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MILE BY MILE: 6

By September of last year, the high schoolers had gotten to know me -- or, at least, tolerate my presence on their turf since we never officially met. All the better, then, as I had yet to start substitute teaching for the Flint Hills Public School District. Gotta make some money somehow, and the school schedule is really conducive to high level training. I didnā€™t get my first call from the High School until the first week of October.


Having run road races for most of this year, I think itā€™s funny how so many people -- runners included -- seem to think that everyone who is fast (whatever ā€œfastā€ actually means, anyway) is a spoiled professional athlete making thousands of dollars. That notion couldnā€™t be further from the truth. In fact, most of us trying to make it on the post-collegiate scene made little if any money from the sport. We all had to works real jobs to get by, and weā€™d be lucky to get so much as a discounted pair of shoes. When youā€™re running upwards of 100 miles per week and going through a pair of shoes about every six weeks and travelling to races and paying inflated entry fees, costs add up quickly. Even the most modest prize purse at a road race can attract athletes from hundreds of miles away, and anything gained is treasured.


That said, coming home with prize money was never about the actual dollars and cents of things; it was a validation of the training you were doing and a signal that someone out there appreciates it. When youā€™re running for a team in high school and college, your teammates and coaches make up a collective support system where everyone lifts each other up during rough patches and celebrates together during wins. Out in the post-collegiate scene, that camaraderie is simply gone and itā€™s replaced by the existential truth that no one cares about your performance -- not even fellow runners. In fact, some of those other runners might actually resent you for being fast, whether out of jealousy, misplaced intimidation, or a lack of understanding of the grind. What prize money signals -- even if you donā€™t win any -- is a race director who says, ā€œWe appreciate you, competitive runners. We know that what you are doing is a little bit different than everyone else here, and we want to acknowledge that difference. The concept of road racing wouldnā€™t exist without people like you, and we want to show you that appreciation.ā€


Prize money is not about the actual money; itā€™s about the validation that it provides to those seeking to push their limits.


For the foreign athletes here today, itā€™s a totally different story. The Japanese have a well-constructed professional system, where corporations sponsor official teams with athletes who are paid a salary to train and compete, just like any other professional system. Itā€™s similar for the Kenyans and Ethiopians, only without the backing of corporate sponsor money. They live and run in these large training camps, often led by one or two star runners who put much of their race winnings back into the camp to support their fellow athletes. When youā€™re an athlete who can devote all your time and energy to the simple pursuit of covering standardized distances on foot as fast as possible, doing so without having to worry about money can be a huge advantage -- and any money won is life-changing. $1,000 goes a lot farther in East Africa than it does back in the States.


As much as we like to think of Africa as more primitive or less advanced than us, thatā€™s not actually the case. There exists a much more robust infrastructure to support professional athletes which weā€™d do well to emulate. Hell, I know that even Kelley works part-time at his local running store in Oregon slinging shoes. And heā€™s one of the best runners in the country! I guarantee no other Kenyans or Ethiopians (or Japanese, for that matter) are working anything similar.


Itā€™s no wonder the East Africans and Japanese are generally faster and have more depth than the Americans, and itā€™s no wonder why, in the sixth mile, the lead pack dynamics have shifted. The group is now being paced by two Kenyans and a Japanese athlete. The small American contingent, myself included, run in the rear of the phalanx. Itā€™s not the worst place to be -- tucked into the draft, patiently letting others do the mental and physical work -- but itā€™s also not a position of confidence. Understandable that I would be in such a position, but it doesnā€™t bode well that my countrymen are in the same spot, especially after two of them had been leading for most of the first half hour of the race.


***


I had just wrapped up my version of the infamous Michigan workout on the school track: one mile in 4:48, straight into another tempo-paced mile in 5:17, then shifting into a 3:32 1200m, followed by a 5:14 mile, 2:19 800m, one more 5:10 mile, and a final 67 second 400m. Six miles of alternating pace running without standing or jogging rest. No, those ā€œtempoā€ miles were supposed to be ā€œrest.ā€ My general training philosophy is that, since you donā€™t get to rest during a race, why practice it in a workout? This may be a slightly unconventional approach, but with three weeks to go until my goal race for that fall, it had me excited about the possibilities.


I was cooling down around the infield, dodging the occasional stray soccer ball, when the Amelia started jogging with me. A few of the runners were still hanging around, but it looked like practice was officially over and most had left.


ā€œYou know, you can come say ā€˜Hiā€™ to us anytime, we wonā€™t bite,ā€ she said. ā€œWell, except maybe Murray. That kid has some ADHD issues and heā€™s strange even for a Freshman.ā€


ā€œOh,ā€ was all I could reply, a little out of it after the workout. I might have run a little harder than I had planned.

ā€œActually,ā€ I gathered myself after a few seconds, ā€œI should be subbing here sometime in the next couple weeks. You were right to mention that opportunity.ā€


ā€œThatā€™s great news! I told you so.ā€


She held out her fist for me to bump in celebration.


ā€œSo how much mileage did you end up doing today?ā€ She asked.


ā€œSix miles for the workout.ā€


ā€œAll continuous? No rest?ā€


ā€œThatā€™s right. I hate resting; it just makes the workout unnecessarily longer.ā€


ā€œThatā€™s a pretty killer way of working out. Surely you have a half marathon coming up?ā€


ā€œI do, in about three weeks.ā€


ā€œSo have you thought about going for Olympic Trials standard?ā€


ā€œI wonā€™t lie, running sub-1:05 has been in the back of my mind.ā€


ā€œDo it. The qualifying window it just about over, and with another month to the marathon it makes for a nice little springboard.ā€


ā€œYou have this all worked out, donā€™t you?ā€


ā€œI have a couple former teammates going after it, thatā€™s why Iā€™m so invested.ā€


ā€œAre you chasing it?ā€


ā€œMe? Heck no. My racing days are over.ā€


A slight pause in the conversation as a soccer ball streaks in front of us.


ā€œSay,ā€ Amelia continues, ā€œI think I figured out where I recognized you from.ā€


ā€œReally? Where?ā€

ā€œNCAA Regionals in Austin. Last May. You ran the 10,000m?ā€


ā€œWow. Yeah. I did.ā€


ā€œI thought so. You were the odd one wearing sunglasses in an evening race. Or badass, Iā€™m not sure which one.ā€


ā€œProbably mostly odd. That was a rough day for me. And theyā€™re prescription lenses, I canā€™t see very well without them.ā€


ā€œWell, that makes sense.ā€


ā€œIā€™m sorry, but I donā€™t recognize you.ā€


ā€œNo thatā€™s normal. I was in the stands that weekend, cheering on teammates. My college career was done by then.ā€


ā€œAh, Iā€™m sorry.ā€


ā€œDonā€™t be. One final hurrah, you know?ā€


I was done with my cooldown and we had stopped running by that point.


ā€œWell, donā€™t let me keep you from whatever else you have to do,ā€ she said. ā€œIt was nice jog with you, and any time youā€™d want to run with the team weā€™d love to have you!ā€


***

The sixth mile is our slowest one yet at 5:10, thankfully. The pack remains largely unchanged; Iā€™m still hanging in the back with the rest of the American contingent. I think Iā€™m in about 13th place? 30:27 total time gone and only twenty more miles to go. Yikes.

**********

Click here for previous chapter: Mile 5

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