Do you know that tension between what training feels like and what it’s actually accomplishing?
I spent this morning’s 10K deliberately holding myself in zone 2—with 10+ pounds in a new fastpack, easy conversational pace—and the entire run, my brain kept whispering you could be going so much faster. That’s where most athletes leak quality from their easy days.
Zone 2 work builds mitochondrial density and improves fat oxidation—the metabolic machinery that lets you sustain effort for hours instead of minutes. But it doesn’t feel productive. It feels slow. Frustratingly, embarrassingly slow, especially when you’re fit enough to run significantly faster.
The pack helped today. Adding a little more than ten pounds creates enough resistance to keep my pace naturally moderate without constant mental override. That’s not the only reason why I had it on—I’m testing gear for a possible microadventure in two weeks—but it solved a common zone 2 problem: how do you stay disciplined when every muscle fiber is screaming that this is too easy?
Specificity Hits Fast
Yesterday was my first mountain bike ride since May. First time back on trails in five months, and within minutes I could feel exactly where my fitness lives: on the road. My legs were tired this morning—not destroyed, but noticeably fatigued from climbing that wouldn’t have touched me last spring.
Road fitness doesn’t transfer cleanly to trail demands. The power requirements differ. The muscle recruitment differs. Technical descents trigger eccentric loading in the legs to absorb shocks. I’ve been riding roads all summer, maintaining solid cardiovascular fitness, but I haven't made specific adaptations for the technical and physiological demands of mountain biking.
This isn’t a failure of training. It’s specificity doing exactly what exercise science says it will. Some adaptations are precise. Your body becomes proficient at what you repeatedly ask it to do, and when you stop asking, those adaptations fade. You can’t bank fitness in one discipline and withdraw it in another.
The practical takeaway: if you have an event or season that requires specific skills, you need consistent exposure to those demands. Not constant peak training, but regular enough contact that the adaptations don’t fully degrade. For mountain biking, that might mean one technical ride every 10-14 days during the off-season.
Method Selection in the Off-Season
I ran in the Lone Peaks today—minimal cushioning, low stack height, more ground feel. During an ultra and in some of those long runs leading up to the event, I’m in more cushioned shoes. But in the off-season? I want my feet to do more work.
Minimal footwear serves a specific purpose: it forces intrinsic foot muscles to activate more and builds proprioceptive awareness. But it requires time. You can’t transition from maximally cushioned trainers to less cushioned shoes without a gradual adaptation. Your feet need weeks to strengthen.
That’s why method selection matters. During racing season, when I’m managing accumulated fatigue and high training loads, I want cushioning that works for me. But in the off-season, when volume drops and intensity decreases, I can afford to ask more of my feet. The timing determines which tool is most suitable.
The new Osprey Talon Velocity pack is another example. My previous fastpack—the Montane Trailblazer 25L—is made from lighter materials and is more minimalist, but it got shredded on the Great Range Traverse. The stretch mesh on the outside edges often caught on alpine branches and tore tiny holes. This replacement weighs a mere 90 grams more but uses more durable materials on the exterior. Barely heavier, significantly more robust.
For wider trails, the more minimal pack made sense. For multi-day mountain objectives in dense terrain, durability wins. Context determines the right tool.
The Discipline Question
Back to zone 2: the second 5K came in two minutes faster than the first (44:46 vs 46:46), and I don’t think I left zone 2 for more than a few seconds. Same effort, noticeably different pace. Warm-up effect, slight downhill trend, or just settling into rhythm—probably all three.
Most athletes hear “zone 2” and think “junk miles.” But those athletes are typically the ones who never actually run in zone 2. They drift into zone 3, that comfortable-but-not-easy middle ground where you’re not really building aerobic base but you’re not sharp enough to call it quality work either.
Real zone 2 requires either discipline or external constraints. My pack provided the constraint. Without it, I’d need to trust the process harder.
Your Next Step: Pick one easy run this week. Actually stay in zone 2 for the entire session—heart rate cap, conversational pace test, whatever metric you trust. Pay attention to how uncomfortable the restraint feels. That discomfort is information: it’s showing you the gap between what you think you’re doing on easy days and what you’re actually doing.
