. Every run is a challenge; every mile logged a victory. It is often the most difficult part of my day, and is therefore the most rewarding. I may not be that speedy and I could certainly always be doing more, but it's no secret that the first time I qualified for Boston ranks as the second most important day of my life (behind getting engaged to my husband, and ahead of actually marrying him; my husband knows this and, I think, understands).

It's wonderful to be naturally gifted at school or sports or music or art, and those gifts, when leveraged appropriately, can take one far in life. To others, they may seem to be the most impressive thing about a person. But a true sense of accomplishment, at least for me, has been found where I would have least expected it. Running has taught me that the things at which I have to try the hardest are usually the ones that will bring me the greatest joy.