Why Are We Still Out Here?

Tuesday night, November 18 -- I pull in to the parking lot outside Harvard Stadium at 6:15, a little later than I had planned, and I worry that Terry and Tom will already have started their workout. As I get out of the car, I can't help but notice athletes in shorts and t-shirts warming up within the Gordon Track facility, taking easy laps around its friendly banked turns. Not for me the indoor track tonight.

Terry promised that this workout -- the last outdoor track workout of the year -- would make us look forward to going inside. He wasn't kidding. As I jog out beyond the stadium to the outdoor track, the temperature is in the low 30's and there is a stiff wind blowing in from the Northwest.

The lights at the track have long been shut off, and it's very dark. In fact, it's hard to see more than 30 feet in front of me, and I don't catch sight of Tom, Terry, and Anneliese until they are almost past me. Good news, though -- they have only just arrived and are a lap into their warm up. I join them in ghostly circuits around the outside lanes of the track.

Tonight, the word "warm up" is a relative term. Although I am wearing hat, gloves, three layers of shirt, and running pants, two miles of running and there is no hint of a sweat. My hands are beginning to ache, and I have decided to keep on all my clothing when we start the intervals.

Tonight's workout will be a mix of 800's, 1000's and a few shorter pieces at the end. By tradition, we finish our warm up with four strides. The strides down the backstretch (with the wind behind us) feel easy. The strides up the homestretch (into the wind) are a shambles. The arms work to maintain form, but the wind just beats us into submission.

It's far too dark to see our watches, so we run the entire workout based on perceived effort. Everything is slow. On a normal night, we would feel better after the first interval, but tonight it all just feels the same. Even our short jogs between intervals lack definition. This is the kind of workout that probably doesn't do much of anything for our training. It's not fast enough to prepare us for indoor track races to come. It's just one more Tuesday night on the track.

We joke that we're out here for the social life. Indeed, the only warmth available now is the glow of shared purpose and the tiny bit of satisfaction in knowing that we're not afraid to feel a little discomfort. Oh sure, we could run with a larger group, but there is something very intimate about being among the last ones out here. It's a little bit like what happens when the party's been over for hours, but there are a few people left sitting around talking. Earlier in the fall there were a number of groups working out on the track, but now in late November almost everyone has gone inside or found another pastime to occupy their week nights. We'll do the same in a couple of weeks, but tradition of "the last outdoor workout" requires that we wait until its obvious even to us that there's nothing more to be gained from defying winter.

After the workout, we jog another couple of miles out to the river and back. Anneliese is jogging back to MIT, so we head in that direction with the wind at our back. We talk about the best strategies for running with and into the wind, trying to understand the physics of it. After a mile, Terry and I turn around and get a blast of cold air in our faces. Terry says, "No one ever beats the wind; the best you can do is try not to get beaten too badly." In my near-frozen state, this sounds like pure genius.

Terry was right about another thing. after tonight, I'm ready to head inside for my next track workout. It will be nice to warm up, to feel my hands, to shed layers, to run fast, to sweat.

But I'll miss the social life.