Zach Ailes
Holland Christian Cross Country '12
Hillsdale College
My freshman year of college I walked onto the cross country and track team. I had been unable to run the summer before, and when I began to train with the team I developed some knee pain. We got it checked out and after treating it for a month realized that my lower back and hip were out of alignment, and the additional strain on my knees was damaging them. Thankfully I realized it felt like an injury, and didn’t try to run through the pain. I spent the winter cross training—biking, aqua jogging, and doing therapy—to stay in shape until I was able to run. The spring track season rolled around and I was still barely able to run without pain. Finally, I was cleared to race at the end of the season. Needless to say after months of jogging in a pool, starring at the same walls, I was excited. I didn’t have time to build up much mileage before the last race, and after running for two weeks I entered the 5k. I’d done a few light workouts to help me get an idea of what my goal pace would feel like; I hoped to break my high school PR, and was banking on my hours in the pool to carry me through.
That night I lined up with my teammates for only the second time that year. I was both excited and nervous. I had no idea where I really was physically. The gun went off, and we took off from the line. After the first lap, of twelve and a half, I was right on pace, and it felt really fast. But the first half mile always feels fast. After the first mile I was scarred I couldn’t hold my pace, I began to second guess my self and worry I was going to die. After years of racing I had realized that the second mile seemed to always be the hardest. Once I got to the last mile, it was easy to mentally focus on “just one more”. One more half mile, and then just a kick to the finish. But that second mile, you start to get tired and there is a lot of race to go. I hoped that this race wouldn’t be any different, that I could hold my pace and keep hitting splits, and pull out the last mile. I had nothing to lose, so I held my pace each time for one more lap. And it sucked. But I hit my split each lap, until there was only four left. And then three laps, and I could start picking off one person, and then the next, and the next. With only a half mile left I could start to open up. The last three hundred meters I began to really push. You get to the point where you are running more with your arms than your legs, just to keep them moving. And then you cross the finish, and you know you left it all out there. It’s the best feeling when you know you not only ran efficiently—with a smart race strategy and good even splits—but also that you gave it your all. It’s so easy to sit and be safe, but I remember the races when I really went for it. When I tailed that guy who was always a little faster, or held that goal split. I’m glad I did that night: I tied my high school PR in my second race after 5 months of PT, cross training, and frustration.
I think we can always run one more lap. The last lap, while normally incredibly difficult if not painful, is always the last lap. Hang tough and give it all you have. Running is such a mental battle. I used to love hard courses with hills because, while it hurt, I knew I could always pass a couple people just by being mental tougher. If you can learn how to race against yourself when your tired and you want to ease up, you’ll not only be a mentally stronger person, but also a much more formidable competitor.
