Sometime in the past couple of months, I saw a post by Allie Ostrander on Instagram. Allie is a well-known runner who represents Oiselle on the track, road, and trail, and in her post, she pointed out that you can run a race and a workout at the same pace, and yet the two efforts can feel remarkably different. One feels grueling, the other feels like flow state.
Zach sprinting to the finish at the 2022 UTMB. Photo: iRunFar/Bryon Powell
Why is it that you can toil away training at race pace, having it feel so difficult that you question being able to hold that sort of pace for the entirety of a race, and then on race day, you go out and run at that very same pace — or faster — and it feels easy? I bet many of us have felt this way. It feels perplexing.
I have a few ideas as to why this happens: Races are often preceded by a taper, while workouts are usually done in the thick of hard training; training is often done at a higher altitude than the race; during a race, there might be a strong, competitive pack to run with or a pacer to follow instead of having to run alone. All of these things can add up, making race day feel a bit easier than expected.
But I still feel there’s something else to it, and I think it has to do with commitment, with being all in on race day.
An Engagement
Late last year, in the hours when I wasn’t training or house-building, I started toiling away at a very special wood carving project. I drove around town collecting tools: chisels, sandpaper, a wood burner, and an exacto knife. I retrieved several pieces of wood from the trees by the A-frame house that Jess and I have been building and stashed them away in my bus. Then, when I was alone, often in the morning or late at night, I’d pull out my tools and get to work.
I started with a stick of wood and used a chisel to carefully remove a section of bark from its exterior. Grabbing my saw, I carefully cut a thin wooden coin from the stick of wood. Then, using a combination of files and sandpaper, I carefully removed the coin’s center and shaped the remaining surfaces, working up to a very fine grade for a nice, smooth finish. I marked a center line around the exterior, traced it with a wood burner, and carefully glued a pine needle into the groove. I added a cyanoacrylate glue finish to the surface as the finishing touch of a beautiful, hand-crafted ring.
Hand-made wedding rings. Photo: Zach Miller
After it was finished, I tied a shoelace around it, stashed it in a pocket, and drove across town to pick up Jess. We drove up to the mountains, put on our skis, and skinned far into the backcountry at sunset. The evening light was glorious as we skied through the forest, and as night fell, the moon illuminated a magical expanse of glittering hoar frost. Several hours later, we stopped at a high point. We looked out at the mountains and reminisced on some of the adventures we’d had in them. And in that moment, I dropped to one knee, pulled the ring from my pocket, and asked Jess to marry me.
She said yes. In the days that followed, we told a few friends and family, then quickly planned a small wedding that was anything but traditional, but entirely “us.”
Zach and Jess right after getting engaged. Photo: Zach Miller
Going All In
A few days before the wedding — which we had just recently — Jess and I sat down to dinner with Sam and Andrea Adams. During dinner, Sam told us of a time when he joined a bunch of young people on a mountaineering trip. He was the “old guy” in the group, and during the trip, one of the girls told him she was living with her boyfriend to “test things out.” Sam, who was already married at the time, told her this wasn’t possible.
This might sound old-school and close-minded, but as Sam explained, he believed that one of the defining aspects of marriage is that it’s a full-on commitment, not something that can be tested in a situation where the exit door is easily ajar. The thought that you can test something permanent with something that isn’t just doesn’t add up. You can live with someone and gain some experience in cohabitation, but there is a big difference between being committed for life and trying to figure out whether it works.
Jess and Zach’s unconventional wedding. Photo courtesy of Zach Miller. Photo: Peter Maksimow
Perhaps what Sam was trying to express to Jess and me was that nothing we had done in dating would fully mimic or prepare us for marriage. Marriage is just different because of the level of commitment, and that changes things. It changes how it feels. It changes how you approach it. And it changes the very nature of your relationship. It’s all in.
Different, but the Same
Perhaps that’s what changes on race day. Physically, aside from some extra rest and fine-tuning, you are the same athlete you were in training, but from a commitment level, things are different. There’s no off-ramp. In the early stages, this can create enough of a mental boost to make things feel easy. In the thick of it, when things get hard, it gives you something to hold onto, a motivation to stay the course.
It can be scary to take this step, to toe the line and make it real. Personally, I love training. It’s more low-key than racing, and while there is structure and expectation, there is also room for flexibility. You can always bail if you don’t want to do it anymore. It’s like dating: it’s still hard work, but a bit more light-hearted, with the option to DNF at any time.
Zach and Jess, ready to embrace the commitment of all in. Photo: Peter Maksimow
Toeing the line of a race — or marriage — is distinctly different. I get terribly nervous before big races, and I’ll admit that heading into our marriage, there were moments that I felt scared. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s wrong, just different. Marriage — and racing — draws a distinct line in the sand that training and dating don’t. It says that what we are doing now is serious, committed, playing for keeps. It’s all in.
Acknowledging this feels serious, but also beautiful. There is a lot of fun to be had in light-hearted, carefree things. But there is a beauty and deep meaning in things that require an all-in commitment, like marriage. In some ways, the commitment of race day makes the things practiced in training feel a bit easier. Physically, things aren’t much different, but mentally, they are.
As Jess and I continue with our marriage, I hope to remember these things. Though race day — and marriage — can feel intimidating, the commitment to the cause creates beauty. As Sam said at dinner, marriage is different. It can’t be tried out. It’s real. It’s serious. It’s wonderful.
The gun has sounded, and we’re all in.
Call for Comments
- What parallels do you draw between marriage and racing? Training and dating?
- Do you value the activities that require deep commitment, or those that are a bit more light-hearted?
