I Survived… Distance Saturdays (Parts One and Two)

Part I – The Arrival

It’s Friday afternoon and it’s about 4:30. The sun is still in the sky, and you have 30 minutes left of practice. As a sprinter, you sprint. Nothing more to it, just speed work, starts, and handoffs when needed. That’s the normal sprinter’s routine.

Until he walks up to you.

4:50 finally hits 10 more minutes until you can go home. You’ve enjoyed your time, but it’s still tiring nonetheless. At 4:55, it’s over. You’re done. You pull on your sweatpants over your shorts. It’s warm for an April practice, and you’ve trained well.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he appears.

“Hey, you have practice with my group tomorrow morning.”

Okay… poor guy. Distance Saturdays are not something you do.

Then you hear it “Don’t ignore your head coach. It’s disrespectful.”

What? He can’t be talking about you, the sprinter, the one who sleeps in on Saturdays until 10. But still, you turn to face him… Coach Cahill. He looks at you and repeats, in a friendly, joking tone:

“See you at practice tomorrow morning.”

He says it as if he didn’t just sentence you to a morning of pain and torture. Still, you look at him and say, “Alright, Coach. See you then.”

Your alarm is blaring at 7:00 the earliest you’ve woken up on a Saturday in a long time. You get dressed and ready. It’s 7:40 now. You step outside into the crisp morning air and see something you didn’t expect.

Is that… your breath?

You see the CO₂ leaving your mouth before you even feel the breeze. It’s freezing. How did it go from a beautiful spring afternoon to a frost-bitten morning?

Frost coats the grass. You burst back inside for sweatpants. When you check your phone again it’s 7:45.
How did you spend five minutes just standing outside?

You rush to the car. At 8:00, you’re stepping out of the car . But then you remember the harsh reality. The walk from your drop-off point to the track is one minute.

One minute late = 10 push-ups.

You sprint over and see the distance group already running laps. This isn’t torture for them, this is fun. They love this. Meanwhile, you’re the only one in pain from just being awake at this hour.

And here he comes, smiling.

Part II – The Ladder

“8:01. Ten push-ups. And do the warm laps.”

Laps? Doesn’t he mean warm-up lap?

“Meet us for warm-ups after your two laps.”

Baffled, you push forward. The first lap is hard; you can see your breath the whole time and feel that sharp sting in your lungs. Halfway through the second lap, calm breathing turns into heaving. Anyone watching would think you were about to throw up.

Still, you push.

The final 100 meters hurt the most. Your feet barely drag across the track. But you finish, and glance over at the distance team doing warm-up stretches.

Shorts.  They’re all wearing shorts. Some even have T-shirts. They’re pushing hard to stay warm, more determined than anyone you’ve ever seen.

You join them and hear whispers: “easy day”… “hour of power”… none of it makes sense except “easy day.”

After warm-ups, you walk (or something close to walking) to the far end of the track and leave your water bottle, a decision you’ll later realize doomed you.

The head coach steps forward.

“Today we have a ladder. And since we have a sprinter with us, it’ll be speed work.”

Speed work? Finally something familiar. You’ve done ladders: 90m, 180m, 300m, and back down. Simple.

Then he says it.

“300m, 400m, 500m and back down. At set times.”

What. There’s no way he’s serious. He has to be joking. He isn’t.

“You’ll be part of the first group,” he adds with a smile.

The first group. The top three distance runners fast in both sprinting and long distance. The ones wearing shorts paired with a t-shirt, who never stop smiling.

You know you can’t keep up. But you have that sprinter ego. You have to try.

Ready for Part Three? Click here!