Author: Sam Lewis

I am becoming…

By: Sam Lewis
July 14th, 2022
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Part 1

I have been running since I was seven years old. As I have developed and grown as a person, my relationship with running has changed – over the years I have become a runner. When I first started running, I did not run because I enjoyed the act of running. I ran because I was good and I liked to win; I was or wanted to be a winner. I learned from a very young age that society values objective success, participating was not good enough, “Children are taught to compete, but they are also socialized into knowing that is important to win and that winners are somehow better off than losers” (Thomas, 1983). My relationship with running formed around my success. I did not begin running because I loved the sport, I loved to win, and I was good which fueled my desire to keep running. Though what I found was that a relationship with running solely fueled by the objective was not sustainable nor enjoyable. I was in a toxic relationship with running because regardless of my effort, I was never satisfied unless I won or ran faster than I had before. One could almost guarantee that they could find me after a race in tears because, in my perspective, I just kept failing. Though if I were ever to find meaning in the run, to become a runner, I would need to redefine my relationship with the run.

In the beginning, Running allowed me to stand out amongst my peers and I felt like I was a part of a coveted running community which I only gained access to because I was successful. When I did not meet my performance expectations, I believed that not only did I fail, but I did not deserve to be a part of the running community. Throughout my running career, I would retreat from my teammates after a rough race. For instance, at the Xterra Trail World Championships in December 2021, I was unhappy with my performance. I finished in fifth place, which may sound great, but I did not feel like I gave myself the chance to truly pursue my own personal excellence. Since I believed I had failed, I did not believe I deserved to spend time with my competitors and friends post-race. I felt like an outsider in the community like my membership had been revoked because of my mediocre performance.

By: Sam Lewis
April 13th, 2022
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20210720_130358 — Female Coaches – from left, Sam Lewis (University of Idaho), Charlee Linton (formerly Washington State, now at the University of Utah), Michaela Freeby (Willamette University), and Emma Wren (Adams State University)

I was born 22 years after Title IX passed in 1972. I always had the opportunity to play, and I grew up in an area that supported and encouraged everyone to move. I played soccer growing up, but I never noticed or observed any differences between the resources allocated to my team versus my brother’s team. Besides soccer, I did summer swim league, cross country, and track and field, which meant I was practicing at the same time with the boys or even running with the boys. I was also a very talented young runner; the local news celebrated my success starting in middle school through high school.

Despite the efforts of Title IX, I did not understand the ongoing gender equity issues in sport until I became a collegiate cross country and track coach. For the last five years as part of the University of Idaho’s cross country and track staff, I have always been one of the only female coaches at a cross country or track meet. I initially really enjoyed being one of the only female coaches at meets. I felt like I was a part of the selective “boys club”, I somehow earned entry into the coaching world dominated by men that apparently very few women were invited to join. Despite the sense of pride I felt being in the “boys club”, I did not understand why more women were not coaching. If I had entered the coaching world, why couldn’t other women too.

By: Sam Lewis
January 11th, 2022
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Recently, an article surfaced exposing the culture of body shaming and disordered eating at the University of Oregon (OU), one of the most prestigious track and field programs in the NCAA. The female athletes interviewed discussed how the coaching staff used DEXA scans, which measures one’s bone density and body fat percentages, to determine their training programs (Goe, 2021). The Director of Track and Field, Robert Johnson stated, “Track is nothing but numbers. A good mathematician probably could be a good track coach” (Goe, 2021). Johnson’s perspective showcases society’s obsession with the objective experience defined by the numerical outcome. By solely allowing the numbers on the DEXA scan results to dictate one’s training, the human element is being completely ignored. However, practices like using DEXA scans and other objective measures to enhance performance are defended because of the “win-at-all-costs” culture plaguing sports. Johnson has won a lot; 14 NCAA national championships and multiple Olympians have emerged from UO’s program. Some people believe that if an athlete wants to be the best, aspire to be an Olympian, then the experiences of the UO athletes is “the price one has to pay” to be the best. Though, when is sacrificing one’s wellbeing worth the risk?

The “win-at-all-costs” culture is driven by money, power, and success, which makes coaches, athletes, and administrations focus on one part of the experience – winning. And if a team is not winning, then changes on the roster occur and coaches are fired; new coaches are hired but only given a couple of years to build a winning culture, otherwise, they are fired, and the vicious cycle continues. The athletes ultimately suffer the consequences of the cycle. The athletes know, feel, and learn to believe (if they do not already before college), that the only aspect of sport they should care about is winning. For many teams, success is not about the athlete’s personal growth and journey, but whether they won or were part of a winning team. Thus, the objective experience seems to be the only part of their collegiate athlete experience that is discussed and emphasized.

By: Sam Lewis
June 30th, 2021
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(2-Minute Read)

I never make New Year’s resolutions. Though when 2021 started, I knew I needed to make one change, I vowed to not log onto Strava at all during the year. Like other physical activity trackers, Strava connects humans from around the world through their movement journeys. Strava provides all the details of the activity from the mileage, elevation gain, and even digital maps to allow others to chase the top spot on leaderboards. In the age of GPS (Global Positioning System) watches, one can synchronize their watches to their phone to upload all their fitness data from their watch directly to Strava. In seconds, one can know all the objective details from their run.

In an effort to learn more about the training philosophies of some of the best trail and mountain runners in the world, I thought I would investigate just how much elevation gain said athletes run during an average week. Even though my intention was to use Strava as a tool, the more time I spent on Strava, the more toxic the application became for my wellbeing. I started comparing myself to my competitors. I felt a desire to look at Strava daily even though seeing everyone else’s activities further decreased my confidence in myself. I realized I did not run as much elevation, mileage, or even run on the trails as much during the week as my competitors, which made me question my coach and training philosophy.

The irony was that in 2020 I was the fittest I have ever been. I was spending more time on the trails than ever before and yet my confidence was nonexistent. Through reflection, I believe my newfound obsession with checking and comparing myself on Strava is what caused my confidence to absolutely plummet. I had no reason in the past to question or compare myself but now I was more focused on everyone else’s journey instead of being present for mine.

By: Sam Lewis
June 23rd, 2021
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(2 Minute Read)

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a professional runner and qualify for the Olympics. I viewed professional athletes’ lifestyles as the quintessential life on repeat: running, eating, running some more, and sleeping; I mean how could one not want to solely focus on the sport they loved? Since I began my post-collegiate running journey, I have always been juggling chaos. From teaching a philosophy of human movement class, helping coach a collegiate cross country and track team, working on my doctorate, sometimes working at a café, and running; life is busy. In the past, my friends and family have asked if I should consider solely focusing on running. Logically, if I had more time to recover, sleep, and reduce the stress in my life, my running might improve. I seriously considered moving back to my hometown in Colorado because living with the Rocky Mountains as my playground would allow me to truly focus on running. I would find a part-time job and run. However, as many people experienced, the COVID-19 pandemic provided the time for reflection to determine what was meaningful in my life.

The pandemic forced many aspects of society to shut down, which meant collegiate sports were not happening and the café I worked at closed temporarily. Due to the situation, I was finally living the professional athlete life I had always envisioned. From March through August of 2020 I was focused solely on running. I was just running, eating, and sleeping on repeat. Initially, I was excited for the extra time to focus on myself and improve some of the areas of my training that are neglected due to the normal chaos of life. My stress was nonexistent, and I was consistently sleeping more than I ever had, even taking naps during the day, which were benefitting my training. I drove to the local mountain weekly and sought out soft surfaces daily, which I was unable to do pre-COVID-19 due to time constraints. I used to solely run from my apartment for easy runs and workouts. I was only able to drive to soft surfaces on the weekends when I had more time.

Author: Sam Lewis

I am becoming…

Where Are All the Female Track & Field Coaches?

We Coach Humans – Not Machines

If it’s Not on Strava, Did it Even Happen?

Finding Your Spark