What’s in a personal record?
Two weekends ago, I finished the TCS Toronto Waterfront half marathon in an official time of 1:49:05, smashing my previous best time of 1:58:21 set in the 2022 event.
I’m extremely pleased with that result - it’s a very solid pace for the relatively new runner I am, and most importantly, it’s a huge improvement over last year. For a bit of context, it’s pretty big progress for runners to shave five minutes off 21km in the span of a year, let alone nearly 10.
As you can probably guess, that time also marked a personal record for my half marathon distance. It wouldn’t have been a huge deal if I didn’t set a PR, but if you ask anyone I spoke with in the weeks leading up to the race, I was abjectly bummed out at the prospect, and it took some reflection to overcome the notion.
After finishing the half marathon in 1:58 last year, I set a goal of 1:55 for this year. I quickly realized that with my training and pace I could maybe beat the family record of 1:52 (sorry dad - but go read his blog!). However, I caught a cold in the three weeks before the race, coughing my lungs out and only getting two runs in during the 18 days leading up to the event.
I was forced to come to terms with the potential of not setting a PR. It was stupid to think of this as some monumental setback: I'd have so many more opportunities to beat my record in the coming years. This led me to contemplate the relationship with breaking my own records. Voila - a blog is born.
(As you know, I did set the PR, but that mental battle remained.)
Diff’rent strokes
Apart from race environments like the Toronto HM, I never go out for runs with the goal of setting a PR. But that doesn’t mean PRs don’t happen. I’m not always trying to be faster with every single run, but the mere act of getting up and running two to three times a week usually means you’re going to improve. And when you continuously improve, personal records will be set. If you put one foot in front of the other millions of times, you’re eventually going to get better at it.
I’ve found PRs come when I least expect them - sort of. My best runs don’t come when I’ve been slamming the pavement over and over three times a week, slowly earning my dues. They happen when I’m feeling well rested on fresh legs with some complex carbs in my belly, maybe 7-10 days after my last run.
After writing that, I guess it makes sense - a record comes when you train your ass off, then give yourself a chance to recuperate and see where you land.
Often though, the thought of keeping track of records and setting out to continuously improve is daunting. I mean, at its root, the push for constant PRs is Sisyphean - you can never CONSTANTLY improve.
Because I’m a runner, I talk about running and encourage my friends to try it. Apologies if you’ve been caught in that gravitational pull, but I likely won’t stop. A few people I talk about running with either A.) run but don’t publicly share their results on platforms like Strava, or B.) want to get into running but are scared of being “slow.”
These people suffer from the terrible condition I like to call peer fear. Unfortunately, these covert/would-be runners think the goal of running is to be fast, like it’s something you can win; or rather something you should win. They think they're slow, which means they’re doing it wrong.
That could not be further from the truth. To me, the goal of running is to finish. Many times, the only reason I run is so I don’t have to do it the next day.
Peer fear is made worse by those who think they hold court over the act of moving your feet. I’ve heard people I respect ridicule the slow times and paces of their runner friends, a sin so egregious it belongs with talking trash behind a friend's back or not saying “big stretch” when a dog unwinds and settles down in front of you. I respect those same people far less now, by the way.
For diff’rent folks
Looking at my PR in the half marathon, I did engage in a bit of real “training” for the race, at least in the sense of understanding my target pace and getting long distance prep runs in. Of course, I ran a lot throughout the year leading up to it, and tried my hand at getting faster and faster with each trek out the front door and down to the waterfront.
But every one of my PRs in the 5k and 10k came from feeling good in the moment, rather than setting out with a goal. I start a run, then if I have a good pace (according to my watch) I knew was sustainable and would push towards a PR, I try to maintain. If I didn’t then no hard feelings.
After getting two-ish years of solid running experience under my belt, my personal jury has finally reached a verdict on the importance of beating old records and continually moving the goalpost and striving to achieve new ones.
Hitting a new PR, whether it’s running, lifting weights, or doing anything remotely measurable, enables you to fall in love with that activity and derive joy from the journey that led to that PR.
Maybe that’s the beauty of getting into running in my 30s - everything is fresh, invigorating, inspiring. I’m not chasing the goals and records of a 21-year-old past self with unlimited energy and a metabolism that can eradicate 4600 calories a day. Every new PR I set is beating a PR I likely set a few weeks, maybe months prior, so those dopamine hits come fast and furious.
But one of these days, I’m going to stop beating my old records. And I’m ready, because I’ve done the mental training to prepare, and I’ve taken the time to enjoy the ones that have passed.
It’s a Journey, so Don’t Stop Believin’
If you know me, you likely know I lost 160 pounds over the course of the pandemic through diet, walking, and eventually running. My original goal was to lose 50 pounds. I blew past that, then immediately set a new goal of 60, then 100, then 150, then finally stopped at 160 pounds once I drifted below 200 for the first time in a decade.
I took little to no time to enjoy each of these milestones. Every single instance I stepped on a scale and saw a target weight pass by like a waning oven timer, I afforded zero self-reflection and instead saw my focus morph into a lust for results. Essentially, I thought if it was that easy to lose weight (hint: it wasn’t and I probably had an eating disorder), then this goal was too low anyways and this success is barely worth registering. Forget the old goal, set a new goal, and keep pushing. Rinse and repeat
Eventually my attitude towards my achievements evened out and I became ecstatic with my results, likely due to the affection and support of family and friends. I took time to recognize my ambitions and appreciated them to the fullest extent. But looking now to running, I think a lot of my ongoing admiration for personal achievement stems from the slog, the glory, and the absolute fucking insanity that is losing 160 pounds.
Now, with every PR that flashes in my Strava app, I take the time to reflect on the journey. I ask myself (with my best David Byrne impersonation), "Well, how did I get here?" Every new 10k time, quickened min/km pace, every small achievement, is something I treasure, because it could be the last. This is my Roman empire. Because one day the PRs will stop, and when that finally happens, I’ll have guaranteed I took the seconds, minutes, and hours I need to realize how much that journey meant to me.
If you suffer from peer fear, then I hope my ongoing battle with personal records inspires you to keep running. Personal records exist to inspire a love of the journey, rather than the destination. Just look out for traffic on the way.
