How I Shaved More Than 3 Minutes Off My Average Mile Pace — in Just a Month

The group of about a dozen women who had taken on the 10K challenge got together for a celebratory — and intimidating — kickoff dinner at one of my favorite Thai restaurants in town. During the meal, Coach Blue (who, as you will come to learn, is irrepressibly upbeat) casually informed us that he had run 60-plus marathons and presented us with a training schedule that demanded we work out six days a week for the next month. While I typically try to exercise at least four times a week, I don't always do it. Six days a week, I knew, was going to require some sacrifice. I made a point of savoring my wine — and copious amounts of fried rice — that night.

The training plan included a mix of speed runs and long runs with the Nike Run Club app, some cross-training, and some strength sessions on the Nike Training Club app. I ended up following it almost to a T, with a few minor changes. I have a beloved hip-hop dance class on Monday nights I try never to skip, so I did my NTC sessions on Fridays instead. And I did the NTC workout "Leg-Pocalypse Now" again in lieu of "The Speed Center" because it didn't require any equipment. Otherwise, I committed myself to sticking to the schedule.

In week one, I laced up for our first group training session. I could sense I wasn't the only person who was a little apprehensive as we milled around in front of the Nike offices. Blue informed us we'd be clocking a little under five miles that day, running to the Culver City Stairs and then making our way to the top of the hill by running along the snaky switchbacks that crisscross said stairs.

"Let's start with a warmup," Blue said cheerfully, which in his world apparently meant a brisk jog vs. a leisurely power walk. As we hit the trail, my friend and fellow editor Sara chatted with Blue at the head of the pack. I managed to keep up, staying just a few paces behind them for the run, but there was no way in hell I could have carried on a conversation.

Later that week, I did "Leg-Pocalypse Now" on my front patio. The workout was a glute-blasting torture session replete with jump squats, planks, and other assorted punishments. I prayed none of my neighbors could see my sweaty red face popping over my fence as I completed every burpee.

But I would confront my biggest fear over the weekend: the first 60-minute run of the training regimen. I wasn't sure I'd ever run for 60 minutes, except in that previous 10K, and I was dreading it. I set out on Saturday morning tired and mildly hungover. I'd had a jumbo-size tumbler of wine and a pile of nachos at the movies the night before — why I made this decision, I cannot tell you — and been woken up by my whining puppy at 4:00 a.m. I had no plan or route in mind, so I just started running around town. After 54 boring minutes, I was hot, hungry, and over it. My average pace had been 11'56" per mile. I was exhausted, but I also had a nagging sense I could do better.

I was relieved to find out that our "beach run" in week two didn't involve running on actual sand. Instead, the crew met at Nike's Santa Monica store and ran down the pier and to a little park along the beach, where Blue challenged us to some speed drills on the pavement. (In this picture, I am trying to reinflate my lungs after completing one of three, mostly uphill, sprints.)

That weekend, I decided to eschew wine the night before my run and my dog decided to sleep through the night. Still, I figured I could use an extra bump of motivation and fired up one of the Nike Run Club app's 60-minute guided runs on Saturday morning. This one featured marathon star Eliud Kipchoge, who is a wealth of Zen-like wisdom and advice. (He's well known for flashing a wide smile even in the most grueling of races.)

While I only heeded Eliud's advice to smile once — and begrudgingly, at that — listening to him chat helped me focus and gave me extra confidence. I could do this! After an hour, I was certainly tired, but I didn't feel like I'd completely drained my batteries. And I was even more revived when I found that I'd run much faster than I had the week before: I'd clocked 6.1 miles — so close to a 10K! — and averaged a 9'50" mile. Progress!

By week three, our group's numbers had dwindled. Only a handful of us got together for our weekly meetup. (I will admit it was a serious challenge to make it every week and required putting my social life on hold. Bye, happy hour!) This time, we focused on tempo runs, or a "comfortably hard" running pace. After running at about an 8 of 10 in terms of effort for about an eighth of a mile, we walked back to the start line and did it again. And again. And again.

That weekend, we headed to the Dream Hotel in Hollywood for an in-person Nike Training Club session with Nike Master Trainer Kirsty Godso. It was a hot day and I was sweating even before we started to move. Kirsty is so strong and effortless that just attempting to emulate the grace she brought to some of her insane moves, like whatever this one is, was a workout in and of itself.

The next morning would be my last chance at a long run before the race. I fired up another guided run on the Nike app and set out. Muscles that seemed to have appeared overnight in my midsection were extremely sore from the HIIT session the day before, but it was a cool, sunny day, and I felt upbeat as I hit the pavement. As I ran through West Hollywood, I looked down at my watch briefly to find that I only had a few minutes left in the run. I decided to burn any leftover energy I might have, running at full force in those final moments. When my app announced I'd hit the 65-minute mark, I was completely out of steam. But to my surprise, I'd managed to run more than seven miles and average an 8'50" pace. I couldn't believe it.

By week four, the fact of the run had started to set in. I'd been documenting my journey on social media, and suddenly I realized that I'd end up embarrassing myself in front of all my friends if I completely bombed the day of the race. I started to feel the pressure of delivering, not just to keep up appearances, but because I truly wanted to do well. I'd put in the work. I wanted it to pay off.

That week was all about tapering, so I clocked a handful of relatively easy 20- to 35-minute runs while trying to get enough sleep and eat well. The big problem? I had PMS. And when I have PMS, I turn into a human garbage disposal for a 72-hour span of time. I want ice cream, I want melted cheese, and I want Chardonnay. I had those things during race week more often than I care to admit.

The day before the race, the whole crew reunited — even some of the women who'd had to miss some of our training meets had followed through — for one last shakeout run. Blue gave us a last-minute pep talk and some expert advice on what to do on race day. He told us not to eat before the race, which was fine by me (I'm not a breakfast person), but said coffee was OK. According to Blue, a 10K race doesn't require the glycogen stores that longer races demand.

That night, I guzzled water so I'd be hydrated, crafted a playlist heavy on N.E.R.D, Cardi B, and Rae Sremmurd, and got into bed at 10:00 p.m., willing myself to an early sleep.

At 5:00 a.m. on race day, my alarm went off. I felt like I hadn't slept a wink; while I knew I'd in fact gotten a solid seven hours, they had been filled with stress nightmares full of complicated scenarios in which I somehow missed the race. I rolled out of bed, threw on the gear I'd laid out the night before, and made a double espresso.

My boyfriend had signed up for the race on his own, so we packed into his Prius and went to meet the rest of the Nike team to take a shuttle to the race. By the time we got to the Choose Go site around 6:30, the sun had started to rise and thousands of people in hot-pink racing bibs were heading toward the pens. Another advantage of running with the official Nike team: we got to be at the head of the pack. At the start line, I fired up the playlist I'd made specifically for the race and felt the butterflies start. "3, 2, 1 . . ." and we were off.

Running on an empty LA freeway was surreal — and packed with more hills than I'd expected. At mile one, I realized I'd been running a 7'50" mile and knew I had to pull back a bit. My breathing was getting unsteady. (I tried to tune out the other runners, but as a competitive person, I hate being passed. Especially by teenagers.) As we ran off the exit ramp to loop back for the second half of the race, I tried to focus on my form and breathing. As Eliud advised in the guided run I'd listened to weeks before, I didn't try to distract myself from the run; I tried to be as present in the run as I could.

As the finish line finally came into site, so did the digits on the race clock. It had only been 49'15"! I knew this was my last shot and sprinted as hard as I could in the hopes of breaking 50 minutes. Reader, I did not do it. I came close, but I crossed the finish line at 50'30" — or 50'28" net time — which was still far better than I expected. It was an average of 8'18" a mile. As I crossed the line, I also suspected there was another reason Blue had advised against eating. I heaved a few times as I slowed to a stop, barely preventing myself from throwing up. But I took it as a good sign — a sign that I'd clearly given the race all I had.

One of my friends texted me that afternoon after I posted a picture of me pushing over the finish line: "You're a runner now!" she said. My initial reaction was to demur, but I think she might be right. Here's proof: it's only been three days since the race, and I've already gone on another four-mile run . . . by choice.