Between the Ears

I’ve long believed that distance running is primarily a mental exercise. I said that to a friend the other day, and he said, “100%.” My friend, who isn’t a mathematician,* is wrong. I tend to agree with Yogi Berra. “[Running] is ninety percent mental. The other half is physical.” Regardless, if I’m going to run a fast 5k, I better get my mind right.

I decided to visit a sports psychologist to get some sound advice. I Googled “world renowned sports psychologists” and, while browsing through the results, considered that (1) world renowned sports psychologists probably expect to be compensated for their services and (2) the 2021 Jordan Family Budget lacks a line item for sports psychology treatment. So, I decided to read Deena Kastor’s book “Let Your Mind Run: A Memoir of Thinking My Way to Victory,” and then sit in a chair for a few minutes and think about the mental aspects of running. Here’s what I came up with:

Imagine I take my car to a 3.1-mile straightaway. I floor the gas pedal and don’t let up until I cross the finish line. Absent user error or mechanical failure, my car will cover that distance as quickly as it is physically capable of doing so. There’s a physical limitation on how fast my car can travel that distance and the car will hit that physical limitation.

There’s also a physical limitation on how fast my body can carry itself 3.1 miles. The goal is to hit that physical limitation. Unlike the car, however, my body has this annoying co-worker (let’s call him “Brian the Brain”) who, throughout the course of the 5k, insists on popping his head over the cubicle wall and saying things like “you can’t keep this pace up” and “hey, I think we’re about to die.” Brian the Brain is rarely right, always persistent, and surprisingly convincing.

To maximize my performance, I have to fire Brian the Brain. (Easier said than done'; he’s the type to keep showing up even after you stop paying him.) Once I’ve fired Brian, I need to hire his replacement. Someone who oozes positivity. Someone who would play the violin on the deck of the sinking Titanic or appreciate the warmth from the fire burning down the building in which he sits. He’ll pop over the cubicle wall and tell you how strong you look; how you can even pick up the pace a little. Sometimes he’s lying, but that doesn’t really matter. He’s a hype man; not hired to tell you the truth.

So, I’m trying to remember that Brian the Brain got the pink slip and his replacement is to be embraced, not ignored. I’m letting the replacement stick his head into my cubicle whenever he wants to and I’m choosing to believe that what’s he’s telling me is true.

*It took me 6 tries to spell mathematician correctly.