4 Lessons Running Taught Me About Myself
By: Richard White
Tags: Fitness, Running, Health, Inspiration, Motivation

Photo by Andrea Leopardi on Unsplash

“Pick ‘em up, put ‘em down.”

That’s an oft-repeated line in the book “The Long Walk” by Stephen King, writing as Richard Bachman.

For the unfamiliar, the book is set in a Hunger Games-esque society where all boys, from the age of 16, can enter into The Long Walk. There’s a generous prize for doing so, but the punishment for failure is death.

How long is the walk?

Until there’s only one walker left.

Let me be clear, I’m under no illusions that my runs are comparable. After all, I can stop and go home whenever I like. That’s precisely what makes my runs challenging — by having no external motivation to keep going, the decision to push on or call it a day is entirely mine.

So, I think of that line regularly: pick ‘em up, put ‘em down.

Pick ‘em up, put ‘em down.

One foot in front of the other. Again and again.

I like this little mantra. First, it’s instructional — one foot in front of the other, repeat.

Second, it’s easy — I can put one foot in front of the other with no thought, and hey, am I actually tired, or am I just a little bored and want to quit?

Third, it’s a reminder that I’m in control.

The commitments we make to ourselves are often the ones we’re the quickest to break. The new diet, waking up early, reading more books, all are rapidly discarded at the slightest hurdle — real or perceived.

I’m guilty of this. I have broken many a promise to myself. Sometimes I wonder where I’d be today if I’d stuck with them, which can be demoralising or motivation to stick with what I’m doing now.

How running is changing that

I’m in the early stages of training for my first marathon.

This is an interesting time for me because, on the one hand, I’ve got no choice but to train. On the other hand, it’s almost 10 months away, so the pressure to execute the plan perfectly isn’t really there.

I’m operating on the basis that the earlier I start, the better off I’ll be. So, I do have a plan, and I’m following it.

On my last run, as I was in my third and final mile for that day, I had a sudden realisation. Running wasn’t just giving me physical health benefits, it was teaching me who I am, too.

1. I like to quit. Motivation porn, self-help books, inspirational stories, all of these are around us 24/7 and as we consume them, it’s easy for us to believe that we, too, have what it takes to succeed. That like the author or speaker delivering their story of courage, we would also rise up to a challenge, or in the face of adversity, becoming who we are destined to be.

Alas, no. In my case, when my legs start to ache, I slow down. Maybe I’ll walk. Is that the start of a stitch in my side? Better take it easy. Ugh, another half mile? I’ll just take a breather now.

But those motivational books and videos can be helpful. I draw on some of the more powerful lessons and say to myself, “Each of these moments is an opportunity for me to improve or stagnate. If I push on, I grow.” So, with the ache growing in my quads, I keep going.

Pick ‘em up, put ‘em down.

2. I have more to give. In his autobiography Can’t Hurt Me, David Goggins talks about The Governor. He explains that this is our brain’s way of keeping us comfortable, and it does it by telling us we’re maxed out, to stop, in order to avoid injury. But, he says, the Governor raises its head when we’re only at 40% of our capacity — or in other words, when we think we’ve done all we can, we haven’t even dug half of our well.

This instantly became one of the most profound lessons for me. It seared itself into my brain, and I recall it almost every time I’m exercising. I was in the gym the very next day after reading it, performing an uncomfortable exercise called a banded hip ladder. You take a resistance band, step on it and pull the other end up to your chin. Then you take 10 large steps to the right, and 10 large steps to the left. Then 9, 8, 7, all the way down to 1. There is no rest until you’ve finished that final 1. My governor used to start complaining when I was on 8, so I’d rest, pause, and shake out my legs. Following Goggins’ advice, I simply told myself, “This is my governor. I have plenty left.”

And what do you know? I plowed right through that ladder, going from 10 to 1 straight through with no breaks.

I now do the same thing on my runs.

3. The blocks are mental. I’m aware that boredom plays a huge part in my desire to give up. For example, sometimes if I’m running a loop that requires me to do the same street twice, I’ll think, “Oh no, I can’t do that road again.” Or everything will feel like a huge effort. “I’ve still got a mile and a half left?” “I’m only halfway?! To hell with this.”

Again, I have a choice in these moments: stagnate, or grow. Running makes this decision very stark because it’s literally in the moment. Of course, we’d all choose to grow over time. To read more books in a year. To move the needle a little bit. But in the actual moment, right now, keep going or give up, do you truly want to get better or do you want to wimp out? Given that our only real competition is ourselves, this question fires me up. I will not give up and lose to myself. I’ll keep going, thank you very much. And as the legs keep moving like determined pistons, I realise that I could do this extra distance all along — my mind was just telling me otherwise.

4. Growth is addictive. Except for injury, nobody gets home from a run wishing they hadn’t done it, feeling worse than before, or like they wasted their time. On the contrary, we feel great and accomplished. And for me, as my lungs feel cleansed and my legs feel thoroughly used, I check my stats. A little further than last time, or a little quicker, or a simple reflection on how fun it was.

And then? Well, I start looking forward to the next run, of course.

Pick ‘em up, put ‘em down. Repeat.