2 minutes

While completing a pretty fast half-mile split this morning I had an epiphany. Actually, it was a recurring epiphany, realizing once again that I need a competitive goal to give meaning to my workouts. The imprecise “better quality of life” objective just isn’t enough for me.

In the last decade, I’ve covered thousands of miles in search of better health. I was doing pretty well when Plantar Fasciitis sidelined me five years ago. A diagnosis of arthritis further slowed me down. My weight and waist ballooned.

And then a little more than two years ago I was trapped in the center seat between two other large men while we were stranded on the tarmac in Albany for more than an hour. On that flight I decided I had to do something.

It no longer mattered if there was pain. My knees, ankle and shoulder hurt whether or not I work out. If there was going to be pain anyway, I was determined a smaller me would endure it.

In the following twelve months I lost more than 40 lbs. and a little more than 8 inches around my waist.

Unfortunately, I gained too much of it back again. I’m still constantly fighting to maintain healthy cholesterol and blood pressure. I get terrible migraines. I’m better than I was, but still I’m bigger than I want to be. I still sleep with a C-PAP machine. I have to maintain two wardrobes: one for the thinner me, and the other for the chubbier me.

So this morning while I was approaching 9 mph, and despite “Fall Out Boy” singing in my ear buds, I was recounting my efforts over the last year. I wondered what I needed to do to make them more effective.

I pondered a recent gift from my employer: a Health Coach who determined that I miss too many meals, don’t consume enough vegetables, and that I overeat on days I miss breakfast. My inner dialogue was once again digesting that brilliant analysis when that chronic epiphany hit me.

A flurry of thoughts followed:
“All my workouts have been more meaningful since I began to track my one mile splits on Saturdays. I’ve been steadily shaving time off those splits every week this year."

"But I wasn’t built for the mile. I've never been better than mediocre at it.”

“As much as I wanted to be a World Class 400 meter man since High School, I was never any better than just a little faster than most.”

“Through the years, my coaches have always said that I was custom built for the 800 meter run. One even urged me to make it my only race other than the relays.”

“My half-mile times were more than just competitive even if I always looked for reasons to skip it. And Coach Scoggins said I “would always be good in the Quarter, but I could be amazingly fast in The Half.”

“My quarter splits are sluggish; my mile splits peter out at the end. But my half-mile splits are always very good. I have evidence that this is my race. Maybe it is time to stop ignoring the advice and evidence.”

“What are my other options? Train for Marathons? Half-Marathons. I'm not mentally prepared to run marathons. Those guys are masochists. And nuts too.”

“But 800 meters … I was built for The Half. I wonder what the World Record is for a 55-year old man.”

“That’s it! – I’ve let my age define me for too long, it is time for me to define my age. I’m going to do what must be done to run an age appropriate World Record in the 800. After all, I was built for it.”

That was it! Upon my return home, I looked it up. The World Record for an 800 meter run outdoors by a 55-year-old man is 2:03:7 and was run by Stan Immelman on January 12, 2001.

“If he can do it,” I thought, “so can I.”

Today I began a quest to beat that time. My goal is to run 800 meters in 02:00:0 before I turn Sixty. And why not, after all, according to experts I was built for it.

If you want to watch here, I’ll report on my progress. I know if you watch me it will make me so much better than I’d be if I kept it to myself. And for that I thank you!