The plan was five miles. In the dark. Alone.
Five miles at this point in my training is either recovery or a warm-up, it wasn't the distance that was daunting. And not really even the dark skies, for which to be honest only half of the run would take place. It was the solo part that ultimately defeated me. I had purposefully not announced my run, not invited anyone. I want to be stronger, at the moment I believe this means finding the strength to run more by myself. Problem is something deep inside me is putting up a struggle, something that I can't even pinpoint though I've tried.
On the drive to my mountain I thought I did a good job building up courage. You ran Hellgate, sissy girl.It's only five miles, besides if something happens, imagine the blogpost. OK, perhaps I didn't do that good a job building up my defenses. But I thought I could handle it, when I pulled into Snoflex and didn't recognize any cars I started to doubt myself, I suppose I was secretly hoping to fall into someone else's run, add to this the fact that it was getting darker faster than I had anticipated and I knew I wasn't going to run the five mile course Todd had outlined for me before I had left the house.
As punishment I decided to run hill repeats instead, from the cul-de-sac at the base of the Monogram to the fenced in control station at the top of the Monogram, a distance of only a few hundred yards. I ran hill repeats until I threw up a little in my mouth and decided to stop. Might sound tough, until I divulge that it was only five times. Hating myself to the core and with the sun long finished for the day I ran back to the parking lot. The Garmin, as if laughing at me, had my distance at just over three miles. I really wanted that five miles. I ran past the Suburban and started out on Panama but took an immediate left that took me on a new trail I was unfamiliar with, praying that my adventurous-self would show up I trudged on several paces before the dark and the few small stumps I encountered made me turn, tail tucked, and run back to the car. You are the only real thing you have to be afraid of, ever thought of running from yourself? Brow beaten I headed home.
Holiday Lake is next Saturday. Tomorrow begins my 'taper'(I think), but my mental training has already begun, today's run was a part of the mental training. It was a failure. I have come to believe that distance running is as much about what goes on in the mind as it is about pace, the stronger I can make my mind and my body the better we will endure through new and further distances. When I can't overcome the self-doubt on a short run I feel little pieces beginning to break away from the foundation I work so hard to establish over weeks and months of training. A lifetime of never feeling good enough has established quite the blockade in the confidence department. My fear of running alone is as much about being left alone with this self-doubt, allowing it the time to surface, than about the act of being alone. If I can't fight off the internal struggle that occurs how will I fight off real danger should it present itself? Then the body chimes in, a twinge in the knee, an ache in the calf. Running with others becomes a much quieter, safer affair.
There has been a small reference or joke here or there, that I remind people of Frank Gonzalez. Humbled by a comparison I don't deserve, I can't help but feel I am about to let a lot of people down. Frank is a tank, I am a ball of nerves. He has his pain cave, an enticing idea that ultimately scares me as much as running a three hour second loop next weekend at Holiday Lake. I mean pain is suffering, caves are dark. Yet the disappointment of not pushing myself to the door of that cave is just as discomforting a thought.
Chelsie Viar has said that you aren't ready for your race until you've had a bad run, well now I've had two in less than a week, why don't I feel ready already?
-Alexis
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