The $64,000 Question

Alas for limitations: beyond what is humanly possible

This piece was written in 2016 during my erstwhile racing days whilst I was possessed by a speed demon, long since departed.

IF YOU ARE NOT A RUNNER read the “Runner’s Lingo” footnote first.

Sixty-four thousand?

Heck, make it a million. One million bucks if you can break a 3-minute mile.

Any takers?

What precisely is the cut-off for the pay-off? How about if I was promised a million dollars to break a seven-minute mile? For one million, for one mile, I might just manage to make it. But to break a six-minute mile? Six million couldn’t make me do it — a mere wish-I-may-wish-I-might won’t make it so.

Meanwhile, every morning I promise myself I’ll run as if that million were waiting for me at the finish line.

Of course, I know it isn’t

Moreover, I know I’m not in a real race. No matter how much I might — and do! — chide myself to run as if it’s for real, there’s just something about wearing a $35 bib — or not — that makes all the difference. That difference being about 30 seconds per mile on my pace.

The upshot is, on a daily run, I feel quite pleased with myself to pace under 8:15. In a race I’d be more than mortified if I didn’t break 8:00; indeed, I’m unhappy if I don’t get comfortably under 24:00 for a 5K.

What to do?

Should I pin on a bib and toss out 30 bucks each morning to motivate myself? That might work once or twice, but if I try to turn that trick a third time it’s sure to turn on me. That is, I’ll become acclimated to wearing the bib such that it will lose the power to kick me into gear when it counts.

Seems the only thing that makes me morph into a Monday morning Speedo is racing another runner.

If I hear the footfalls of someone gaining on me, I try my damnedest to keep from being overtaken. (My success rate correlates to how much of a lead I have.)

If I see a runner ahead of me, I try my damnedest to overtake him. My success rate correlates to how much of a lead he has. Whenever I chance to find myself foot-to-foot with some 24-year-old kid, I’m damned well not going to let the brat beat me just because he’s 35 years younger. (He will beat me, of course — I’m just not going to let him.)

Normally, I run alone

Day to day, I rarely have close encounters with the competition. So — on those days when I’m not literally trying to pass a figurative “sapling,” (read: lithe youth) — I must make do with figuratively trying to “pass” the literal old oaks and their pseudo-cousins (that is, trees and telephone poles are my goal posts to “catch up” to).

I’ve been in several real races where, ironically, I am forced to run most of the course solo. This often occurs in races of fewer than 40, where the paltry field quickly spreads so thin such that runners are too far ahead or behind me to pace against. Indeed,

I hate when this happens

For one thing, I fear getting lost with no one to follow; this fear has indeed been realized on two occasions. It would doubtless have happened a third time had not a helpful policeman been present during a 10K when the pack was four-plus minutes ahead of me.

Even on a familiar course, it is disconcerting to run alone; I must continually remind myself that this is a real race, lest I lapse into training pace. Luckily, this has not yet happened; the lack of observable competition is apparently counter balanced by the adrenaline rush ensuing from the distress at being estranged from my fellows.

That tantalizing sub-seven million, alas, continues to elude me

My PR-by-far pace was 7:11 which was 2 years and 20-some seconds ago. At this point, my goal is to break 7:30 when I turn 60 (in 8 months). Such will serve as its own reward. (Do I hear half a mil? Going … going … gone.)

Runners’ lingo

Note: In keeping with the “digital” language of racing, I’ve departed from convention as to spelling out numbers under 10.

Bib: paper tag with a uniquely assigned number, distributed at the start of a race, which runners pin to the front of their shorts or shirts.

5K stands for 5 kilometers; slightly more than 3.1 miles.

Race finish times are expressed in minutes(colon)seconds; e.g., 24:07.

Pace: number of MM:SS it takes to run a mile; e.g., 7:46 (which equates to a 5K time of 24:07). References to “(not)breaking 8” pertain to my pace (not) being under 8 minutes.

“PR-by-far pace” (PR is racers’ parlance for Personal Record).

This was written six years ago; my pace today is over 10 minutes per mile. Give me a million, perhaps I could break 9.