The StairMaster Became My Way Back
Climbing my way back. One step at a time.
I didn’t expect the StairMaster to become part of my training.
Honestly, I never really thought about it.
Running was the plan.
It’s always been the plan.
But after Tokyo, running stopped being something I could rely on.
I broke this down more in my last Dan’s Diary after Tokyo, but this was the moment things really shifted.
Two miles in, pain.
Two and a half, more pain.
Three miles turned into jog-walk.
And for the first time since I started taking running seriously, I didn’t feel in control of my training.
That’s a tough place to be.
Especially when you’ve built momentum.
Especially when Chicago is already on the calendar.
Instead of building forward, it felt like I was trying to hold onto what I had.
That’s when I started looking for another way.
Not a replacement.
A bridge.
Something that would let me keep moving without making things worse.
That’s how I ended up on the StairMaster.
At first, it was just a way to get some work in.
But pretty quickly, something clicked.
For the first time, I could actually control my heart rate.
Not guess.
Not chase it down after it spiked.
Control it.
Level six through nine kept me right in the mid-140s.
Consistent.
Predictable.
Exactly where I wanted to be.
That was new for me.
Running has always pushed my heart rate higher than I’d like, regardless of pace.
Even when I slow down, it climbs.
But on the StairMaster, I could adjust the effort in real time.
Dial it up.
Bring it down.
Stay in the range I was actually trying to train in.
And maybe most importantly, I could do it without pain.
That changed everything.
Because now I wasn’t stuck.
I was adapting.
There’s a difference.
When something gets taken away, it’s easy to feel like you’re losing progress.
But sometimes you’re being pushed toward a better system.
That’s how this started to feel.
The StairMaster wasn’t just a substitute.
It became a tool.
A way to build aerobic capacity.
A way to stay consistent.
A way to keep momentum when running wasn’t an option.
And in some ways, it might actually make me better.
Going into Chicago, I’m looking at this differently now.
Not as a setback.
As an adjustment.
A chance to build a stronger base.
A chance to train smarter.
That’s something I probably wouldn’t have done if everything went perfectly afterTokyo.
That’s the thing about setbacks.
They force you to get creative.
They force you to pay attention.
And sometimes, they show you something you would have missed.
For me, it was a machine I used to walk past thinking it was only for bodybuilders.
Now it’s part of how I train for running.