DNF
I've spoken to enough fellow runners to know that there's something in our thought processes along the lines of, "I'm only as good as my last race." If the last run was a terrible one, we're inclined to fixate on it and forget about all the great ones we had prior to that.
It's a ridiculous mindset, but I'm as guilty of it as the next person. I know that I've come a long way this year. I've gradually built up my fitness again after a painful thigh injury laid me low from November to early January. My pace is finally back at the sort of level it was last summer - not blisteringly fast, of course, but quite decent for someone like me who (as my mum constantly reminds me) is "no spring chicken." What's more, I've even managed to tick off a fairly significant item on my running 'to do' list, completing my first half marathon, which made me very proud.
But this weekend it was time to tackle our notoriously hilly local 10K, a race that I hadn't really wanted to sign up for in the first place. It was my husband's idea. He thought it would be scenic and as he run/walks, hills don't worry him. I'm the sort of stubborn fool who has to run the whole thing or feels she's let herself down. (Yeah, I know that's stupid.) Anyway, massive hills and a very hot day (and, I admit, a slightly half-arsed approach to hydration on my part - it's not enough to have the water bottle in your hand; you actually have to drink from it now and again) I was the one who finished the race in a truck, thanks to the marvellous Mountain Rescue team. So, no goody bag or medal on this occasion, just 24 hours of nausea, fever and the mother of all headaches for me.
I'm just about better now, physically, but my confidence certainly took a knock. There's nothing like a Did Not Finish to make you feel like a running fraud. You know, with your logical hat on, that you're no such thing and that heat exhaustion and other mishaps happen to us all, even the elites at some time or other. You also know that nobody is really looking at you and thinking - "What the hell did she think she was doing? Anybody could've told her she wasn't capable of this?" Yet, you can't help but feel a bit pathetic, a bit of a fool, a rookie. You can't understand why everyone else somehow managed to get round the course unscathed. Why were you the only one staggering around, dazed and confused, feeling a bit like Jenny Agutter in Walkabout (although without the ethereal beauty)? It's a bit like being at a party and being the only one who can't handle the booze.
I've run lots of 10ks previously, all of them in times that I've been happy with, but suddenly all I could think about was this latest one. But how could this one bad run cancel out all of the others, the live races, the virtual races, the half marathon, the 60-odd parkruns, the 6 a.m. pootle around Central Park in the glorious pouring rain? Well, for a day or two it did, but enough! It's time to get a grip.
It's usual to try to see these running setbacks as learning experiences and to an extent they are. But the 'lessons' are usually more reminders of things we knew already. I already knew that no run is worth risking your health over. I also knew the perils of running in the heat. But whilst learning from the experience is great, I think we have to guard against over-analysing the whole situation. Sometimes things just happen. They don't always bring a massive life lesson with them. They're not always there to make you stronger, more to just give you a bit of a nudge, remind you that you're human. Getting in touch with your humanness is no bad thing. Being able to love yourself when you're doing well at things is quite easy, but being able to love the sweaty, red-faced, tearful you that collapses into the stinging nettles takes a bit more effort. So many runners and marshals were kind to me when I became ill and abandoned my race, so perhaps I should follow their example and be kind to myself too.
As a friend of mine said, running is an adventure and adventures are full of setbacks. How dull the adventure would be if everything just happened in a linear fashion. It's the same with everything we do, whether we're artists, bakers, footballers, writers. One day something we do will delight us; another day we'll despair. Just brush yourself down, get up and have another go.
So, I'm giving it a few days but I'm already looking forward to lacing up my trainers again - early in the morning to avoid the worst of the sun. Onwards and upwards!
It's a ridiculous mindset, but I'm as guilty of it as the next person. I know that I've come a long way this year. I've gradually built up my fitness again after a painful thigh injury laid me low from November to early January. My pace is finally back at the sort of level it was last summer - not blisteringly fast, of course, but quite decent for someone like me who (as my mum constantly reminds me) is "no spring chicken." What's more, I've even managed to tick off a fairly significant item on my running 'to do' list, completing my first half marathon, which made me very proud.
But this weekend it was time to tackle our notoriously hilly local 10K, a race that I hadn't really wanted to sign up for in the first place. It was my husband's idea. He thought it would be scenic and as he run/walks, hills don't worry him. I'm the sort of stubborn fool who has to run the whole thing or feels she's let herself down. (Yeah, I know that's stupid.) Anyway, massive hills and a very hot day (and, I admit, a slightly half-arsed approach to hydration on my part - it's not enough to have the water bottle in your hand; you actually have to drink from it now and again) I was the one who finished the race in a truck, thanks to the marvellous Mountain Rescue team. So, no goody bag or medal on this occasion, just 24 hours of nausea, fever and the mother of all headaches for me.
I'm just about better now, physically, but my confidence certainly took a knock. There's nothing like a Did Not Finish to make you feel like a running fraud. You know, with your logical hat on, that you're no such thing and that heat exhaustion and other mishaps happen to us all, even the elites at some time or other. You also know that nobody is really looking at you and thinking - "What the hell did she think she was doing? Anybody could've told her she wasn't capable of this?" Yet, you can't help but feel a bit pathetic, a bit of a fool, a rookie. You can't understand why everyone else somehow managed to get round the course unscathed. Why were you the only one staggering around, dazed and confused, feeling a bit like Jenny Agutter in Walkabout (although without the ethereal beauty)? It's a bit like being at a party and being the only one who can't handle the booze.
I've run lots of 10ks previously, all of them in times that I've been happy with, but suddenly all I could think about was this latest one. But how could this one bad run cancel out all of the others, the live races, the virtual races, the half marathon, the 60-odd parkruns, the 6 a.m. pootle around Central Park in the glorious pouring rain? Well, for a day or two it did, but enough! It's time to get a grip.
It's usual to try to see these running setbacks as learning experiences and to an extent they are. But the 'lessons' are usually more reminders of things we knew already. I already knew that no run is worth risking your health over. I also knew the perils of running in the heat. But whilst learning from the experience is great, I think we have to guard against over-analysing the whole situation. Sometimes things just happen. They don't always bring a massive life lesson with them. They're not always there to make you stronger, more to just give you a bit of a nudge, remind you that you're human. Getting in touch with your humanness is no bad thing. Being able to love yourself when you're doing well at things is quite easy, but being able to love the sweaty, red-faced, tearful you that collapses into the stinging nettles takes a bit more effort. So many runners and marshals were kind to me when I became ill and abandoned my race, so perhaps I should follow their example and be kind to myself too.
As a friend of mine said, running is an adventure and adventures are full of setbacks. How dull the adventure would be if everything just happened in a linear fashion. It's the same with everything we do, whether we're artists, bakers, footballers, writers. One day something we do will delight us; another day we'll despair. Just brush yourself down, get up and have another go.
So, I'm giving it a few days but I'm already looking forward to lacing up my trainers again - early in the morning to avoid the worst of the sun. Onwards and upwards!
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