I was a sprinter. A trail runner.

I know how to dig deep. To access the well of energy that propels fierce speed to cross a finish line.

In high school my track coach would infuriate me with a workout he would parse out over a few hours, leaving me no sense of how to best pace myself.

I trained with a partner who would give every sprint his all - puking at least once a practice.

I was measured - holding a little back to be sure I could make it to the end - 200, 400, 800, 200x2, etc x 20.

On the final sprint I usually busted out, eclipsing my partner, impressing my coach.

But I always wanted to KNOW the workout, to pace myself accordingly. Knowing when to push, when to recover after passing the baton.

This pandemic situation feels like I am back on that track. No clue when the sprints will end. There is no ‘end of practice’ whistle. Only an announcement that next will be the distance run, before more sprints. Every day. For who knows how long.

This pandemic required I start...