Learning to Run Like a Monster

I will admit, it’s not been my best couple weeks running.

The last weekend in April I ran a Race Weekend here where I live.  I had registered for a 10k on the Saturday night and a 21k on the Sunday morning.

I told myself during training and repeatedly the week before the race, that I would ‘race’ the 10k, but that I wouldn’t worry about time for the 21k since it was the very next morning.  I would just treat it like a fun long run and get it done.  No stress.

And as usual, that’s the opposite of what I did.

I raced the 10k, that much is true.  I even came in with a Personal Best at 55min, which impressed me considering the hilly course and the abundance of ingested mayflies.  I was happy with my run and my effort and my time on Saturday night and I took an Epsom bath and went to bed early.

Sunday morning, however, I did nothing that I said I would.

After a few false starts getting out the door (I thought I grabbed the wrong drink (I didn’t but went back anyways) and I forgot my Gamin), I lined up with all the other runners.

I already felt like I didn’t fit in.  In my none-trendy but functional white compression socks and all black cotton tank top and running shorts, I felt frumpy and chubby in a sea of brightly coloured athletic wear and tall college students.  Looking at the course record sitting at barely 10 minutes longer than my 10k the night before, I felt slow.  Especially when my barely rested legs still felt sore and tired and stiff.

The race hadn’t started and I was already convincing myself I didn’t belong.

When the gun went off to start the race I didn’t pace like I planned.  The only flat part of the course is the initial 5k loop and instead, I paced myself with those who were running the 5k.  And as I looped back around to where those who were running 5 finished, I knew I had made a mistake.

At the 6k mark Dh and the kids were waiting at one of the drink stations.  The cheered and held up their signs as I ran by and I was so grateful.  But I hurt.  A lot.

At 9k when I somehow realized that I had gone delirious and allowed myself to believe that 9k was the halfway point for the past 2k, I got discouraged.

And it was the hill around 11k when I finally stopped and hopped in a portapotty.

At the 14k turn around Dh was waiting again and this time, I stopped and hugged Monster.  We were close to our house and I just wanted a DNF and a bath.  I was done.  And all I could see were all the hills I knew were coming.

The whole way after that I kept running only because I knew Dh would be passing me again to get to his next cheering spot and I didn’t want him to see me walk.  He managed to make it to the 17k mark and I managed to run past.

At this point every glance at my Garmin is making me furious at myself for my performance.  The heat and my exhaustion get the best of me and I stop to walk at 19k, watching the pace bunny I was determined to beat pass me by.

When I run it in I was just glad I was done.  The pacer for the very latest time I was planning to come in beat me by a couple minutes, but there’s nothing I can do about it then.  It’s over.

While I’m stretching they announce the winners and I just feel like crawling in a hole.  When they announced for my age group and it was well under the 1:30 time, while I felt better that I wouldn’t have placed even if I had PR’d, I didn’t feel that much better.

Instead what I did was start worrying about my next race in May.

Would I have such a dismal showing?   I couldn’t even run the whole distance, I had to walk!  What was wrong with me, I mean, my first Half marathon I ran the entire way and came in under 2 hours!

Every run I’ve had since then has been the same.

What’s wrong with you?  Pick up the pace!  Why are you stopping?  You’re never going to be ready to do it again in 4 weeks!  

Today’s run I reached an all-time low.

Driving Monster to respite care, I had planned to make it my long run day.

I forgot my fuel belt at home.

My Gamin died 2km into the run.

The heat was pounding and the arch on my foot that’s been causing me trouble was aching.  My paced slowed and slowed until I barely crawled up the first big hill.  And when I reached the top, I found myself thinking ‘you didn’t earn this downhill.’

And that’s when I stopped for a moment.

I looked around my city from where I sat and I remembered something my very wise sister in law told me, the one with the Ironman completed and the marathons and the triathlons and everything that comes with it.  She inspires me.

And she has said to me, more than once ‘you need to remember why we are doing this’.

And she was right.

I’m not doing this to get paid.

I didn’t drop my child at respite so I could feel crappy for 2 hours.

I’m not doing this for fame or fortune or to make a living.  I’m not doing this because someone is making me or because I have to get it done.


I’m doing this because I am supposed to love it.  Because it makes me happy and makes me feel strong and makes me feel fast and makes me feel BETTER about myself.

I’m never going to be ‘elite’ or have sponsors or make an income running.  I’m never going to win races or break records.

I’m running because I am a runner and I am a runner by choice.

And if I hate every moment, I need to re-evaluate why I’m doing it in the first place. 

So I turned around on my out and back course and started back towards the Base where I’d left Monster.

I stopped a couple times to take photos when the view was just too beautiful to ignore.  Because that’s what I wanted to do.  And it was fun.  

And as I climbed that last hill, I decided something.

Monster had run the 3k during my race weekend.  And when he finished, with no one else in sight, he dove across the finish line.  Please as punch at his finish.  Without a care in the world about his time, or of who finished before him or how is pants looked on him or whether is wasn’t dressed right or didn’t ‘look’ like a runner.

He was just happy to be running.  And so should I.

And I realized – no matter how slowly I crawled the top of that hill, by the very fact that I made it, I’ve earned the downhill.

Because I’m not in it to win it.  

I’m in it to love it.  

So I put out my arms and I raced as fast as I could with a big, sweaty smile on my face, all the way back to the car. 

In a few weeks, race day will come and I will do my best to be prepared.

But if it doesn’t turn into a PR and I see those bunny ears pass by, it doesn’t make me a failure as long as I can smile when I’m finished, race down those hills and be happy I can run. 

Leave me a comment – what kind of runner are you?

Comments

comments

Related posts:

When depression looks like a long-haired monster beside your bed. Autism, Mental Health and the Labelling of Monster