The Athletic’s newsletter, Peak, ran an interview this week with Josh Kerr, the new mile world record holder. Three things came out of it that I think more people should see, so I’m passing them along. If you don’t subscribe to the New York Times (which owns The Athletic), I believe you can subscribe to the newsletter anyway, and I recommend it. The content is in your inbox, not necessarily paywalled online. But on to the three things I was excited to share.
The first is that Kerr has written down his “perfect day.” It’s not a training log or some fantasy, and much of it isn’t about running at all. It’s simply a description of the specific conditions under which he’s happiest, and he tries to replicate those conditions as often as he can.
It’s a compass, too, not a checklist. Discipline gets easier when you know exactly what you’re pointed toward. I’ve written before in this newsletter about aligning your 24 hours to your values, and this is basically that same concept, but Kerr’s way.
The second idea is that he runs on the bad days, not just the good ones. And, you may say, “well, duh.” But this applies to any goal. Kerr does the thing he knows he needs to do, even on the days where he knows he won’t feel like himself. “I feel great on race day and sessions days,” he said. “Outside of that, I feel pretty bad at running most of the time, like everyone else in the world.” I honestly believe this is what separates achievers from non-achievers at anything. The people who “say” they care about something, but never do anything about it, never accomplish much. The people who take action, no matter how small, are the ones who make progress. This is directly tied, imho, to the first point. I think it’s much easier to get out of bed and do the morning run when you know it’s aligned to your values, or your “perfect day.”
The third idea is also very important for us all. “Effort doesn’t take talent,” he said. “It doesn’t take anything other than respect. I have a lot of respect for my own time and for the people that work hard for me. The biggest disrespect you can give a coach or a team of people is just a lack of effort.”
I read that newsletter today and realized how much this aligns with my own reflection since racing the mile.
I “failed” at it, by the numbers. First time on a track in a competitive mile in over forty years, and it didn’t go the way I wanted. I know I’m much, much faster than the time I ran that evening. I took a week off after and let myself actually think about where the effort should go next, instead of just reflexively signing up for the next thing.
Here’s what I decided and how it fits with what the best miler in the world does: First, I’m starting an Achilles rehab block. I’m doing a very structured strengthening plan based on something I care about, and I will do the work, even on days when I know I won’t be good at it, just like I have done for running. I’ll test my achilles a couple of times this fall, actual efforts, not just how it feels on an easy run. If by December there’s marked improvement, I embark on running a fast mile next year. If there isn’t improvement, I will pivot to training for my ultras again (those don’t require the same load on my Achilles), and the speed work goes in the rearview mirror for good.
That’s the plan. I don’t know which version of December I’m going to get.
Rehab is almost entirely bad days by definition. It’s boring, it’s incremental, there’s no scoreboard telling you it’s working until suddenly, months later, it is or it isn’t. You do the work and the feedback comes late, and the only thing you actually control in the meantime is whether you showed up for it. Sounds a lot like Josh Kerr.
That’s effort as respect, not effort as talent. I don’t know if my 58-year-old Achilles has another fast mile in it. I do know I can decide, every day this fall, whether I gave the rehab an honest shot or a lazy one.
So: rehab starts now. Testing in the fall. A real decision point in December. I’ll tell you how it goes, good or bad.
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