4:07:52
Net calories burned: 44,618
Number of runners: 48
R unning is not fun. It’s too hard to be fun. Even the most devoted runners would not describe the experience of performing a typical workout—let alone competing in a race—as
fun
. I love running as much as anyone on earth, but I am no more inclined to describe the running experience as “fun” than any other runner, unless I’m with other people, in which case the fun isn’t about the running, but the people.
I’m not saying that running doesn’t feel good. It
does
feel good, in the way that any form of hard work feels good to those who have a taste for it. Running feels good to me the way writing feels good to a writer and operating feels good to a surgeon. A skilled surgeon does not smile his way through a tricky operation. He knits his brows, grunts terse instructions, and is exhausted afterward. Likewise, even the most passionate writer dreads sitting down in front of a blank computer screen some days. But a skilled surgeon wouldn’t trade his post-operative exhaustion for anything, nor would any passionate writer give up her dread of the blank screen, because the surgeon
is
a surgeon, and the writer’s a writer. As challenging as it is, the overall operating experience just feels right to the surgeon—like an expression of who he really is. And the writer feels the same way about writing.
And runners feel the same way about running. A hard run leaves you exhausted and glad to be done with it. Some days you dread even starting a run. But the overall running experience just feels right, like an expression of who you really are.
When I was in college, a world-renowned psychologist named Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (pronounced
me-hi chick-sent-me-hi
) from Claremont Graduate College visited a class I was taking and talked about a theory called flow, which he had developed. Flow, he said, is a state of total absorption in a challenging activity—an enjoyable but serious state of absolute immersion in some goal-directed task. It’s usually experienced when you’re testing your limits in a favorite skill, which could be anything—delivering a speech, making a sales pitch, playing a video game, cooking, you name it. Flow is what athletes are referring to when they talk about being in the zone. It’s somewhat different from fun, in most cases, because it entails hard work. In lots of ways, it’s better than fun.
At the time I heard this lecture, I wasn’t running, but this concept of flow resonated with my experiences in other activities, such as surfing. When I started running several years later, I began to experience flow at a whole new level, however. Surfing felt great, but it was also fun. Running was not fun, yet on my best days, it felt perfect.
A Mug of Stamina
Caffeine has been shown to enhance running performance. It does so partly by stimulating the central nervous system in ways that make exercise feel easier. A cup of joe allows an athlete to run harder with equal effort. Careful, though. Caffeine is a diuretic and can cause dehydration.
One of these days was the day I ran the 2006 Vermont Trail 100. Everything about it was wrong. I flew in from California the day before and was already fatigued and jet-lagged from the trip when the starting gun went off. The weather was hot and humid, the trail a muddy stew from recent rain. Horseflies ate me alive the whole way through. I should have had a terrible day, but instead it was magical. My body felt infused with superhuman endurance. One hundred miles was not far enough. I wanted to continue around the entire earth. After ninety miles of running I actually increased my pace, because I had so much left in the tank. I made a wrong turn and had to backtrack at one point, which is usually a spirit-killing disaster in an ultramarathon, but I couldn’t have cared less. I won the race by nearly half an hour. I had won other grueling competitions before, but never with such an effortless
Net calories burned: 44,618
Number of runners: 48
R unning is not fun. It’s too hard to be fun. Even the most devoted runners would not describe the experience of performing a typical workout—let alone competing in a race—as
fun
. I love running as much as anyone on earth, but I am no more inclined to describe the running experience as “fun” than any other runner, unless I’m with other people, in which case the fun isn’t about the running, but the people.
I’m not saying that running doesn’t feel good. It
does
feel good, in the way that any form of hard work feels good to those who have a taste for it. Running feels good to me the way writing feels good to a writer and operating feels good to a surgeon. A skilled surgeon does not smile his way through a tricky operation. He knits his brows, grunts terse instructions, and is exhausted afterward. Likewise, even the most passionate writer dreads sitting down in front of a blank computer screen some days. But a skilled surgeon wouldn’t trade his post-operative exhaustion for anything, nor would any passionate writer give up her dread of the blank screen, because the surgeon
is
a surgeon, and the writer’s a writer. As challenging as it is, the overall operating experience just feels right to the surgeon—like an expression of who he really is. And the writer feels the same way about writing.
And runners feel the same way about running. A hard run leaves you exhausted and glad to be done with it. Some days you dread even starting a run. But the overall running experience just feels right, like an expression of who you really are.
When I was in college, a world-renowned psychologist named Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (pronounced
me-hi chick-sent-me-hi
) from Claremont Graduate College visited a class I was taking and talked about a theory called flow, which he had developed. Flow, he said, is a state of total absorption in a challenging activity—an enjoyable but serious state of absolute immersion in some goal-directed task. It’s usually experienced when you’re testing your limits in a favorite skill, which could be anything—delivering a speech, making a sales pitch, playing a video game, cooking, you name it. Flow is what athletes are referring to when they talk about being in the zone. It’s somewhat different from fun, in most cases, because it entails hard work. In lots of ways, it’s better than fun.
At the time I heard this lecture, I wasn’t running, but this concept of flow resonated with my experiences in other activities, such as surfing. When I started running several years later, I began to experience flow at a whole new level, however. Surfing felt great, but it was also fun. Running was not fun, yet on my best days, it felt perfect.
A Mug of Stamina
Caffeine has been shown to enhance running performance. It does so partly by stimulating the central nervous system in ways that make exercise feel easier. A cup of joe allows an athlete to run harder with equal effort. Careful, though. Caffeine is a diuretic and can cause dehydration.
One of these days was the day I ran the 2006 Vermont Trail 100. Everything about it was wrong. I flew in from California the day before and was already fatigued and jet-lagged from the trip when the starting gun went off. The weather was hot and humid, the trail a muddy stew from recent rain. Horseflies ate me alive the whole way through. I should have had a terrible day, but instead it was magical. My body felt infused with superhuman endurance. One hundred miles was not far enough. I wanted to continue around the entire earth. After ninety miles of running I actually increased my pace, because I had so much left in the tank. I made a wrong turn and had to backtrack at one point, which is usually a spirit-killing disaster in an ultramarathon, but I couldn’t have cared less. I won the race by nearly half an hour. I had won other grueling competitions before, but never with such an effortless
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