It feels strange to find any sense of pride at all in a failed run, and there is no other way to describe this morning’s attempt. Yet if I look hard enough, there is a little bit of pride trying to show its face from behind the frustration and disappointment. We talk often enough about listening to our bodies, working with them rather than against them, but actually doing so isn’t always that easy. Listening, then, and acting upon what we hear, is worth reflecting on.
I thought I felt quite good when I got up this morning: I woke up easily, had time for a quiet cup of tea and some breakfast before anyone else woke up, and happily pottered about making sure I had enough fuel and water for my planned long run. It was already a warm morning and I was conscious that I was doing this run a day earlier than I usually would due to other commitments tomorrow, but was confident that just taking it gently would more than compensate for the change in routine. As I laced my shoes and found the GPS on my watch, I was happy and excited to be heading out to run with friends on such a beautiful day.
The run to our agreed meeting point felt hard, but early miles often do until I settle into my pace and find my running head, so I wasn’t unduly worried. But I couldn’t settle, my legs just got heavier and heavier, until I found myself needing to do short walking sections just to keep going. Clearly this run was not going to plan, and I started to realise that I was not going to do the 11 mile route I’d planned for today. Oh well, I thought, I’ll run up the zig zag path to the top of the first hill, then carry on to the view point and turn back from there. Afterall, running up hills has woken me up on many a run in the past, the change in stride length, pace and effort reminding my body of what it’s supposed to be doing.
No such joy today. I barely made it to the top of the zigzags, then had to walk the last stretch to the road. Time to accept that the only real option at this point was to go home. Not being alone at this point really helped, having two experienced runners kindly reassure me I was making the right choice is probably a large part of why I’m not too disappointed with myself right now. What really struck me, though, was how everything got even harder once I’d made that decision, my pace dropping and dropping until I came to a stop and told them to go on ahead, that I’d take the quickest route back home once I’d walked a bit more.
I surprised myself by running again towards the end, setting tiny goals of the next junction or bus stop, then extending it as I went. Until the gradient of a bridge was too much and I hit stop on my watch, very slowly walking the last few hundred meters. I arrived home utterly exhausted, too tired even for tears. I’d been out of the house for less than an hour and a half.
Could I have changed anything that might have made a difference? Perhaps. I suspect that yesterday’s weights session had tired my legs more than I realised, and running the day after a session is curiously harder than running on the same day. I went to bed a little late, but got up later too, so that shouldn’t have had too big an impact. I may have been a little dehydrated after a hot day yesterday, but not significantly so, and I think I had that in hand with water and electrolytes as I ran. The biggest single issue is likely to have been a difficult week catching up on me, not something I have much control over, and a very big part of why I need to run, so not an unusual situation.
The simple truth is that sometimes, those myriad threads that weave together to make for a good run just don’t connect with each other, and the whole thing unravels. Not for any one reason, but for many, all combining to pull apart even the best laid plans.
Once upon a time I would have tried to keep going anyway, angry with myself for seemingly failing. I know better now. There are times when pushing is the right thing do, but pushing at the wrong time causes far more problems than it solves: injury; debilitating exhaustion; anger and frustration at oneself to name just a few. At these times, cutting it short is not a failure but a positive act of self-care, of self-preservation; a statement of intent, that normal service will be resumed shortly, once my body has had the recovery time it clearly needed today. A day or two is all it is likely to need to ride out this little storm.
I would far rather have done the run I’d planned today, enjoying the sunshine and the company of friends. I am disappointed that it didn’t go to plan, and frustrated to have a ‘lost’ an opportunity for what could have been a great run. But I can choose not to dwell on it, to simply take today for what it is and look forward to the next run instead. Not berating myself feels unexpectedly empowering. And this is definitely something to be a little bit proud of.
I Run Free 