3 Years and 6 Seconds

Bunched together shoulder-to-shoulder in a cobblestone alley, the race director shouts the final instructions about what's going to happen next. My Catalan has improved over the five years I've been living here but I am still far from understanding everything.

However, I do have some idea about what is going to happen next...

About 130 runners, myself included, are going to dash out of this alley and make a quick left turn on to the main road that runs through the Catalan village of Organyà. After 50 yards of running slightly downhill, we will make a 90-degree turn to the right, and then... no more downhill or flat ground for the rest of the race.

The course is short in distance... just 2.6 miles.

But its challenge is that it goes up. Way up. More specifically, two thousand and two hundred feet up.

-- -- --

A major part of my adaptation to life in Catalunya has happened through running. Monday through Friday, the people I see, the routes I run, and the time of day I choose to exercise all contribute to how I experience Catalan culture, nature, and values. 

Once in a while, I'll sign up for a race. Racing is an exercise that exchanges elements of running that I normally control for the opportunity to gauge my response to different elements of running outside of my control.

Today is one of these race days - the Arruix Santa Fe, which begins in Organyà. Although the finish line is not far from the start, the first clear view of the mountain-top finish does not come into sight until that hard right turn that takes us out of the village.

Good rhythm and flow has me feeling strong through several hundred meters of mildly uphill terrain. Then, the dirt road narrows to a single-track path and turns steeply upward. Here, the group's pace will slow and passing will be more difficult.

The paths in this part of the Pyrenees are defined by loose rocks, exposed roots, and tight switchbacks. As we move up the mountain, I vividly recall past ascents here - the awkwardness and discomfort of my feet stumbling over these trails as if I was fighting with the ground. My then default? Turn up the grit mode and soldier on.

But on this particular afternoon, I notice precision - each foot lands in small but stable spaces between the obstacles that naturally propel the next step.

For the first time, this ground feels like home.

The moment is not comfortable... yet, I am savoring it.

-- -- --

The coolest part of the Arruix Santa Fe is its finish.

After passing the final 200 meters over slanted, slick limestone, a tiny chapel sits just before you. Don't stop before the first door... run through this doorway, through the chapel, and the organizers will stop your running time just as you pass through the second doorway...

Which leads you down a few stone steps and onto an outcropping overlooking the beautiful valley below.

It takes a few minutes to catch my breath. I drink some water and start to congratulate the people in my immediate group with whom I just shared this ascension.

I feel good about my performance. But, I am curious... besides how I feel, how well did I perform? For one clear reason, I can not answer this question.

-- -- --

At home later that evening, I open my computer to look at the results from the race that just happened. I placed 34th overall and covered the course in 39 minutes and 7 seconds, exactly 10 minutes behind the race winner.

I still feel good about the race but this tells me very little about how I performed.

My inability to connect the performance dots here can be attributed to an experiment that I never expected to last this long:

Do not take nor wear any technology on a run.

Not a watch. Not a heart-rate monitor. No phone, airpods, podcasts, nor music.

For more than three years and counting now, while running on average five days per week and sometimes with lofty goals, I have not taken in a single metric from technology that could reveal something about or influence my running performance.

Running without technology may come across as a little bit extreme for someone who is serious about running. But in earlier chapters of life, my intake of data was extreme. It was embedded into many parts of my Olympic canoeing journey. Perhaps this shift from "A Lot" to "None" is a form of recalibration. Of rebalancing. Of a different way to compete in a new chapter of life.

Which gets me thinking about the last time I did wear technology during my training runs... three years earlier right around the time of this same race.

I remember this time well because I had just completed the 2019 Boston Marathon a few weeks earlier and had been taking in a lot of data points such as pace, distance, and elevation to name a few.

I remember this time well because I was going through several important changes that amounted to a major life transition.

I remember associating metrics as the reliable indicator of improvement... or lack thereof.

So, I go back into Arruix Santa Fe website, look up the 2019 results, and locate my time:

39 minutes and 1 second.

Three years later, my time up the mountain in 2022 is 6 seconds slower.

-- -- --

Now, you could be thinking, "Aren't you disappointed you went SLOWER?"

Or maybe, "What's the plan now? How are you going to go faster?" 

If I did entertain these thoughts, they fade quickly.

Three years after having started this experiment, I have learned about different ways that progress can be realized... and ways that progress is hidden from us.

-- -- --

Not long after the 2019 race, I challenged the deep intake of such metrics. I evaluated the grip of data. I started to wonder what freedom might be realized if I just let go? What would I notice if I am not noticing technology?

The technology forces at large vigorously compete for your attention. Look at how ridiculously easy, convenient, and cheap it is to download their apps that place your attention on their dashboard.

Conversely, how many forces at large - of any kind - encourage you to "Let Go" and tune into your own dashboard? To disconnect and disengage? To subtract rather add?

Maybe there's a compelling reason for tracking more information about performing better - in sport, in business, in relationships, or in life. If you know the outcome you want, information distilled from technology can be helpful at times.

However, metrics are also weights. They don't make the journey up the mountain on their own. Someone carries them. And that someone is you. Specifically, your attention bears this load... at the expense of not engaging with other unique parts of your journey. Attention is a poor multi-tasker.

Before you measure everything - or anything - it is worthwhile to consider this weight and ask, "What is the cost of tracking data and carrying metrics?"

Because...

If you had told me three years ago that the price of increased presence in my life, relationships, work, and health aligned with a better disposition for enjoyment would amount to an additional 2 seconds per year for three years, I would simply ask this question:

Where can I buy an additional 6 seconds? 

With gratitude,

-Joe 

PS - If you enjoyed this, you'll enjoy Thinking In Waves, my short and focused weekly essays delivered by email that capture and transfer the theory, spirit, and joy of surfing off-shore ocean waves on a surfski kayak to an innovative and creative model for clearer thinking, better decision-making, and increased values alignment. Subscribe for FREE HERE

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Joe Jacobi

Olympic Gold Medalist | Performance Coach | Author