by Haylee Barber
Goals. We love them, we hate them, we make them— and sometimes, we break them. I’ve always been a goal-oriented person. As runners, I’d say many of us lean more towards the 'goal-obsessed' category. We swear by them. We ‘PR’ through them. We ask ourselves paradoxical questions like- “how many hours can I work this week and still run 50 miles?” We might even wonder at times, what would running be without them?
Thus, like many runners, I set out this summer to accomplish a running goal that has nagged at me for a while now: run a half marathon in under two hours. Let me preface this a bit by saying I am, by my own standards, a very average runner. I was a dancer growing up and briefly tried my hand (or feet) at track and field in my senior year of high school. I excelled at the triple jump but was far too late in the game to become a competitive runner. When I stopped dancing halfway through college, I found running as a way to stay fit and clear my head. But pace wise, I’ve always hovered around that seemingly unbreakable 10-minute mile.
When I moved to New York City after graduating from college, I continued running and signed up for my first half marathon in Washington D.C. I downloaded a training plan online and ran with a cousin. Both of us came in around two and a half hours. I mostly remember overheating and getting quite sick after the race. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I was happy to finish. The following fall, I signed up for the Hamptons Half Marathon and improved my time by 10 minutes. I’d been running frequently but still followed loose training guidelines.
Last winter, in an unending quest to survive the New York City winter’s cold temperatures and dark days, I started taking classes at an indoor treadmill studio. After my first class, I got an email from the Coach talking about my form and performance in class, encouraging me to come back again. I was intrigued.
A few weeks later, as the bitter winter wore on, I was back in the studio pushing my treadmill’s incline grade up to four percent while huffing and puffing. Coach was joyfully encouraging us to push through the intervals and “smile!” as I was quietly cursing his name.
As a former dancer, I crave constructive criticism and achieving goals. And let’s be honest- the professional world can be a confusing place of incremental change. And what do we runners crave? Achievement. Personal records. Wins!
Working in media for the past few years has taught me patience and tenacity. But, like many, sometimes I am sometimes frustrated with my own personal progress. Where am I going with my career and what does it all mean? Running doesn’t ask those questions. It’s purely scientific. Work hard: improve. Stay on the couch: remain the same.
As the winter melted way, I looked for a way to carry my recent treadmill improvements outdoors. I browsed around and found a local October half marathon - the Staten Island Half. The fall seemed reasonable and far enough away that I would have time to really train right this time around.
I approached the Coach about the possibility of developing a training plan for the race. He asked me to fill out a form about past injuries, paces, nutrition, motivations to run, and goals. After a couple more coaching discussions, I received a customized and color-coded training program spanning 15 weeks.
I began work immediately. But those colors couldn’t fool me, this wasn’t all fun and games. If I wanted to get faster, I had to work. Each week, I’d completely different workouts while slowly increasing mileage. The toughest (and most necessary) for me were the speed workouts. Aside from high school track, I’d never had the gumption to force myself to do 800 meter repeats or worse- mile repeats.
I learned about paces. I learned about nutrition. I learned that when you wake up in the middle of the night with searing cramps in your foot it could actually be a depletion of electrolytes.
Coach encouraged me to upload my runs to the Strava running app so he could track my progress. On Saturdays, I usually had my “long run”, and it was rewarding to see how I improved in both distance and pace as the summer unfolded.
The high: a rainy 10-miler through the streets and bridges of Brooklyn at my fastest long run pace ever. The low: throwing up after a run or two (again, those pesky electrolytes).
By the time October rolled around, I’d built up mileage and my paces had become significantly quicker. I was feeling great! I could go to the Olympics! OK, not quite. But I did make many improvements that added up, and it was pretty fantastic having accountability and motivation from Coach throughout the process.
So, just like that, race day was upon me. I’d practiced everything. Nutrition. Gear. Paces. Coach laid out a pacing and nutrition plan for the race that would get me just under my goal. I read it about 100 times as I anxiously rode the ferry to Staten Island with thousands of other runners. I could feel it. Today was my day!
Until…it wasn’t. I began the race feeling excellent. I was flying! Unfortunately, my watch must have confused paces because I thought I was easing into my goal pace per my plan, but I really was… well… flying. My first four miles were far too fast. By mile five, I was winded but luckily met a runner who encouraged me to keep up the pace through mile seven.
If you’ve ever run Staten Island, you’ll know it’s a course full of hills. By mile nine, I was struggling. I tried to practice my race mantra to “run the mile you’re in,” but I felt pretty bad. I did my best to enjoy the day and seeing the Verrazano Bridge after mile 10 was a huge highlight. But looking at my watch around mile 11, I knew my stretch goal was not in reach.
Crossing the finish line of a race is always a highlight, though I must admit my emotions were mixed. My parents had tracked me and texted that my final time was 2:04. This was still a big personal record for me, but I couldn’t help but wonder- what happened to me out there?
As the race wound down and I dragged my very sore self back on the ferry, I had a realization. The race might not have been exactly what I’d hoped, but really, does life always play out exactly the way we plan?
As I sat on the ferry watching the city go by, I reflected on my four years in New York City. I remember when I arrived with the naive impression my life might play out a bit like a Nancy Meyers rom-com. I’d soar my way up the corporate ladder while looking fabulous. Ha!
My training, like my time in New York, had its ups and downs. The race wasn’t quite what I'd expected, and yet it was still a huge accomplishment and a great day. What was really important was the small improvements I made and the many wins in the process.
Most of all, running with a coach was a true game-changer. When I had a great run, someone was there for congratulations. When I considered skipping my speed workouts, I forced myself out the door and onto the track, knowing Coach would keep me accountable. In fact, recent research has shown that prescribed training from a coach can improve mood and even help women with major depressive disorder.
The journey to Staten Island was much like that of the ‘real world’ - highs, lows, and change made possible by special, encouraging people (including you, mile seven runner!)
As for that two hour goal: 2020 redemption is coming.
