On slowing down to speed things up.
A reflection on slow mornings and pacing (myself, that is).
There is something beautiful behind slow mornings.
No Outlook reminders for a meeting that should be happening soon.
Just waking up.
No rush.
No alarms.
No annoying chymes budging into those last delicious minutes of fully restorative deep-sleep. You know the ones…
Slow mornings set up the stage for having a great day.
It's like having space allotted to cherishing the art and craft of rituals that mark the beginning of the day:
1. Coffee, obviously.
2. Running, usually.
Rituals that get your ducks in line for the rest of the day.
And they are especially exquisite after living in a hurry for years, rushing in a futile attempt to make the most of the 24 hrs we get each day. Spreading ourselves thin, but justifying our constant hustle by introducing productivity hacks, quirky alarms (...I’ve actually tested plenty. I could probably write an article to review them. The verdict? None of them make waking up easier if you’re running on a sleep deficit), meditation, and multi/tasking to try to make the most out of the day. All in a desperate attempt to outpace time.
Today, three weeks into life without a corporate job, I’ve realized something:
Slowing down matters.
Especially for reflection and growth.
In fact, I might be living proof that:
“Sometimes the fastest way forward is to pause.”
To pause?
Or is it to breathe?
To savour? Listen? Enjoy? Sip? Run? Jog? Walk? Breathe once again?
For high achievers, this kind of slowing down doesn’t come easily. We seek pressure as proof we’re on the right path. Anxiety becomes fuel. It’s crazy, I know, but that’s how we “thrive”. It is how we’re wired.
But this thriving is actually a coping mechanism in disguise. Which is why one of the hardest lessons one can learn as a type-A individual is that not taking time to recover and pause and reflect, (and all of the other verbs listed above) usually backfires (and whatever is under disguise, suddenly rebels).
In running, I have found both liberation and joy, a moment where my mind and body align with a shared purpose. I loved feeling that I could push myself. But in doing so it became my greatest teacher: after my first marathon, I pushed my body too far and was sidelined with a serious injury, pubalgia. The prognosis: I’d never run long distances again.
While attempting to recover from this injury, I learned to find joy in the journey and to recognize that growth actually comes not from pushing harder but from embracing limits.
Still easier said than done. But-oh-so conspicuously true.
So yes. If running has taught me anything, it's that you have to slow down to speed up. (I take my zone 2 training VERY seriously. Ask my husband how angry I get if he dares to speed up on our easy runs.)
And with this new mindset, I have turned challenges into sources of strength, and managed to complete my second marathon, faster and stronger, 10 years after a very dire diagnosis, making my Boston Qualifying dream as something that could just be…possible?!
Getting injured taught me that running is a privilege, one that should not be taken for granted. So, as I ran through the finish line at the San Diego Half last weekend, I poured my heart out in every step, through every hill and every downhill (as the course giveth, the course taketh, once again). I kept repeating my coach’s words: the race starts when you’re done with the first 15 kms. And when I got there, I knew: I was still strong. Still in it. I had run my race and kept a pace that I never thought possible for my body, much less during 21 km. I finished proud but also stunned. I had paced myself at what seemed impossible a few years back. And now, Boston suddenly seems feasible this year.
At least, here’s hoping.
And in an attempt to NOT jinx it, I’m just focusing on the sheer joy of the process: the privilege of running, the steady progress, and the well-earned latte after each training session.