Running News Daily

Running Strides Makes Me Look Ridiculous, But They Also Make Me Faster

Yeah, doing strides in public can make you look funny. They’re also crucial to improving form and speed.

When I first moved to my small Pennsylvania city two years ago, I naturally scoped out the training basics: a greenway for long runs and tempos, dirt trails for easy days, a track, and—to be used most frequently—a flat patch of grass or road at least 100 meters long within a block or two of my house. That last one might sound unnecessarily specific.

I was looking for a spot where I could run “strides.” Strides (never “striders”) are an imperative part of my year-round training, no matter what distance I’m targeting. After easy runs, I do four to eight strides, somewhere around 5K pace, taking enough time between each one to get my heart rate back down. They’re faster than my normal running pace, but not fast enough to make my legs sore. The purpose isn’t to make me tired, but to keep me in touch with some speed and reinforce proper biomechanics at the late stages of a run. While most coaches recommend doing strides for 100 meters, I typically eyeball it. A city block, a football field, or even just 10 to 15 seconds is close enough.

Before I start strides, I do a series of drills to prime my legs for faster running and to establish good form, like making powerful contact with the ground and landing my feet underneath my hips. I do ankle dribbles, calf dribbles, knee dribbles, straight-leg bounds, fast leg (right leg), and fast leg (left leg). All with a slow walk back to the start before beginning the next percussive drill. Then I start my strides.

The dream spot for strides is an artificial-turf soccer field where I can take off my shoes when I feel like it, but in my town, I have to settle for a fairly busy back alley. The street attracts construction workers getting McDonald’s coffee before work, mothers pushing strollers, daily dog walkers, my neighbor who sometimes smokes weed on her porch. So during the four times a week I “stride out,” I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. I assume the people walking near me think I’m strange for barreling down the street at race pace. Sometimes I’m worried that people will think I’m chasing them. There’s always a part of me that wants to explain to bystanders what I’m doing: I promise I’m not trying to steal your purse, I just want to PR in the half marathon! 

One morning, I noticed a man at the end of the alley. He was sitting behind an easel, facing down the road toward me. It reminded me of an exercise I did in high school: Our art class was told to find a place in the city to set up and paint whatever we saw. Most things—buildings, signs, trees—remain consistently still, so you’re able to fill in details with appropriate hues and shadows. But some things move quickly. You might not have time to paint the skateboarder that flies across the street. I like to imagine I made it into the man’s painting. I was doing strides in the alley for about 10 minutes, enough time for him to get a good look. Even though I always wonder if people are watching me when I do strides, he’s the only person I’m certain was.

Since beginning to run as a high school junior nine years ago, I’ve learned that training is always a little bit embarrassing. To truly maximize my potential, I have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. Not just in races or hard workouts, where physical discomfort is inevitable, but I’ve accepted that being vulnerable is how I grow stronger and more confident. 

I’ve got to be okay with doing things a little differently. Sometimes I’m embarrassed when I come up with a lame excuse to get out of happy hour because I have a workout the next day. Or I feel self-conscious lifting small weights at the gym, because I’m focused on injury prevention, not bulking up. But nothing humbles me more than doing strides down a public alley at 7 in the morning.