Not Every Race Is A Record

Some things just don’t work out the way you planned.

Like when you wait until the very last minute to register for a half marathon and then a week later for you and your husband to do Tough Mudder so you are *certain* he will be home, and then not one but TWO countries militaries decide to change their plans just to screw you over.

Okay, it might not have been meant personally.
Apparently national defense plans are not all about me.
Whatever.

But Dh’s course that he was supposed to return from this week ended up starting this week and so races are upon me and I will be heading there alone while he lounges it up in Fort Benning.

Sunday is my first race of the fall, I am running the half marathon at the Canadian Army Run in Ottawa.

My longest run since I raced in the Ottawa Half-Marathon has been 16km.  My weekly average went from 45km to 25km. 

Summer hit me like a ton of brinks and the crushing humidity on my poor prairie lungs, coupled with serious allergy issues that seem to have started just last summer (I am apparently allergic to Ontario) grounded me most of the summer.

I felt like I was breathing underwater almost every run.

And it was about the middle of August when I realized the 2 most important lessons of all of my excuses.

1. Running is all in my head.
I am only as good a runner as I was my last run.
If my run was hard, if I limped through a 5k that morning, than I am a terrible runner who has no right to even own a pair of running shoes.
My head will tell me how badly I am going to do before I even start.
And all the training, fitness level and endurance I may have worked so hard for means jack shit next to my head that has the power to tell me I can’t do it.

And it needs to stop.

2. Not every race is a PR attempt.
My very smart sister taught me this.
They are called PRs for a reason. 
If you got one every race, they wouldn’t mean that much.

I wanted to sell my Army Run bib because I wasn’t going to be as fast as I was at the Ottawa Half.

Because apparently my ego is so fragile that one race that isn’t the very best time I can achieve isn’t worth running.


Sad.

Every race isn’t a record.
That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t run it anyways.

Last month I had a specialist appointment and as we discussed options and surgery, the Doctor kept discussing my ‘fitness level’ and calling me ‘athletic’ and ‘strong’ and ‘thin’ and I was like:

Have you SEEN me? 
(In her defense, she’s really only concerned with the area covered by my bikini bottoms.  So I’m not sure what the definition of ‘athletic’ is for that area of the body….)

I have a good extra 10lbs on me.  I’ve accepted that.  I like food.  A lot.
Ive never run a full marathon and have no intention to, honestly.
I am not fast.
I can only do ONE pull up.
You clearly need to get out more because if you think I am ‘athletic’ you have very, very low standards.

When I got home Dh had heard about enough.

The thing is, I run 25-50km a week depending on whether or not I have a race coming up.

I attend the gym with my family at least 3 times a week, with kettle bells and kickboxing we are usually there about 2 hours.  And I don’t suck. 

I do this because I like the way it feels, I usually enjoy the time I am working out (even while giving death stares to my instructor) and it makes me happy.

But if I want to spend the REST OF MY LIFE comparing myself to ‘fitspiration’ bullshit and airbrushed photo filtered models doing handstands on the beach, or if I only want to use those friends I have who are fitness models or bikini competitors on my facebook as a standard, then I am going to spend the rest of my life refusing to accept my own strengths.

Because HOLY CRAP my gym has a lot of mirrors that are not always kind to me and my little under armour shorts.

But I think we determined before that those mirrors cannot define my strength.

And if I only hold my fitness accomplishments up against those runners on my twitter that are logging 150km a week and 3 hour marathons, I will never, ever think I am an athlete.

The thing is, I think Dh is in great shape. He wakes up Monday – Friday and works out on his own, usually TRX and a run.  He goes to the gym with us 3-4 times a week.  He is strong and fit and healthy and if I may say so, he looks pretty amazing, too.

And that’s not just his wife’s assessment, that’s the truth.  He works hard for it.

But if he was to spend his life staring at Dwayne Johnson’s arms and Marky Mark’s abs and then feeling bad about himself while he eats ice cream, that would be weird, right?

So why is it not weird when I do it?

And if he decided to just not go to work PT because he’s not going to be able to do as well on the group run as he maybe has previously and people might judge him for it…
Well, he could be arrested for AWOL
But also, that would be pretty lame.

Not every race will be the best race ever.

I’m running the Army Run because I can.
Because I want the experience of running it while I live close enough.
Because
I want to run in the midst of men and women like Dh who have sacrificed
for the freedom to run in the streets without any fear.
Because I like to run.
Because I like the atmosphere of races.
Because I can run.

And if I come in 20 minutes later than my half PR, then so be it.

Despite the protest in my head calling me a liar, I am athletic, I am strong and I am more than capable of running this race.

Take that, me.

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