Refrigerator Door Expectations

Once upon a time there was a young man.  He possessed a keen mind, loved to read, and was - in the words of his maternal grandmother - a bit of a chatterbox.  Unfortunately, his handwriting skills were less-than-stellar.  He could not make the letters look exactly like the ones stapled over the chalkboard; his third grade teacher did not less about his reading comprehension or his verbal ability, she cared only about his penmanship.  She insulted his writing efforts once in front of his classmates, which had the exact opposite effect of her intentions.  He completely gave up on all of his scholastic efforts for the remainder of the year, doing just enough to get by.

The same young man adapted over time, learning to use a typewriter and used neat block lettering for all of his handwriting efforts.  Surprisingly, he decided to become a teacher, and learned early on in his education studies about the work of Robert Rosenthal.  Rosenthal was a professor at Harvard University, who asked in the mid-1960s if the expectations of outside influencers - like teachers, parents, and so forth - could mean the difference between positive and negative outcomes in the household, school, workplace.  Setting a reasonably-high standard, believing the standard could be made, and communicating that belief in many different ways?  Rosenthal learned that teachers who believed their students could achieve had students who could - and did - achieve.  And yes, teachers who doubted a student could succeed were more likely to see that student struggle or fail.

I have a full-page sheet of paper on my refrigerator door with the training plan for the first 22 weeks of the calendar year laid out.  Days where I run, days where I cross-train, rest days and the goal duration to spend during each day's workout session or sessions; all of the information is in black and white.  Since I'm still in the process of building strength, endurance and overall fitness and not focused on a particular race distance, the workouts are straightforward base-building.  Six weeks into the 22, the calendar shows more positive markings; workouts accomplished, intensities met, sometimes even both.  Every filled block is a step in what I hope is the right direction, travel toward the desired goal.

The calendar on the fridge, with its "big picture" notations, are the macro version of my little daily workout spreadsheet.  I don't post mileage or anything quantitative; there are only three types of marks on the calendar, corresponding to a qualitative standard - really good, good, or not-so-good.  One mark reminds me I met both the intensity and duration goals for the day, if I met the duration but not the intensity I place a different mark on the calendar.  If by some reason I didn't work out at all - unless I am sick or traveling - I mark the date with a big, fat "X."  Naturally, that's a "not-so-good" day.

So far, there have only been four of those "X" days.  And a few days where I didn't get the duration or intensity I hoped, because of outside issues.  But I have to admit I've met or exceeded expectations more often than not.  I don't need to scour through the spreadsheet to tell myself things are improving.  And if I feel a little too lazy and start to think about cracking open a beer rather than going for a run, all I have to do is take a look at the "big picture" on the refrigerator door.

Joggers? Welcome!

I showed up at the beach run last night to see a good friend in the parking lot. Ron had just returned from a six-week sojourn in Michigan. After the requisite insults and innuendo we started our trek on the six-mile loop, at a mutually-agreed upon pace; laughable for him, comfortable for me. I knew he was going to want to talk about his time in the Great White North, so the pace was soon to become one where I could speak little.

We initially joked about the weather conditions, which explain why I live in the South...

Ron: "I was scraping ice off my window two days ago."

Me: "The only glass. I want ice to touch. Is one filled. With unsweetened tea. Or an adult. Beverage of choice. Depends on time of day."

Ron then told me about a couple of track workouts he ran with a local running group, and the running club affiliated with the (multinational) company for which he was briefly employed.

"They said, 'oh, we have some really fast runners in this group. One of our guys ran a (blank)-minute 5K.' I went out running with him twice. The dude was a hockey player; in decent shape, but not really fast." Having seen his rear at more than my share of road races I know what Ron defines as "fast."

I responded, "Gee, thanks, Ron. Glad you're being. Nice to me. Since I haven't. Run that time. For 5K. Since my injury." At least he didn't call me "fat." Or a "jogger."

What is a jogger? Why is there this insulting connotation to a term which, to the majority of runners, seems as nebulous as a presidential definition of sex?

The English language has used the term "jog" to talk about movement (running included) since at least the mid-16th century. Arthur Lydiard made "jogging" popular in New Zealand during the early 1960s; fitness and sociability seemed to be the rationale for very easy running (defined by UK-based running coach Mike Antoniades as a pace slower than 10 minutes per mile). Bill Bowerman, coach of Steve Prefontaine, literally "wrote the book" on jogging and its benefits, way back in 1966.

The running philosopher Dr. George Sheehan, in 'Running and Being,' wrote "the difference between a jogger and a runner is an entry blank." If you started running because of an event put on by a running club, or you joined a running club which didn't exist before 1962, you most likely owe your running habit (obsession? routine?), and perhaps a word of thanks, to a jogger.

So where and why does the arrogance toward joggers exist in the running community? From what I've observed it certainly isn't the elite or former elite road racers who harbor such animosity, pity or contempt. One usually needs to look a little farther back in the pack than the elites, a little closer to the point where the bell curve starts to rise. These are the guys/gals who (often) didn't quite win the genetics, training, coaching, recovering or incentivizing lotteries...or didn't buy the ticket...and prefer to tell how good they could have, would have, should have been...and how others will never be.

In their mind, THEY are runners. Everyone else behind them are just joggers.

I've engaged in such arrogant behavior in the past. I've also been called out for it. There are values, assumptions and closed beliefs, bordering on the edge of dogma, which exist in the mind of the "jogger haters."

They (falsely) assume other persons are not exerting the effort they are, therefore they lack the desire and are "children of a lesser god." Boy, was I disabused of this assumption by my loving wife, a long time ago. She took me to task one night after a track workout, saying, "Michael, just because we're running our quarters a minute slower than you are doesn't mean we aren't working hard. Believe me, we are."

The value system also is different. "Real runners" consider their title earned because they are faster on race day. They consider themselves superior to those pitiable souls who are still plodding about on the course as they reach for their first post-race beer. Their medals, beer glasses and coffee mugs were hard-won, and sometimes, considered to be their right: Why go five-deep at a race? It's only the first three in the age group who should be lauded.

Then, there's the near-religious dogmatic belief that one particular training group, training plan, workout, magazine, shoe or nostrum is guaranteed to make a better runner. "If you really wanted to improve as a runner you would do exactly what I do, or train with my group, or do this particular workout. Because you don't I can only guess you are lazy or unmotivated." This point of view has probably been the most difficult for me to get past as a group coach. I have learned over time there are more viable obstacles than strictly:

1. "Parentism," the nearly-two-decade extension of the state of maternity
2. Education
3. Work, and
4. Citizenship.

I've heard excuses, and I've heard rationales over the past six years. After that period of time you smile, shake your head, and continue to promulgate an "open door" policy.

I only hope, on that "invisible door" of my life, there's a sign posted for all to "see:"

Joggers Welcome.