The value of being slow and bad at something
This week I started jogging again for the first time in awhile, and it has brought to my attention my extraordinarily slow running speed. This may seem like a humble-brag (oh my gosh, I’m sooo slow when I am out diligently exercising!!), but that’s not my intent, and I hope you’ll stick with me for a moment while I try and play this out.
I “jog” at a pace that barely surpasses the speed of walking. Sometimes when I am out there trotting slowly along, I feel nervous as I come up behind a dog walker on the path, because I am worried that I won’t be able to effectively pass them (especially if I’m going uphill. Hills! So hard).
Here’s a representative example of one of my jogs: (Given how unimpressive and un-motivating my running stats are, it is surprising to me that I do often track my runs, but alas, the urge to track is tough to deny).
Google confirms that the pace of a brisk walk is 13-20 minutes per mile
Aside from my speed (slow) and distance (short), you’ll also notice that my “run” occurs in a tight circle around a tiny park, which I traverse over and over while also, this week, listening to Harry Potter.
And guess what, I love it, this “jogging” thing I do.
As much as I feel kind-of-embarrassed about my running pace, and as much as I am never, ever going to be one to publish my daily run stats to Facebook or whatever, I think there is something wonderful about the fact that, for me, “going for a run” means essentially walking in circles around a tiny park. In so many parts of my life I am (and, I dare say, a lot of us are) constantly striving to be excellent, fast, noteworthy, always improving. In such a life, I think, one needs areas that are just kind of slow and stagnant and reliably the same, and, dare I say in this ambition-soaked world, easy.
I have many times told myself that I should just train up a little bit, you know, run a little faster, a little longer. That’s what you do when you run. You try to run more and better. But as I get older, I increasingly see the value in not trying to become a faster runner (or a runner at all, you might say). It is tempting to imagine that I could be always improving at everything, but delusional. There are so few times when I allow myself to just……not try to improve. And there is something about it that feels so healthy.
I want to acknowledge here that there is a huge range of human capabilities and everyone has such an individual relationship to any given skill, running included. For some people, going for a run at any speed is out of the question due to physical limitations. For other people, throwing on sneaks and running five miles is nothing. We will all have areas where we shine and others where we don’t. I think that making this explicit for myself in certain domains—choosing consciously to be where I am and not trying to be better—is an important act. It can be tough to let go of a vision of myself sprinting barefoot along a beach for miles, but also quite liberating.
So, this is a thing I do sometimes: I go outside for twenty minutes in running shoes, and I travel very little distance. All my muscles move, and I smell the dewey grass, and I journey again with Harry and Dumbledore into the Pensieve, and I feel waves of comforting familiarity. If I’m lucky, I glimpse a blanket of fog receding towards the ocean, fingers of mist creeping slowly between the multicolored houses on the hill. And that’s it.
Artwork by Stephanie Davidson, IG: @asiwillit