When 12 Miles Is No Big Deal

Not all that long ago, I was training for half marathons and swore that I wouldn't run anything longer. The only time I hit twelve miles was during the race, and at that point I knew that there was only another 1.1 mile left to go.

Now, I'm training for my first marathon and it's a different story. Yesterday was Friday -- just a "normal" day on the training schedule, not a long run or anything like that -- and the schedule called for 12 miles. The day before was a tempo run that totaled 11 miles. Sunday I'm supposed to run 20 miles.

Throwing on my running gear there was none of the anxiety or butterflies that I usually get when I'm about to go on a challenging run. Why? Because 12 miles is no big deal.

When did this happen? How did this happen?

It's simple: It's all relative. When the goal was a 13.1 mile race, an eight-mile run was a challenge. When the goal is a 26.2 mile race, 12 miles is no big deal. I can only assume that when I'm training for a 50-mile ultramarathon that 20 miles will seem a lot easier.

Of course, as Einstein would be quick to point out, relativity is hardly confined to running.

• A 5'8" man like myself would be a giant among the pygmies, but the New York Knicks wouldn't give me a second look (that's if they gave me a first).
• I doubt my sister could bench press 145 pounds a single time. I can do 20 reps with no problem. Eight-time Mr. Olympian Ronnie Coleman can put up 495 pounds for reps. An attempt at that would likely end my life in a horrible chest-crushing exhibition. (note: always use a spotter, kids)
• With $100 in your bank account, an $80 dinner out is a serious splurge. With $10 billion to your name, buying a few restaurants might be something you'd do on a drunken dare.
• In a field of grass and weeds, a dandelion can look very pretty. Next to a dozen roses, a dandelion looks pretty pathetic. (note to self: A dandelion bouquet probably won't cut it on Valentine's Day)

So, then, in a vacuum, what am I -- tall or short? Am I strong or weak? Rich or poor? Dashing or plain? And is 12 miles difficult or no big deal?

Or ... are all of those distinctions meaningless?

I think most people would hate the idea of doing away with these relative concepts. Without those, you're no longer bigger, stronger, faster, richer, smarter, nor are you better looking, more impressively employed, or even (gasp!) wiser. You're just you. And what the hell is that?

But sticking with relative concepts is no picnic either. As long as we keep them around, then most goals become moving targets that you're unlikely to ever hit. Want to be wealthy? Even if you put a specific number on it -- "I want to have $1 million" -- it's very likely that once you reach that number you'll find yourself looking around at the folks with $3 million, $5 million, or $10 million and decide that you feel like a pauper with $1 million.

That's far from hypothetical. The average respondent in a recent Fidelity Investments poll had $3.5 million in investable assets and an annual household income of $379,000, yet 42% of them said they don't feel wealthy. And when would they feel wealthy? When they have $7.5 million in investable assets -- or so they say.

Of course, the same could be said for a good job, a better body, a perfect family, or any of the myriad other things that we pride ourselves on. It's classic hedonic treadmill.

Like I said at the beginning of all of this, running 12 miles is no big deal. But is it because I'm training for a longer race? Perhaps. Or maybe it's because running 12 miles is just about maintaining foot turnover over the course of 63,360 feet. Running 12 miles is simple -- everything else is damn complicated.


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