I’m not a very good runner. In fact, I’m a lousy runner. I have run literally thousands of miles over the course of my military career and can honestly say that I have never enjoyed it. I have never reached the “runner’s high” with the rush of endorphins that I have heard so much about. Nearly every step has been painful for me. Nevertheless, ever since my early days as a cadet, I have run. Not because of desire, but because of duty. It is what I had to do.

When you are in pain or not enjoying something, you need psychological tricks to keep your mind off of what you are doing and concentrate on getting through it. I have become accustomed to knowing what my pace needs to be for a 2 mile run or for a 4 mile run or longer. In addition to pacing, over the years, I have also developed a sense for where I am in the journey, sometimes relying on road signs and familiar landmarks, but most of the time just relying on how my body feels. It helps me get through, especially when the runs are longer and harder.

In addition, I learned a long time ago to accept the fact that I have a body that doesn’t do running well.

For the longest time I thought that there was something wrong with me. I would look to my left and to my right and see my peers actually enjoying it – and many of them wanting to run even faster while we ran in formation! How could this be? In units where we ran in ability groups, I felt guilty that I couldn’t keep up with the fastest groups and did everything I could to stay out of the slowest groups. But, I learned during a Master Fitness Trainer course that I needed to embrace my personal situation. Some people have bodies that are built like Cheetahs. Other people have bodies that are built like Donkeys. (Guess which kind I have!)

I learned something that made tremendous sense to me. What is important is that you get to know your body and learn what it is telling you. I wasn’t the fastest. But, I wasn’t the slowest. I knew when I had a good work out and learned not to push my body much further in certain activities than I needed to.

This brings me to the point of my story. Early in my career, I was on my way to attend Airborne School. This is the school where they teach you to jump out of airplanes safely. Actually, they don’t teach you how to jump as much as they teach you how to land. And we practiced how to land a million times.

Because of the physical challenges of the school, an integral part of Airborne School was running. In fact, the runs were infamous to the course. Drop out of a run and it was curtains for you. You would be either recycled into a following class or you went home.

I made the mistake of arriving early. It’s called “Zero Week.” If you arrive early, they don’t have much for you to do, except run. And run. And run.

These runs didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to them. They were runs in formation just to run. They were trying to get as many of us to drop out as they could before starting the course. They weren’t especially fast, but they were long and grueling. I will say that I did “OK” during the runs. But, there was one run in particular that has made an impact on me.

It was the last running day of the week. The only thing standing between us and starting the course the next week was this run. After it, we would get some semblance of a weekend and then we would start Airborne School the next week. We were excited to get started and excited to start learning something that we could use in our careers.

So, in great anticipation, we start out on the run early in the morning. By now, we had become accustomed to many of the various routes, we had run far and wide this week. But, this morning, we made different turns. I quickly became disoriented as to anything that resembled a familiar landmark. Soon, I was completely lost.

We ran and we ran and we ran.

My body is good for 2 to 4 miles. It doesn’t like going much further than that. And it likes a certain pace. For this run, they upped the pace and they took us further than they had ever done. I’m sure that it was only around 6 miles. But, it was hard for me personally.

Without the familiar landmarks, I didn’t know where we were, how long we had been running, and most importantly, we didn’t know how much more we were going to run. When was the end?

They had a truck following us that day and as people would fall out, one of the “Black Hat” instructors would pull you to the side and load you on the truck.

“Get on the truck, you dirty rotten Laig!” They would scream. “Go home you Laig!”

“Laig” was the derogatory term for “Leg” or someone that had to walk to battle and not jump from an airplane. We were all “Laigs” because we were not airborne or jump qualified.

As it got later into Zero Week, more and more people were showing up as they came for the start of Airborne School. Our running formation on this, the last running day, was huge.

And people started falling out around mile 4.

“Not me. That isn’t going to be me!” I said to myself.

But, oh, this was tough. This was so hard. And where were we? How much longer was this going to last?

As we were just completing about 6 miles, we started up a tremendous hill. I think I remember that it was called “Cardiac Hill.” It was long and had an incline. But, the cadre didn’t slacken the pace. I found myself falling a bit behind in the formation. In fact, there were lots of people who were falling behind. Those that could keep up would simply go around the slower ones and reform towards the front.

For the slower ones, the Black Hats would pull each person from behind by the shirt and yell,

“Get on the truck, you dirty Laig!”

“Go home!”

“It’s over for you, Laig!”

Folks were being pulled out of formation left and right all around me and then . . .

A Black Hat caught me by the shirt and pulled me out.

But, but, but, we were almost at the crest of the hill. I could see it!

But, no. The decision of a Black Hat is irrefutable.

So, I got on the truck.

Disheartened. Dejected. Broken.

What would happen next? I could see myself going home in absolute failure. How would I face my peers? My family? My unit?

As I was climbing aboard the truck, I could see, as we crested the hill, the barracks a very short distance from us. The barracks was the end point. The stopping place.

In fact, as soon as the formation of runners crested the hill, the cadre stopped the run and the formation went to “quick time.” This is a normal walking cadence. The run was over almost as soon as I got on the truck.

I had been pulled out a mere 100 yards from the end point!

Surely, had I known that, I could have mustered enough intestinal fortitude to stay with the formation and not fall behind.

But, I didn’t know that.

I was tired. My body hurt. And I was disoriented. I didn’t know the end from the beginning. I had no further reason to push myself. I had lost hope.

The short version is that this had no bearing whatsoever on my completion of Airborne School. Falling out of a run didn’t count until the school actually started. I attended. I graduated. I have jumped out of airplanes and helicopters many times. Success, right?

But, I didn’t know that at the time.

When I climbed aboard that truck my life was bleak.

And then to discover that I was only 100 yards away from the finish.

I have pondered on this throughout my life. It has taught me a great lesson.

And the lesson is this. You can do almost anything when you know the end from the beginning.

When you know how far you are into the pain and suffering and when it will end, you can do what it takes to keep going because you know that all this will stop soon.

These days, just to keep in shape, I use an elliptical. I set it at “my” pace, set the time of workout to 30 minutes, and set off. My body knows to keep the RPMs at between 50-54.

I still hate it.

No endorphins. No “runner’s high.”

Just pain. Although the pain is not as great as when I run.

I do it because I gain weight when I don’t. I feel better when I work out. I know it helps me be healthier.

Doesn’t make it any easier.

What does make it easier are the tricks that I play as I watch the time tick away.

With a 30 minute workout, you can divide up the time in ways that help.

7 minutes, 30 seconds – You’re ¼ way to the end.

15 minutes – You’re half way there!

Everything is easier in the second half.

20 minutes – Only 1/3 left! Everything is easier when there is a “2” in front of it!

22 minutes, 30 seconds – You’re ¾ way complete. Only ¼ to go!

24 minutes – 4/5^ths

25 minutes – 5/6^ths

27 minutes – 9/10^ths

28 minutes – 14/15^ths

29 minutes – 29/30^ths

One minute countdown. . .

Done!

And I stop immediately when the clock strikes 30 minutes. No “cool down” on the machine. My body doesn’t like such things.

A 30 minute workout means 30 minutes.

Benefits of the workout. Minimize the pain.

If you know where you are on the timeline and how close you are to the end, it helps.

There are a number of things that we do where we know the beginning from the end. It goes together with my discourse on the benefits of rhythm. School has a certain number of credits or hours that you need to accomplish in order to graduate. Basic training is only a certain number of days long. Our work cycles are similar. A typical work week starts on Monday and ends on Friday.

There is a reason why Wednesday is called “hump day.”

On Wednesday, you pass the half way point of the work week and everything is easier in the second half.

I’ll write another piece soon about what you do when you don’t or can’t know the end from the beginning. That is a tougher nut to crack.