Why I Ditched Pace Goals to Save My Relationship with Running
For as long as I can remember, my life as an athlete was measured in metrics. Whether I was in the pool staring at a digital clock on the wall or out on the roads staring at my wrist, my worth as a runner and as an athlete was directly tied to numbers. Pace per mile, total distance, splits, heart rate zones, times. Data was the lens through which I viewed every single workout.
Now, before I go any further, I want to clarify one thing: I don't hate data. I still appreciate it. I love technology, and I think metrics can be incredible tools when used properly. But today, I want to talk about why I’m actively re-educating myself not to let numbers be the primary focus of my movement anymore.
Coming off a severe injury one that sidelined me and took nearly an entire year to heal completely upended how I view my mind, my body, and my relationship with endurance sports. If you’re currently caught in the trap of letting your sports watch tell you how to feel about yourself, here is how shifting my focus from rigid pace goals to effort-based running saved my health, my mindset, and my love for the sport.
The Illusion of Resiliency
Growing up, I was often told two main things about physical health:
Your body is a temple, so take care of it.
The human body is incredibly resilient.
For years, I completely ignored the first statement and latched onto the second with a vice grip. I weaponized the idea of "resiliency." I convinced myself that because the body can adapt and endure, I could push mine through almost anything without consequences.
I gave my body massive demands while doing virtually zero maintenance outside of the actual runs:
No warm-ups or cool-downs: I skipped stretching before and after runs
Under-fueling: I viewed food as a reward rather than fuel. I fell into the dangerous, exhausting mindset of believing I had to earn calories through burning them, rather than realizing that proper nutrition is an essential part of athletic recovery and longevity.
Ignoring warning signs: Early aches and systemic fatigue were just minor inconveniences to be pushed through in pursuit of keeping my average pace down.
I pushed, scraped, and demanded perfection from my physical frame until it finally said, Enough.
My body shut down. It didn't just ask for a rest day; it demanded an entire year of healing. Sitting on the sidelines for months on end is a brutal classroom, but it forces you to ask uncomfortable questions. The biggest realization that hit me during that time was sobering: If I had kept doing what I was doing prior to my injury, running wouldn't be in my life much longer.
If I continued treating my body like a machine to be driven into the ground for the sake of arbitrary numbers, I was going to lose the ability to run permanently. And that thought truly broke my heart.
When Data Stops Being a Tool and Starts Being a Trap
Looking back at the high-volume seasons before my injury, I wasn't just physically overtraining I was mentally burning out.
I had slipped into a habit of chronic self-shaming. If a run didn't hit a specific target pace, if my splits were slow, or if I had to cut a distance short, I viewed the entire session as a failure. I would finish a workout physically drained and emotionally defeated, letting a little screen on my wrist dictate my mood for the rest of the day.
We live in an age where running technology is more advanced than ever, but that access comes with a hidden cost: Data can quickly stop being a tool and become the sole purpose of the run.
When every run is tracked, uploaded, and evaluated against past performances, it becomes easy to forget why we fell in love with running in the first place. We replace internal intuition with external validation.
I remembered back to when I first started running. In those early years, I either ran with no watch at all or just a simple digital timer to know when to head back home. I didn’t know my exact pace per mile. I didn’t know my cadence or my real-time heart rate zones. I just ran until it felt like a good workout, paying attention to the air, my breath, and the trail under my feet.
Those runs were some of my absolute favorite memories. Ironically, those seasons were also some of my best, most joyful seasons as a runner.
The Shift: Learning to Run on Effort and Feeling
As I rebuild my foundation and return to consistent running, I’m using this season of recovery as a full reset. I am changing not just how I move, but what I pay attention to while moving.
I still wear my Garmin. I still like looking at the post-run summary when I get home, seeing how my fitness is recovering over time, and tracking my general health. But during the run, my watch is no longer the driver. It is merely a silent passenger.
Here is what changing my focus to effort-based running actually looks like in practice:
1. Gauging Effort Over Exact Speed
Instead of demanding my body run a specific pace regardless of heat, fatigue, stress, or terrain, I run by Effort / Rate of Perceived Exertion (RPE). If today calls for an "easy run," it needs to feel easy. If that means my pace is two minutes per mile slower because it's hot out or I had a long week, that isn't a failure that is success. It means I gave my body exactly what it needed.
2. Treating Food as Fuel, Not a Reward
I am actively dismantling the mindset that food is something to be earned. Fueling before, during, and after runs is now non-negotiable. Carbohydrates and nutrition aren't prizes for running fast; they are the literal materials my body requires to rebuild muscle tissue, protect joint health, and keep my hormonal and metabolic health stable.
3. Re-learning Physical Self-Awareness
By turning down the noise of pace feedback, I can actually hear what my body is telling me. I can feel when my stride is smooth, when my breathing is controlled, or when my hips are starting to tight up. I’m giving my internal feedback system its power back.
Building a Body for the Long Haul
Entering my 30s has brought a whole new layer of perspective to this transition. Our bodies naturally change as we move through different decades of life, and keeping up the illusion that we can abuse our physical frames without consequences gets riskier the older we get. Longevity requires intention.
This shift isn't just about my personal athletic goals it’s about how I want my life to look years down the road.
Recently, my boyfriend and I were sitting down, working on being much more intentional about planning out our weekly meals, prioritizing whole foods, and discussing how we treat our health overall. As we talked about why these habits mattered so much to us, the conversation kept coming back to the future.
We want to be healthy, active, and fully present for a long time. We talk about having kids one day, and when that time comes, we want to be able to move around with them, play outside, go on adventures, and keep up with their energy without being sidelined by preventable injuries or chronic exhaustion. Taking care of ourselves today is an investment in our ability to take care of our future family tomorrow.
Running fast split times in my 30s is great, but being able to run around a park with my future kids, hike mountains effortlessly into my 50s and 60s, and stay healthy for decades to come is infinitely more important.
Rediscovering the Joy
Rebuilding after an injury is humbling, but its also a profound gift if you allow it to be. It forces you to stripped away performance vanity and get back to the core essence of movement.
I don't want running to feel like a second job where I am constantly auditioning for my own approval based on an average pace metric. I want to find the pure, unburdened fun in it again. I want to step out the door, feel the crisp morning air, listen to my body work in harmony, and finish a session feeling recharged instead of depleted.
If you’ve found yourself trapped in the cycle of watch-driven anxiety, shaming yourself over slow splits, or pushing through pain just to hit a number on a screen, I encourage you to try taking a step back:
Flip your watch display to show only elapsed time or heart rate instead of real-time pace.
Focus on your breath: Can you hold a conversation? If not, back off, regardless of what the speed says.
Prioritize recovery: Stretch, mobilize, and fuel your body like an athlete who respects their instrument.
Data is a wonderful tool to analyze after the journey, but don't let it steal the joy of the journey while you're in the middle of it. Our bodies are resilient, yes, but they deserve to be taken care of, listened to, and appreciated every single step of the way.
