100 Words Per Mile: Reflections - 10
I'm really happy I learned how to run slow.
November 2020 was a really wild place to be. I had real trouble figuring out if working so hard to bring a child into the world was the right thing to do. The collective build-up of a global pandemic and a testy U.S. election coated everything in a buzzing sort of darkness—and we still had two months to go before January 6.
Keeping a log of sorts for that time turned out to be really rewarding. It’s good to be reminded of how I looked at the world before I had kids and study how much of that has changed or not. My view of the world is more flexible if only because parenthood requires you to be more practical then ideological.
I was saddened to read about running with Bill and how meaningful it was to me at that time, because Bill recently accepted a new job and will be moving to a new city. We haven’t run together in quite some time because our lives have complicated themselves in parallel ways. Now, it seems like that gap will only grow bigger.
Earlier this week, I was on my long run in preparation for the New York City Marathon, and about 14 miles in with six or so miles to go, I felt something in my foot seize up. (Also, 10 miles before that, I was once again stung / bitten by something on my leg.) I stopped running, called my wife, and asked her to pick me up.
Those fifteen minutes or so that I waited for my family will stay with me for a couple reasons. One, I was perfectly happy to give up the run then. My cardio felt fine. I didn’t get pissed at myself for “failing” in that moment. Five years ago, I might’ve suffered some internal meltdown.
Two, I was listening to a podcast about the movie Oppenheimer because I’ve just finished a Christopher Nolan rewatch (those rankings to come soon). I was thinking about the line, “Theory only gets you so far.” It feels apt for the moment. It seems like everyone I know has a lot of ideas—for businesses, for relationships, for right and wrong—and few of us have qualitative practice to support them.
In a culture that seems growlingly suspicious of science and raw data and more open to conspiracy, this all scares me. Theory only gets you so far. That’s why we experiment. That’s why we test ourselves. When I get my daughter on her bike, I’m collecting data in all its shapes and forms. My view of the world is shaped by the quantitative results. What works? What doesn’t? Why are we unwilling to budge when proven what we thought might work actually fails?
And to echo last week — what is the common goal here?
In writing about Bill in this week’s post, I also covered how he taught me to run slow. I’m only moderately better at it now, but my understanding of pace—both as a runner and a writer—has been one of the more rewarding lessons of my life. I should probably let Bill know that.
Good things take time, and within that time is going to be a lot of failure. I’m much more comfortable with setbacks than I used to be. I’m choosing to look at 2025 in America as a collective setback. A tantrum, if you will, that people have to work through. I just wish the stakes weren’t so high.
We can do correct it though. Step back. Reevaluate. Find our breathing and our pace. Follow the positive results. I believe we’ll get there.