High intensity training for endurance has a dark side.
It never feels easy. In order to embrace and benefit from true high intensity work, you must first realize and then accept the fact that workouts aren’t going to feel good. You’re not going to get to the point in the program where you get to go out and run a few miles and pat yourself on the back because ‘hey, that felt great!’
When you do high intensity work, you won’t get the runner’s high…or the cyclists thrill of the open road. You will get pain, doubt, the taste of blood in the back of your throat, and uncooperative bowels. You won’t struggle to fathom how you will manage another mile, but how you’ll manage another minute. You won’t feel fast and light and easy. You’re legs and arms will feel heavy, your lungs too small, and your will inadequate to it’s task.
This dark side will also play tricks on your mind and your mind will challenge you by repeating it’s rhetoric. It will tell you that you failing. That you are slower than last time. That you have no hope of making your goal–that your efforts are futile. These suggestions will be hard to ignore, particularly when you feel awful less than 5 minutes into your workout.
It will be easy to give up. It will be even easier to slow down–to decide to settle for less speed if it simultaneously means less pain. There are a million reasons why you might be actually be slower, why you might not meet your goal. You didn’t get enough sleep, you haven’t eaten well, you’ve got too much on your plate and are stressed. Your mind will run through the list and try to get you to abandon your attempt because your mind isn’t a big fan of discomfort. And maybe some of these reasons truly do apply–they’re not just excuses but actual factors that are negatively affecting your performance. On the other hand…
My experience has been that I always feel lousy. When I’m totally busting my butt and really going after it I always feel flat, tired, spent. I never really feel fast. I just hurt. So I’ve made my peace with the dark side. I don’t try to fight it, but I don’t give in either. I just let the thoughts come in and listen to their arguments and often even agree with them, believing that indeed I must be going much slower, sometimes pathetically so, than I’d hoped. But I don’t ease off. I never ease off.
And in the end, I’m usually not slower after all.