For Those Who Don't Enjoy the Race

That's me in the back. Hating life. It is not a moment I want to remember, nor is it a moment I want to repeat. The photo was posted on Facebook by the race. I tagged myself and saved the photo because I figured I'd have to face this and write about it eventually.

About a year and a half ago, after finishing my second half marathon, I decided to have surgery on my foot to repair several issues. Whether this was a good decision or not is now up for debate, I had a doctor that I no longer trust telling me it was. That's a different blog post for a different time. The point is, I took last year off from signing up for official races so I could give the foot a year to heal.

Beginning in January, I decided it was game on. I signed up for my third half marathon in June, started working out almost every day, and found a few wackos to sign up with me to ensure that I would stick to a  rigorous training schedule. I was feeling great. I had never felt better and more in shape. I was digging our training runs and the camaraderie I felt with the girls I ran with all the time. Note the past tense. (That's called foreshadowing.)

Part of our training included a small fundraiser 10K on Memorial Day. I really didn't think much of it. Sure, I have a track record of choking during these things and I hadn't participated in an official race in more than a year, but the weekend before, we did 15 miles. I thought it would be just like a training run. Sure, I was coming off a week of work travel and a crappy long run the day before, but I would have my buddies with me and it wouldn't be so bad. I went to bed pretty cranky and upset. (That's also called foreshadowing.)

When the race began, my competitive running buddies happily sprinted off (why were they so excited?) and I was paralyzed. I tried to keep up for a while but they were lost in competition land going 2 minutes/mile faster than I had planned. I'm happy for them, I'm glad they felt great, I love them with all of my heart. I wish I could bottle their race day enthusiasm and shoot it into my veins like the heroin it most certainly is.

I don't like to compete. I don't like crowds. I don't even like sports. I don't get the "race-day adrenaline rush." I don't know if you understand yet, so I'll say it: I HATE OFFICIAL RACES. My race day "plan" was to pretend like we weren't really in a race. I was just going to pretend like the trails were crowded that day! BECAUSE I HATE OFFICIAL RACES.

I run alone often, in fact, until this year, I ran almost every training run alone. However, I prep for it. I listen to music, podcasts, plan my route, stick to a pace based on how I feel, and tune out the world. I didn't even have my headphones with me yesterday. This was going to be 6 hot miles of me and my self-defeating thoughts.

First, my watch didn't start when it was supposed to, so I never really knew where I was on the route, which those who do these stupid things understand will kill you. Next, I got to the second mile and my brain told me I had to walk. And cry. Really, I was crying after 2 miles. Why was I crying?! This is the chick who did 15 miles the week before. This was not a good omen. I had to push myself through every 1/10 of a mile for the entire race. I would find a decent pace, pass someone, and then end up walking, only to have them pass me later.

I saw my friends at the end cheering for me and I wanted to hide. They came over and I dissolved into a puddle of tears. I told them I never want do this again, and I left. And I cried in my room for hours. Right now I'm trying to convince myself to even run the race I signed up for so many months ago, the one that I did all of this for, the one that I felt so prepared for. The one I know I'm physically prepared for.

I finished the race at about 1:03, a time that I wouldn't have been ashamed of a few months ago, but I know I had it in me to do so much better if it hadn't been for my struggle with myself.

So what happened? Why am I telling this personal story to strangers? Why did I save that stupid photo? I don't know, I'm just writing this to get it off my mind. I don't have the answers. It has been 24 hours and I can't even talk about it without crying. My running buddies asked me to do 4-5 miles this morning and I COULDN'T EVEN RESPOND. I don't know why I feel like this and I don't know how I'm going to get over it. I can't believe I'm sharing my humiliation on the interwebs without even knowing why I'm humiliated. It comes down to this: I am scared to run.

For now, what I can do is list the reasons why I sign up for these damn things if I hate them so much in the hopes that I can find my way back to the love I have for running before June 18.

1) Fitness. This is really the least important one on the list but I thought I'd get it out of the way. Signing up for official races that I DREAD MORE THAN DEATH keeps me motivated to do the training runs that keep me semi- in shape. Period.

2) Chasing the dragon. That I just used a drug reference is not an accident. I love how (sometimes) I feel like I could run forever like Forrest Gump. I hate getting out of bed to do it, but I always love how I feel when training runs are over. I feel accomplished, happy, and unable to conjure feelings of anger and anxiety. That's the dragon I chase. It's cheaper than anti-depressants, and I like the side effects a lot more.

3) Friends. I have made some really great friends and have had the opportunity to see my already great friends much more often as a result of the grueling training schedule we put ourselves on. We hold each other accountable, we push each other when we don't want to go anymore and we laugh while we're doing it. There is really no better way to start my day than with these people and that feeling.

4) I can. Many people I love can't run. They don't have to worry about stupid race day anxiety because they don't have limbs or they have bad hearts or they have cancer. Or they are dead. It's morbid, but come on. The only thing keeping me from running is my...brain? I feel like such a whiner.