The Brain's Role in Physical Performance

Research indicates that our body's "central governor" plays a significant role in the anxiety and physical discomfort experienced at the start of a cardio session. Dr. Timothy Noakes, who introduced the central governor theory in the 1990s, proposed that "the brain regulates how much muscle you can recruit."

In this model, the brain anticipates potential harm to the body from exertion under certain conditions. For instance, on a hot day, if I begin to run, my brain sends signals to slow down, even if my body can handle the effort. It preemptively reduces my pace to prevent injury. Similarly, if I suddenly exert more effort than I'm accustomed to—like transitioning from sitting on the couch to running—the brain again intervenes to slow me down.

Given this intricate interplay of physical and neurochemical factors as I embark on a run or brisk walk, it's unsurprising that anxiety spikes during that first mile. My brain is desperately attempting to protect my body from the challenge ahead.

An Existential Drive to Run

Throughout my thirties, I dabbled in running intermittently. After a break, I committed to it again by joining a running club that offered free coaching for beginners like me. A 10-week Galloway-style program helped me reach 5K distances. While having fellow novices navigating the course didn’t alleviate the discomfort of that first mile, it did motivate me to show up for each run.

Not everyone understands the importance of consistent running. I struggled to articulate why it mattered to me. Colleagues would joke that I must be running from something, and while I laughed along, it lingered in my mind long after. Was I trying to escape my faltering marriage? Perhaps I was experiencing a mid-life crisis—but I had endured several of those since high school, and none pushed me toward running. Instead, I had resorted to alcohol, poor dating decisions, and clove cigarettes. Running, which was once part of my Army Reserve duties, had never been enjoyable.

Yet, the urge to run persisted—a strange itch that surfaced whenever I passed a local 5K or called in sick to watch marathon runners cross the finish line.

Winning the Battle Between Mind and Body

After enduring the discomfort of that first mile, something transformative occurs around the 0.8 to 0.9 mark. My stride opens up, breathing becomes easier, and I can tackle hills with confidence—something that felt impossible in the initial mile when my anxious body would shift down into a walk.

Consistently running and overcoming the mental barrier of that first mile has profoundly impacted my running journey. I quickly learned three essential lessons:

1. Feeling anxious and uncomfortable when embarking on a new journey is entirely normal. It’s a typical response from both body and mind when stepping outside of one’s comfort zone.
2. If I persist through those feelings, they eventually dissipate, allowing me to concentrate on the actual challenges ahead.

Understanding that these feelings are likely universal has helped me recognize similar anxieties in other areas of my life. I often bury my concerns about initiating a new writing project or prospecting for clients under a mountain of distorted thoughts that lead to unrealistic rationalizations. Imposter syndrome compounds these issues. My Generation X mentality—believing I must tackle everything alone—has often kept me silent about my struggles.

I first confided in my running partners, who shared similar experiences. They, too, found the first mile uncomfortable, except for one individual who admitted he enjoyed starting but faced challenges during the latter half of the run due to his fast pace. A friend with years of experience teaching students with IEPs, who was recently diagnosed with ADHD, shared that she had faced similar anxieties triggered by specific situations. One effective technique she employed was to confront her triggers and verbally affirm, "No threat," repeating it until her panic subsided. Over time, this mantra became a signal for both her body and mind to relax.

Another friend, a former runner now running a gym, echoed these sentiments: "Running is a mental game. You're always trying to persuade your body to move forward and go faster than it wants."

Their insights align with Noakes’ research—overcoming our brain's regulatory mechanisms, or central governor, is possible through conscious thought. We can reassure our brains, saying, "There's no danger here." We can argue, "I'm not fatigued; you're just playing mental tricks to make me stop."

According to Noakes, mastering this internal struggle can be pivotal for success. For competitive athletes, it might determine whether they finish first, second, or third. For recreational runners, it can mean the difference between completing a run or quitting early—or even giving up running altogether.

Recommitting to Consistency

This year, following a challenging two-year divorce that took a toll on my fitness, I'm recommitting to cardiovascular exercise. Inspired by a former running coach who runs at least one mile daily, I’ve resolved to do the same.

Each day, I’ll engage in some form of cardio—be it running or walking—but always covering at least one mile. If a longer distance is required—like during a hike or a 5K—I’ll adapt accordingly. But that one mile is non-negotiable.

The mental challenge ahead is just as significant as the physical one of maintaining this routine consistently.

Last night, I found myself crouched under a dining table, laughing with friends and family as we devoured twelve seedless grapes before midnight. "You have to make a wish with each grape," Isabel explained. As I crunched through each one, cold juice bursting in my mouth, I scrambled to think of twelve wishes while avoiding choking.

Neither my goal to run a mile each day nor my commitment to publish an article daily in 2024 made it onto my wish list. I had already established both resolutions days earlier, during a windy walk by a lake, nursing a post-holiday hangover. It dawned on me that with the finalization of my divorce, a new chapter of my life was beginning, and the direction of that life was solely in my hands.

This morning, as I stand hesitantly outside my house, I feel the January chill. The Christmas lights glow warmly inside, tempting me to retreat.

But I face the icy sidewalk, inhale deeply, and take that first step forward.