Why did I sign up for this race when I’m so slow?

September 22, 2015 Ashley 0 Comments

“Jesus, I’m slow.”

This I lamented to my friend, Liz, over coffee the other day. My lugubrious expression on my lack of lightfootedness wasn’t totally random. I’d just signed up for my first race earlier that day (a 5 miler). I don’t know why. I’m quite slow. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment… or maybe I was subconsciously hoping that the November deadline would force me to evolve my bidaily hobby into something better within a little over a month.

At the moment I registered, I wasn’t sure. All I know was that the monotony itch was upon me and I craved something new in my life. But now, here I sat, carping to Liz over the humiliation from my new Fitbit readout post run. Five minutes slower than usual. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was how when I’d taken to the trail earlier that day (to test drive said new device), I’d gotten gapped by a runner who didn’t even look like she was going that fast. As she left me in her dust, she said “Keep going!” (I’m still not sure if it was intended condescendingly or encouragingly).

In what I assumed was a mere attempt to make me feel better, Liz offered, “I bet she slowed way down right after she passed you.” In a self-deprecating manner, I jettisoned the helpful interjection from my dear companion, wondering instead: “If I’m choking on the dust of slow folk, then how bad must I look?” Immediately, I was grateful that Fitbits don’t come with third person omniscient camera readouts. I shudder to think how poor my form must be for me to’ve achieved such a glacial pace in a whole year. Why was I running so stiff most days? What’s my workout been lacking to make me run like Tin Man?

Was that it? I wasn’t putting my heart into it?

Mayhaps.

In a way, Tyler a la Fight Club was right. Daily running sans a purpose can be kinda masturbatory.

It takes a little ripping the rug out from under ourselves to level up. But that’s when I realized I don’t have to beat myself up about it. I’ve only recently plateaued. Before that, I was improving with the aim of evolving. Hell, it’s only been a bit over a year since I’ve started running at all again (jogging, really, still at this point). Before then, my cardio’d been reduced to an elliptical imprisonment and poor form from guarded muscle groups. That went on for about five years.

(Somehow, this meme just doesn’t translate as well as the OG treadmill one.)

And while I may look like a clumsy fairy tale character at the beginning of my runs, it’s still worlds better than when I started off – not quite remembering which part of my brain was responsible for everything from hip flexion to respiration under pressure. In turn, recalling that made me remember why I’d begun trail jogging in the first place. Because I enjoy it. Because there is no pressure. Because of the solitude. For fun. Could I have the self-improvement self-indulgence and the evolution?

If not, then, why the hell’d I sign up for a trail race – where others will inevitably be?

Where competition – however friendly – is, in large part, the point?

Part of it’s probably because I’m like the Ruby Sparks writer – I write stuff and then feel compelled to illustrate it into reality. After writing about an adventure vlogger, I finally acquiesced to trying water sports. After girl-crushing on Alexis Ren via an article, I tried Barre. Recently, I mused about marathons and shorter permutations of them (like this five miler). And, voila. I’m signed up for one. Had I not written about it, I might’ve never signed up. But, indeed, it does go a bit deeper. It has to – seeing as it counters every reason I began woodsy workouts in the first place. And, that I suppose, is ‘cause of where I reluctantly let life drag me since I started: back into more social situations. It was tough at first.

Because in the early days of trail jogging and reintegrating with society, I was still kindofa hermit.

With a hermit mentality.

I’d begun as part of rehabbing a back injury (after blowing a bulging disc I’d had for years and finally deciding to do everything possible, every hour of the day, to end the nightmare I was living). But once my back was able to handle impact cardio again, coming off the pharmaceuticals I’d been taking for ages was hell. I was full on addicted. It took a while to adjust myself somatically to the divorce from bottled bodily consolation. Everything felt raw. True Tyler-esque “self destruction”. And, even once my body’d acclimated, my brain was still bitter over that breakup. I felt alone. And anxious. In that way, trail trotting became this happy medium between the loneliness of isolation and the anxiety of socializing with unpredictable people. It was where I went to hide without feeling lonely. And because I was moving the whole time, there was no room for attack thoughts to consume me. One of the first things you learn in self-help stuff is to breathe deeply to avoid rising anxiety. When you give into attack thoughts, your breathing goes funny. So, if I had a physical motivation to breathe properly (e.g. if you don’t, you’ll have a bad run), then my focus would redirect onto somatic introspection instead.

What’s more – in the forest – you’ve got a constant reason to remain aware of your surroundings. Times when I’ve zoned have ultimately resulted in a root induced airborne descent into dirt when said tree toes’ve tripped me. Other times, I’ll faceplant into arachnid mansions strung betwixt tree trunks. Or narrowly miss the kiss of a copperhead. Even when it’s less dramatic, I’ll find that I end up taking the wrong trail. Any combo of this stuff can mean my body’s bruised up or beleaguered within a mere 20 minutes. Even without a single human in proximity for miles – I’ve managed to thought-exhaust myself with the prospect of future interactions with them that I’m dreading or past ones I’m regretting. But when my awareness through the run is 100%, it’s not even work. I’m not a runner or a racer. I’m a kid – and this is a game. It’s fun. Every root, rock, and turn is an exciting and novel mystery. “What’s beyond it? What comes next?” When I began to have the awareness that my “good” and “bad” runs were all about where my head was at – not some external, unpredictable, malevolent or magnanimous bipolar force – it changed everything. They’re not good or bad runs. They’re physical reflections of how willing I was in that moment to emerge from fruitless ruminating to focus on the task at hand.

If I could do that with my own thoughts on my heels, couldn’t I do that with other joggers on my heels?

Trying to pass me up and making me feel bad about myself till it ruins my run? Isn’t the concept of them passing me… just a thought, too? Wait… did it matter if they passed me? Half the time someone “gaps” you, I’m told, it’s a mindtrick from fartlek training. Just like my wise Buddha of a friend Liz said: they speed past, round a corner, and go back into conservation pace-mode once they’re out of sight. Coupling that knowledge with the “does it even matter?” rhetorical inquiry is wholly helpful. Because when I tested that former concept, it initially improved the quality of my foresty excursions. Then – my external-to-the-forest ones too. Granted, it took a little help from like-minded folk, but I slowly came out of my isolation.

And then I even opted to add on a job that involves more social interaction.

It’s only been a few months, but I’ve already started to see this parallel with my work life, social, and trail life. Though I’m only working part time outside my hovel, I’ve noticed how you can either rise above the “case of the Mondays” toxicity surrounding you, or succumb via self-doubt and comparison and not-good-enoughness. Same goes for your tribe of friends or family. The succumbing happens when you’re insecure. You’re insecure when you’re uncertain. That’s why I run every morning before work. To ground myself – and remind myself of who I am and where I firmly stand. I go to the forest to find my certainty when I’ve forgotten it. That way, when workplace egos are on my heels, I can treat them like attack thoughts or that lady on the trail: irrelevant to where I personally am headed. Water to my duckback grease. Likewise, when you’re running in an actual race, you’re meant to keep your own flow. Do all the things you do when you’re running alone. Use comparison only as a way to improve your personal record. (Case in point: when that lady said “Keep going”, I could’ve taken it well or poorly. I chose to do the latter. Just like I chose to use her passing me as a mental letdown versus motivation.) The idea’s to not get fettered when fellow racers pass you because A.) they’re just trail trolling you and B.) it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of shiz.

I suppose, with all that in my self conscious mind, what came to the surface was ultimately: why not try a race? And why shouldn’t I? To test my self mastery? Test myself and see if I can remain equally aware of my surroundings and the fact that a “race” is just a word? Just like “work”? If I can remain focused on the task at hand for all of five miles instead of my ideas about what it means and how that relates to my identity and self-worth… then could I regain that effortless ass-kicking kid status? The status preceding the ego and fear-programming? (And stand a chance of not coming in last?) Might such self-mastery in a race help with the rat race too? I tend to think so. Any thought we practice becomes a habit. And I’d been practicing stagnation for too long now. It was turning the rest of my world into something fetid. The fact that I wasn’t even open to Liz’s bright-sided consolatory suggestion as we sat for coffee… was just one good indication. Maybe that’s the real reason why I need a race. I’ve needed a little “self destruction”; I’ve been needing to “destroy” the “self” induced fears that’ve been causing so much insecurity. All it requires is a little willingness, which I’ve been trying to invite into every subsequent run since that convo.

I saw that lady on the trail again recently.

Again, she gapped me. Again, she said, “Keep going!” as she did. But this time, she forgot that Fall foliage – along with all its camouflage – fell prematurely this year. And this time, I remembered how to take her words. And the fact that she was even there at all, passing me. A positive reminder to beat nada but my own PR. Sure enough, ten seconds later – far up a corner, over a hill and through two slim trees – I saw her… walking. I’d like to say I caught up with her and passed her, but I didn’t. Instead, I smiled. And I did “keep going”. I kept going strong and totally aware the whole way back. Okay, maybe more like 97% of the time. Between thoughts of green tea lattes.

But once I was done, I checked my new Fitbit… and I smiled yet again.

I’d beat my PR by 8 minutes.

(“…is transformation.”)