What's Luke Thinking?

Estimated Reading Time: 10 Miinutes

For anyone who knows me, they know fitness is one of the pillars I am constantly trying to develop. That has historically, however, not included running. I ran a 5k in the eighth grade, eight years before this story took place, and raced a friend for a mile run about a year prior. Other than that, I worked on my cardio doing some sprints, but mainly while lifting and playing recreational sports; I had no desire to run.

On a cardio day in late July, however, I was playing pickleball when my partner told me I should sign up for an upcoming 10k. I told him no shot – I’m a sprinter, not a distance runner. He then challenged me: if he beat me in a race, I had to sign up for the 10k. I could’ve easily dismissed the challenge, but too much was on the line. If I declined, it’d signal to him that I thought he was faster. He is roughly six inches taller than me and is an avid runner, however. He should be faster. So, that wasn’t convincing enough for me to accept the challenge. What was convincing enough is that if I declined, I was signaling to myself that a 10k was so far out of my reach I wasn’t even willing to take a risk. I didn’t like something having so much control over me, so I took the challenge… and lost.

Admittedly, I instantly regretted my decision. I thought, “Well, I only agreed to sign up; I never agreed to run.” That put me back at square one, however, that I was giving in to the challenge of the run itself. If I had to sign up and pay the fee, I figured I should at least give it a shot. (my dad actually sponsored my entrance fee and, as a byproduct, this post; thanks, Dad!)

Lesson #1: No Shortcuts to Shortcuts

The race was in November, about 16 weeks out, so I had plenty of time. From my research, every major thought leader in the running world largely concluded that for non-runners, a 10k can be trained for in about 12 weeks, with 4-6 days of running each week. I only wanted to run 2-3 days so I could lift the rest of the week, so I thought the extra weeks I had could make up for that. So, I started running.

In about a month’s span, I went from one 9 minute mile to two 8 minute miles. I thought I was well on my way to a stellar 10k time, but then I spent two more weeks stuck at the two mile mark.

I talked to a few runner friends (including my pickleball partner) and even booked an online consultation with a running coach. A lot of them concluded that I was toast. The coach said it’d be possible if I purchased his coaching plan for an amount of money that was not at my disposal as a college student. There were some, however, who said I could probably do it at a very slow pace. The slowest group running was a 14 minute mile (if you didn’t meet the time, you didn’t get a medal), so I set my goal pace at 13:59; my Garmin told me I was on pace to hit that goal 2 weeks after the race date. I realized there was not a single running plan that would try to shortcut me to a 10k in less than 12 weeks. 12 weeks was the shortcut.

Lesson #2: The Longest Way Round is the Shortest Way Home

I had already paid the fee, so I refused to give up. If I couldn’t shortcut my way to a 10k, I’d take the long way round, just faster, harder, and smarter than anybody who told me there was no shortcut. With Lincoln on my mind, I knew the first thing I needed to do was sharpen my ax. (If you want to read what I had on my mind in depth, check out this post where I do a deep dive into one of Lincoln’s most famous quotes). I subscribed to the largest running newsletters on the market, YouTube channels, TikTok pages, wherever I could find running content, I consumed it. I watched the greats, like Eliud Kipchoge, studied their form, and watched others study their form and break it down. Taking a page out of Dave Brailsford’s book, I looked for every advantage I could get; every 1% difference could stack up. I stripped down my mechanics so they’d run better. By the time I actually focused on increasing my distance without focusing on my basic mechanics, I only had about 6 weeks, but without much effort, only by looking for marginal gains, I moved from 2 miles to 7.

As a final result, my Garmin still told me I wouldn’t be ready on race day, but I ran a 10 mile easy run two weeks out before tapering down.

Lesson #3: Momentum is a Great Friend, Yet a Greater Adversary

Living in West Virginia, the physics of gravity and momentum can be learned pretty quickly, if not as a child, as soon as one gets behind the wheel of a car. Every few miles, there’s a decline on which a new teenager gets to learn the terminal velocity of their vehicle.

Many times, one can be at a (name sport here) game/match and hear a parent, coach, or fan yelling “use your momentum!” It’s a great way to gain just a little edge that might make a difference in strength or size. I assumed it to be the same in running, that every downhill would be a speed boost that I could take advantage of. This was true to an extent, but it also presented significant challenges, beginning with control.

One of the earliest lessons I learned while driving was shifting to a lower gear to help prolong my brakepads. The key for momentum in driving was restraint; speed kills. I found it to be much the same in running, needing to slow myself down so I didn’t go cartwheeling foward, quickly causing wear on my knees, ankles, and the bottoms of my feet (human brake pads).

Momentum is only as powerful as our ability to control it. It’s great to have, but it can be the very thing to do us in the second we lose control of it.

Lesson #4: Resting is Not Stopping

The greatest challenge in a distance run is, of course, the endurance factor. How quickly you can traverse the distance is the name of the game. For a beginner, however, this may mean a lot of things. Many people can traverse the distance with breaks – it just takes longer. This, of course, is not typically seen as impressive as doing it with no breaks (although impressive in its own right).

As a beginner runner, I assumed this meant that the runners never rested, and that was a constant supply of power the entire time. I found this may be true for more experienced runners, but it is not true by necessity. In the training program I used to structure my running, I realized it split the training into (primarily) two types: easy runs and long runs. For a long time, there was not a difference in these to me. I read them as “this stinks” and “this stinks but for a longer time.” Toward the end of the program, however, the titles became more accurate. 2-4 miles at a 13-15 minute pace was not strenuous.

Initially being daunted by the fact that I would try to do the entire race with no breaks, this gave me great relief when I realized that didn’t mean I had to do the entire race with no rest. I simply had to change what “resting” was, and by race time, that meant running around a 15 minute pace. If any of you are exceptionally good at math, you may have already realized that’s only moving at 4mph, only slightly faster than the average walking speed. It is true that I may have been better off taking a 30 second break and returning to a faster pace, but the mental difference is what mattered to me. In many situations, the distance we face is not fixed, the only goal is to keep moving: careers, families, sickness, financial struggles, and the like. One thing is certain, however. Not moving won’t get us out. In the words of Winston Churchill, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

For race strategies, I could have used breaks for a possibly better time, but I liked the idea of doing it with no breaks better, so I used moving rests to ensure the longevity of my race rather than risking burning out at some point later. This has been crucial in times when I not only can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, but don’t know if the tunnel ever ends.

Lesson #5: Practice Makes Perfect, but Pressure Makes Diamonds

A combination of two very common sayings sums up the most surprising lesson I had learned during the course of this experience. As I mentioned earlier, I needed to finish with a 14 minute mile to get a medal. While I mainly was doing this to prove it to myself, the entrance fee went toward the medal, so I wanted to ensure my dad’s money was put to good use.

My garmin, of course, told me I wasn’t going to cut it. Despite my practice and hard work, it was predicting I still needed a couple more weeks of training to make an attempt. My runs were questionable: I was at the cusp of possibly being able to pull it off, but not enough that any sensible person would bet on it.

The second I crossed the starting line, however, there was a complete mental shift. It wasn’t practice anymore; I needed to pony up. I had potential in practice, but when push comes to shove, potential doesn’t matter: results do.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been possible without the practice, but the pressure took the material I accumulated and pressed it into the diamond that paid off. I finished the race just below a 12 minute pace. I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t move very fast for the following week, but no practice could’ve brough that out of me. I had seen this in the past, but, admittedly, never to this extent. It has now shaped the way I approach things: if I need results, I have to create some pressure.

How have you seen these lessons show up in your life? If you’re a runner, what other lessons have you learned?

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“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,” Hebrews 12:1 (ESV)