As a runner, I’m going to come clean—I sometimes look at my pace and feel like I’m not good enough or that I’m too slow to be considered a "legit" runner. Even after recently becoming a certified running coach, I still find myself battling these thoughts. While I have a wealth of knowledge about running, not being as fast as other coaches can sometimes make me feel less than.
Do I wish I didn’t have these thoughts? Absolutely.
Do I wish I could finish a run without overanalyzing my splits or comparing them to last week’s? Of course.
Do I wonder why someone my age runs so much faster than me and seems to avoid injury altogether? You bet.
Are you constantly checking your paces after every run? Easy run pace, tempo pace, speed pace, half marathon pace, marathon pace—the list goes on. We have measurements for every type of run, with pace often becoming the defining metric. Suddenly, our identities are shaped by labels like:
🏃♀️ "Fast runner"
🏃♂️ "Slow runner"
🎯 "Front of the pack"
🔹 "Middle of the pack"
🔻 "Back of the pack"
But what do these labels really mean? Do they define our worth? I recently met a runner who ran what I would consider a "fast" half marathon—but they had no running watch. No idea of their pace. They simply ran as fast as they could until they bonked at mile 11 and then slowed down to finish. That made me stop and think: what would it feel like to run without data? Without pace dictating our sense of accomplishment?
Joseph Campbell coined the phrase, “Follow your bliss.” And my friend did—running by feel, unaware of his pace. But now? He wants to measure it all, chasing data and getting caught up in the pace-identity trap. So much for bliss. Even elite runners sometimes avoid Strava, not wanting others to see their "slow" paces. Retired elites worry about being judged for running eight-minute miles. Seriously? Why is pace such a source of vulnerability?
Social media. Running watches. Strava. Race standards. We are constantly measuring, comparing, and determining our worth by our splits. I’m not immune—I see my paces slowing as I age, and it stings. It makes me cringe inside. But then I remind myself: just getting out there and running is enough.I see running influencers saying, “You don’t have to slow down as a masters athlete!” But for many of us, running the same paces we did 10 years ago leads to chronic injuries. Sometimes slowing down is not a choice—it’s a necessity.
At a recent local marathon, a runner shared that they had set a massive personal record but were disappointed because they didn’t qualify for Boston. No time for celebration—just frustration. Another missed metric. Another box unchecked. Another reason to feel "less than. "Boston Qualifying has become a runner's rite of passage. Without it, are we still "legit" or are we just "recreational" runners? The lines we draw are imaginary—but they carry so much weight.
While pacing runners at a local half marathon, I found myself encouraging two newer runners not to let pace steal their joy. I reminded them that running offers a sense of belonging and can teach us valuable lessons—if we’re willing to learn. We are all individuals on different journeys, with different goals. Letting go of the notion that pace defines our worth might be the best service we can do for ourselves.
💬 Do you let pace define you?
📊 Are you obsessed with the data?
🏃♀️ Do you view other runners differently based on their pace? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Let’s keep the conversation going.