The past few weeks have been about recovering, reflecting, looking ahead. There's a sort of sadness now that Western States is over and yet also a magnificent feeling of relief.
I've spent many a run these past few days and weeks questioning so much that I've done or failed to do that it's dragging me down. I'm comparing every run, every runner. Trying to figure out if I measure up. I'm beginning to feel that I don't measure up to my own expectations.
I spend almost every run pushing just hard enough to prove to someone I'm strong enough, fast enough, good enough to be here. It's becoming a maddening ritual with no future aside from one of injury and letdown. But I also don't seem to be able to break the habit, give myself a clean slate.
I know at least partially what the problem is; too much self imposed pressure, too much social networking, no clear direction, uncertainty of what's next, feeling too good and yet not good enough. Being able to walk easily in the days that followed Western States gave way to hours of second guessing my run, the minute decisions that altered so much of that experience. And yet the pain in my achilles, the plantar fasciitis, the calf strain they all remain at least peripherally present barring me from resuming my training the way I would like.
Every few runs I'll have a section, a quarter mile, a mile, where I get the smallest feeling that I'm coming back, that there is a strong runner lying dormant within me somewhere. I have the feeling she is surfacing, ready to go hard, go further on.
But then I speak up, warning of further injury and further disappointments and I can feel that strong runner being physically pushed deep down until she's quiet once more. In this environment she doesn't feel welcome.
Why would she?
* This post was originally penned on August 1st. I never posted this because it felt dark and depressing. I thought the venting by the very sketching of the post would be enough. But this is basically the way I still feel now, three weeks later.
It boils down to Grindstone. Another 100 mile event in six short weeks. Before Western States I was certain I wouldn't toe the starting line of Western States. I assumed one start would suffice regardless of whether I finished. Sam Dangc told me I would DNF Western States and toe the line at Grindstone for redemption. He was wrong, I did finish and yet I wonder in some ways, if he's still right?
I did finish that first 100. But I made so many mistakes. I didn't realize so many things. I learned so much. And so I know I should be able to run a subsequent hundred better, smarter. But I also know, that for me at least, it isn't 50/50 between running ability and mental strength. For me the mental part feels so much more of it, the legs are there doing their job but the act is most predominantly carried out in my mind. As much as I am curious as to how I could measure up at Grindstone I just don't know if I'm mentally ready to take on all that means. I'm afraid of the tougher course, the more hours running in the dark, the terrain. I'm afraid to not have Todd on my crew, as my pacer, as my rock. He'll be out there too facing his own demons on that course, I'm afraid for that as well. I'm afraid it will ask more of my already shaky mental reserves. I've offered to crew and pace for him, that was, after all, the plan, but he's adamant that I take on Grindstone for myself. He's joked (?) that I'd be a rotten crew, a poor pacer. And yet I can't take the leap of faith and sign up for Grindstone (which is now full other than overflow applications thanks to my procrastination).
Truth is, I'm convinced that I won't do any better, won't run any smarter, that I will DNF this 100 in the wake of any small success that finishing WS was. I'm afraid I'll further wreck my Achilles which I'm on seemingly good terms with at the moment. I'm afraid it will come back, but sooner and stronger. I am damn afraid of those three little letters...the D N F. I've had several people tell me that I should have no problem finishing Grindstone but this weekend I went out, ran half the course and I have to be honest I am not so sure. Todd ran the same half, his fears seemed to have been washed away by the training run. Mine seem to just be magnified. I feel less ready than ever before to tackle the distance.
After the weekend's training run I was out for sure. But by Monday afternoon I'm allowing Todd to speak to me about my training, my fuel, I realize he's tricking me back in and I'm willingly letting him. And yet I know if I'm to do it, toe the line I have to have my own reason. If I don't, if I go because someone else says I can, it won't be enough. You don't move 100 miles through mountains without a desire from within.
And yet the best reason I seem to have at the moment is that I'm deathly afraid of my Masochist time from last year. What was a good day in the mountains was seen as some as potential. To me, it was just a good day. One I'm convinced I won't have again (namely, because, I'm CRAZY!) I am frightened that last year's run was the best that I possess within. I see Grindstone as a novel excuse to run slower. This is a disease, a plague that I fear will wear me down for Masochist no matter how Grindstone plays out.
And yet there is one other reason. I was afraid of running Western States. I was afraid of bears, and big cats, hallucinations and rattlesnakes, getting lost, dehydration, the distance itself, my calf, the climbs, the canyons. And yet I survived despite the fear. There's a part of me that wants to do that again, possess those fear and overcome them. Because after all, for me, that's what it's all about. Being scared to death but doing it anyways...
-Alexis
No comments:
Post a Comment