Wanting it

It’s a phrase I’ve heard time and time again in the running world.  I’ve met countless young men who decorate their vocabulary with such talk, but when you get right down to it, talk is simply that.  So what then is the real meaning of wanting it?

One of the most thrilling finishes I have ever seen was the 2010 Big Ten cross country championships.  For a moment it looked as if Andy Bayer of Indiana would at least redeem his program’s runner up finish with an individual title, but it would be Wisconsin’s Landon Peacock who found the strength finishing up that final grueling uphill.  After flinging himself across the line, I heard Peacock in an intense excitement repeat the phrase “I wanted it more.”

But how do you measure that?  In this example, I suppose it would appear obvious; look no further than who crossed the line first.  Landon’s kick was a physical manifestation of his vast mental desire to win.  But this is only a momentary measure of “wanting it”.  It’s not as if Landon, or any runner for that matter, could simply flip a switch in their head and magically want it more.  And what, you’re going to tell me that Bayer (or any of the others in contention the last mile) didn’t want to win?  Like it’s all some disembodied act of will, right Pre?  I think to fully understand the phrase you must look beyond the result and realize that wanting it is a constant process.

That desire is something runners live and breathe on a daily basis.  It is what builds their magnificent fitness and regulates everything from their diet to their bedtime to their class schedule to their social life.  So perhaps then, wanting it is a conscious choice made hundreds of times a day.  Really, its much less of an intangible quality and more a quantifiable state of mind, one that’s log is written every hour of every day.  You might be sitting at your computer reading this and fancying yourself one of the true believers—no one wants it as bad as you, right?  I’d be willing to wager though that most people reading this have wanted at least one thing more than they wanted to be a champion today.  Ultimately, that is why there is only one winner. 

  

Something not said enough:  When you’re on top, running is easy.  It’s easy to do the little things, the drills, the rehab, the prehab, to call the early nights, avoid the fast food and the fast women.  These are the little tests along the way, and there’s a difference between saying no when you’ve got a race to win next week and when you’ve been on the shelf for six months.  Going to the line with 100% confidence that you’ve done everything in your power to get there prepared is a special kind of knowledge, one you can only know if you’ve walked that edge.  But that lifestyle can be maddening, especially when you’re training like a champ and finishing like a chump.  

It is in these moments that the sincerity of your aspirations is truly tested.  Sometimes, you don’t want it as much as you want to tie on another round, or as much as you want to see what the pretty girl across the bar is smiling about.  Meanwhile, your competiton is staying home on Friday night, icing, stretching, relaxing and preparing for an adequate night’s rest and a good run in the A.M.

Yet, there’s a strong tendency to ignore this simple truth and rationalize the hell out of it.  Outta sight, outta mind.  You need a night off, some time to blow off some steam, peer in on the real world and all of its silliness, get some of that ignorant bliss you've heard so much about.  I made the very same rationalizations along the way, and though they seem harmless they inevitably lead away from the top of the podium.  I’m not saying that these excursions into real life are inherently bad, but they do reveal another simple truth that is too hard to ignore: There are things in this life far more interesting than running around in circles.  The more you experience this, the harder it becomes to live the strange and often lonely life of a competitive racer. 

But I’m not about to preach for a life of abstinence and unwavering discipline.  Our sport is already a bit on the OCD side and I think for most levels of competition, that ideal is far too unsustainable in the long term.  Rather, I think it’s all about having the appropriate frame of mind when taking a step back.  Achieving a proper sense of balance and knowing when its appropriate to back off is key, but if you really want it you must never let it get too far away.  Stand around in the bar room if you must, but do so while embracing that you’d much rather be toeing the line for your 9^th 400m repeat.  Understand that you’ll put on some weight if you get hurt and view at as a fun challenge in your own personal comeback story.  Whatever vice you succumb to, realize that there will always be someone willing to outwork you—and though that’s not in your realm of control, your own everyday choices are.  Your weaknesses then weren’t designed to frustrate and infuriate you, instead they were made for you to overcome.

There’s always that little voice in the back of your head that already knows its more productive to stay in then be a man about town—it’s the same one that keeps you jogging in place while you wait for traffic to clear, the same one that sees a fading runner and screams at you to SLAM THE GATE! as you fly by no matter how heavy your legs feel.  If you start ignoring this voice in the everyday, it becomes easier to deny it when you really need it to help you overcome your doubts and your competitors in those final moments of a race.  

 

It can be a harsh standard to hold yourself to, but at the end of the day it is the only one that offers any true hope.  That’s why you got into the sport in the first place, no?  A chance for athletic advancement?  One that supposedly doesn’t depend necessarily on your talent, but rather your ambition?  You can lie to yourself and say that your immense talents grant you exception from the rules, but eventually you can’t avoid that nagging question the keeps you searching for ways to improve. 

 

How bad do you want it?