Dumping organic

About a year ago, maybe longer, under the influence of a late-1970s-era, hippie-dippie book called "The Running Mind," I embraced a concept called "goalless running."

This was a feel-good endeavor to combat all the shoulds and have-tos in my life, and a way to embrace the pure joy and freedom of movement. I would be blessed with running highs and float along the sidewalks in a wave of euphoric bliss that comes with no aim other than to be a part of nature. Like a gazelle. Or a wild stallion. Or some other animal that runs for the sheer joy of it.

My good friend Kyle called this concept "organic" running. I liked that, because it captured the spirit of the natural which I was trying to attain.

The problem? It didn't work. Goalless running was all too soon replaced by runless running, and I promptly gained 5 pounds.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a battery for my heart rate monitor, and went out for a three-mile run with it strapped to my chest. My goal was to keep my heart rate within the prescribed training zone for a man of my age.

I found that it was remarkably easy, and that for most of my runs, I've been going out to hard. While in many ways that's OK, it's also not very sustainable. Since then, I've been wearing the heart rate monitor to keep myself in check, much like the RPM gauge does on a car. And my runs have been easier, more fun and I've been feeling a lot more productive.

On Sunday morning, I ran for 7 1/2 miles, and felt fresh when I finished. It was the longest run I've clocked since, well, I can't remember the last time I ran that far.

I've decided that I'm going to charge up the old Garmin Forerunner next, and embrace it like a long-lost friend.