How far can this news editor sprint in 30 seconds?
Last week, The Washington Post reported on a new study out of Brazil that found sprinting in 30-second bursts can help people who suffer from panic attacks. The researchers determined that triggering the symptoms of a panic attack — like shortness of breath or sweating — through short sprints is more effective than relaxation therapy.
Interesting stuff! I shared the article in our newsroom’s Slack channel where we swap recommended articles, podcasts and documentaries. None of us doubted the researchers’ conclusions. But one of our main takeaways was that 30 seconds seems like a long time to sprint! Remember when we all washed our hands for 20 seconds during the COVID-19 pandemic? It felt like an eternity.
That was the topic of our lunchtime discussion in the newsroom, and it quickly morphed into another topic: how far can I, Kyle Cooke, sprint in 30 seconds?
Scott Hennelly, our production manager, said I could “probably run the length of a football field.” I should hope so! I was confident I didn’t need that long to sprint 100 yards. In fact, I thought I could sprint two football fields. My coworkers seemed a little skeptical.
We had to put it to the test.
At around 2:30 p.m. last Thursday, seven of my fellow journalists (we were busy that day, I promise) walked outside to witness — and keep time — for my Usain Bolt impersonation. I was in some J. Crew chinos, a Molly Burch band tee and my trusty Adidas Spezials. Not exactly the get-up you’d see at the Olympics, but not the worst outfit for an afternoon sprint.
After significant stretching, I was ready to go. I lined up on my invisible starting block at the corner of 22nd and Arapahoe in the bike lane. My colleague Amanda Horvath gave me a three-two-one countdown, and I was off!
People say that downtown Denver is dead, but on that Thursday afternoon, Arapahoe Street came to life with the percussive slaps of a 31-year-old news editor’s sensible sneakers against the asphalt.
I felt pretty good at the start. After a few seconds, I passed Lucas Boland, one of our new reporters, who was chanting, “That’s my boss! That’s my boss!”
It made me laugh, which was a good reminder to breathe.
By the time I passed Melanie and Sarah, who were set up at the intersection of 21st and Arapahoe, camera phones in hand, I had slowed significantly. My scientific sprint had turned into a journalistic jaunt. But I powered through until I heard someone yell “time!”
I was happy to learn after the fact that I had indeed made it just over 200 yards. I’m not sure it was worth it. My hamstrings felt tight almost immediately, and huffing and puffing the polleny spring air made my chest and throat hurt. This is probably TMI, but I was also burping constantly, visited by the ghost of kombucha past.
I struggled to cool down once I got back inside. Instead of sweating and panting at my desk, I went to Rocky Mountain PBS’ wellness room, a windowless office with a recliner and aromatherapy. It also has a mini fridge. I opened the fridge door and laid on the floor so that my bald, sweaty head was getting the most of the icy air.
After a few minutes, I returned to my desk, coughing for the rest of the day. At least I didn’t have a panic attack?