Running my mental race

Jessica Allen

Halfway through my sophomore year of college, my boyfriend suggested I join the cross-country team.

He didn’t suggest I join a casual running club, or enter a fun run.

He suggested I walk on as a member of an NAIA collegiate cross-country team.

If I recall correctly, I either laughed, rolled my eyes, or both.

Due to my physical stature, I have always been asked if I am an athlete, and have always responded that it takes more than height to play sports.

For example, some amount of hand-eye coordination is helpful.

Even though it’s a sport that doesn’t take a significant amount of coordination, my personal history with running, up until that point, had been brief — and antagonistic.

I decided the first day of high school volleyball practice that if that much running were involved in a sport that didn’t involve running, it wasn’t for me.

I was always more of a musical academic anyway.

Then suddenly, five years later, I was seriously dating an avid runner and looking at a possible future as a running coach’s wife.

The first day, I reluctantly dragged myself to the campus fitness center along with two friends at 6 a.m.,

I suffered through an 11-minute mile and called it a day.

(Just for reference, I am married to a man who is capable of running a 4:27 mile.)

I forced myself along the path to becoming a runner by registering for a jogging class that spring, taught by Tabor College’s head football coach.

Talk about intimidating.

However, Coach Gardner was the first truly unbiased person to suggest I could have success as a distance runner.

I believe his exact words were, “You know, you’re not fast, but you can keep going forever.”

A compliment if I’ve ever heard one.

Finally, after a good amount of persuasion (coercion?) on the part of Joel and his roommate, a fellow runner, I decided to give it a go.

That August, I stepped onto campus for my first year as a collegiate athlete. The next few weeks were nothing short of excruciating as we pounded the pavement, dirt, and grass in brutal Kansas heat.

My personal goal was simple: never finish last.

The closest I ever came in two years was finishing 139th out of 141 at the University of Central Missouri.

In the last few years, I have gone through an intensive course of Running 101. Joel has educated me about everything from track and field lingo to proper running form to the best shoes for every possible distance.

But overall, my time as a collegiate runner taught me, first and foremost, that mental training is just as important as physical training.

The body is capable of handling quite a bit of physical abuse, but if the mind decides something can’t be done, the body follows suit.

If I set out on an five-mile run doubting I can finish, chances are I won’t finish and will instead waste mental energy thinking up excuses for why the run didn’t go well — the weather, the terrain, what I had for lunch that day.

If I set out to become a published author or someday be the kind of parent my parents are, but don’t trust myself to do it, I’ll be left with unaccomplished ambitions and a load of feeble excuses.

While I tend to be skeptical of any motivational tactics that seem “kooky” and I don’t buy into the idea that you can do literally anything you set your mind to, there is a lot to be said for confidence and belief in yourself, as long as you’ve done the hard work to back it up.

Pushing the boundaries of strength, both mentally and physically, is not easy, or comfortable, or enjoyable.

However, choosing to do difficult things is the only way to grow.

I have yet to accomplish one of my loftier goals: running a half marathon. To do so will require a lot more physical training than I am doing now, but the mental training can progress even with each two-mile run.

As Joel has done in many a conversation, I’ll conclude here with a quote from American record-holder and Olympic distance runner Steve Prefontaine: “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”