Every coach knows the “Zone 4” athlete. They show up for the lights, the sprints, the heavy lifts, and the highlight reels. They thrive on the explosive, the exciting, and the impressive. But as we know, a house built only on explosives has no foundation.
This morning, while cooling down in my GRIT gear, I was struck by the color on my watch: Zone 2. In the world of endurance, Zone 2 is the least exciting part of the program. It’s monotonous. It’s repetitive. It’s slow. For many athletes, it’s a direct hit to their pride. But for the coach, Zone 2 is where the championship is actually won.
We have to teach our athletes that what looks like “taking it easy” is actually deep-level construction. When we keep them in that specific heart rate band, we aren't wasting time; we are building:
If an athlete won't humble themselves to run slow in Zone 2, they will never have the aerobic base to sustain the “explosive” power they crave in Zone 4.
As coaches, we aren't just training bodies; we are training people. The same “pride trap” that makes an athlete hate Zone 2 training is what makes them neglect their spiritual and character development.
In the Christian life, Zone 4 is the public arena—the community groups, the worship services, the big moments of “doing.” It’s where people see us working. But Zone 2 is where the real “race day” capacity is built.
Zone 2 is the time alone, in silence, with God’s Word. It is the sacrificial service to a spouse or child that no one sees. It is the discipline of fasting and the humility of memorizing scripture when no one is watching.
If our athletes (and we as coaches) only live for the “Zone 4” public moments, we will eventually “redline” and flame out. We lack the "spiritual stroke volume" to handle the pressure of the race.
When the gun goes off, you don't rise to the occasion; you sink to the level of your training.
Paul tells the church in Corinth, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it” (1 Cor 9:24).
Winning the “prize”—whether it’s a PR on the track or a life of faithfulness—requires the self-control to embrace the boring, humbling, and hidden work of Zone 2.
Next time your athlete complains that the pace feels “too slow” or the discipline feels “unnecessary,” remind them: You don't win on race day. You win in the quiet, monotonous, pride-killing miles of the foundation.
Let’s lead our teams to be athletes who don't just look good in Zone 4, but who have the “mitochondrial” character to finish the race well.