Exercising and Training: Running With No Goal
There are few feelings more overwhelming than crossing the finish line of a race after months of training. For me, this first came in June, when I finished my first marathon. It was the culmination of detailed training plans, early alarms, electrolyte goos, proper nutrition, timed miles, sore muscles, set schedules, recovery days, Strava tracking, and foregoing late-night social events to rest properly for my long Saturday morning runs. And that’s not to mention the archetypal race day experience — waking up in the unholy hours of the morning to jump on a bus, then wrapping myself in a space blanket and crowding around a dying fire trying desperately to stave off hypothermia, waiting in line for a porta potty that someone had decided to place on an incline, and trying unsuccessfully to quell the anxiety that comes in the seconds before the starting gun. Months and months of physical and mental energy had gone into this one race, and finally, it was over. All of it had led to that moment of crossing the finish line, and the thrill of achieving my goal made it well worth it. But I wasn’t out of the woods quite yet.
A few weeks before that race, I’d (naively, perhaps stupidly) promised my brother and father that I’d run another marathon with them in October. My vote for a family getaway had been for a fun, relaxed weekend on a beach somewhere, but they decided they’d rather spend our quality time together running a distance that had killed the first man to do it. When I crossed the finish line of my first race in June, I knew that after a few weeks of rest, it would be back to the training plan and diet and early morning runs.
October came, and race day was as good as one can reasonably expect a race day to be. At the starting line, they’d found a spot of horizontal ground on which to put the porta potties. The starting gun sounded, and I was off, more confident and less daunted than in my race a few months before.
After I crossed the finish line, I felt different than I did the first time around. I didn’t have quite the same feeling of accomplishment, but that was to be expected — the second time is never quite as good as the first. As the volunteer draped the medal around my neck, I realized that for the first time since I’d started running, I had nowhere to go from there. There was no next race on the horizon, no goal to push myself toward. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had no training plan, no set schedule, and no goal pace that I had to keep up with. After a few weeks of rest, I began to run again, this time for leisure.
A few weeks ago, I set off for an evening run. I didn’t plan out my route, but I settled into a comfortable pace down a paved trail next to a winding river. The trees and overhanging branches felt like a kaleidoscope of autumn colors. The fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet. I ran by dog walkers and young mothers with strollers and elderly couples holding hands. Instead of checking my pace every few minutes, I allowed my mind to wander. Eventually, I came across a small park with a duck pond, where I stopped briefly to sit and observe the unworried birds. Then I sat by the river and watched the cobalt water gently flow by. By the time I doubled back, I felt like I could have kept going forever. When I got home, I realized that that was why I loved running — goals and race day rituals were fun, but really, I ran to find a feeling of peace.
But all things must come to an end. Now, without a goal in sight, the decision to forego a run to stay inside and watch YouTube becomes easier and easier. Those pleasant evening runs are becoming less and less common, and I know that without a goal, they will eventually become nonexistent. Without structure, deciding whether to run or stay at home becomes a daily decision, and as much as I love running, sometimes it’s hard to get myself off the couch. This becomes even more true as winter approaches, the sun falls earlier, and the sky grows grayer. I need another goal to kick myself into gear, and with that in mind, I’ve been scouring the internet for a race that will give me a training timeline.
I’ve heard the difference between these types of running put into more concrete terms: exercising and training. Exercise is anything that requires physical exertion. You can be serendipitous. Exercise allows for spontaneous runs along a river. You can do it without an end goal and go as fast or slow as you want. Training is exercise directed toward a specific goal, such as running a marathon or setting a PR on your 5k. You must be more precise. You must tailor your exercise to help you run longer, or faster, or whatever your goal may be. Training requires set routines, pace, and mileage.
I’ve learned that there is joy in both. There is a certain pride that comes from sticking to a training plan, knowing that you had the discipline to do what you said you would. And there’s a peace that comes from enjoying a meandering, undemanding run through the woods, where you can freely stop to enjoy your surroundings. Maybe someday I’ll reach the day where I can integrate both — when running fast becomes just as tranquil as running slow, and when I can find mental respite while trying to keep pace. Perhaps my motivation to run will change, and I’ll stop worrying about my pace altogether.
But my guess is that I’ll keep cycling endlessly between running to train and running to exercise. And that’s one thing I find beautiful about running. There’s no one right way to do it. You can run in a way that suits you and alter that depending on your goals and life situation. And though I’m looking forward to my next race, I’m also looking forward to the unstructured runs after it.
Anyway, thanks for reading! If you’re interested in keeping up to date with my writing you can follow me on Instagram: @samuelhrather. Cheers!
