Crappy Running Partners

I'm training for my first half marathon. I like signing up for races. I like training for them. I like being in races. I never race to win or beat anyone, it's just nice to have a goal. I like the feeling of finishing a race, even if it's "just a 5K." I'm disciplined, I take my training seriously, and even though sometimes it gets difficult, in general, I enjoy the process and find it motivating and rewarding.

I often reflect on how running has taught me a lot about planning, perseverance, and drawing on the strength I never knew I had, both physical and emotional. I tend to view running as a stress release - even a form of therapy. There is a shirt which says something along the lines of "no matter how you're feeling, just run." That's typically me. I have a strong relationship with running.

But today something happened. Something I didn't expect, and something I definitely wasn't prepared for. Actually, it started last week, maybe even the week before.

Last week, I ran 7 miles, which is longer than I've ever run before. I was excited. Nervous, but excited. It was my first time running with the little energy gels and a Camelbak, and I thought I looked like an idiot, but I did it. And afterward, I felt awesome. But once, maybe twice, I heard a little voice: "You're too slow." it said. "You're not ready for this," it said. I heard it whispering the week before, too, but it wasn't really intelligible yet.

I've been having pain in my shins and calves for the past few months, both running and not running. I've tried to ignore it. I've worked to strengthen both those muscles and the others involved in running. I've changed my eating habits. But still, running is painful for me every time I go out, regardless of distance, new shoes, or warming up, stretching, whatever. And I feel slower than molasses, even though my aerobic fitness has improved greatly in the past months.

Wednesday, as I went out for my regular 3 miles, I heard it again: "You're too slow. You can't do it." First, though, I felt the twinge of shin pain. I felt the fatigue that comes from other muscles compensating for those sore shins. I hadn't even finished the first mile. I stopped dead in my tracks. Shaking my head, I turned not for Mile 2, but toward home. Walking. Angry. "You're a quitter. You're out of shape." I got home and my legs hurt for the rest of the day.

Maybe it's my shoes. I definitely feel a difference between my newer shoes and my old faithfuls. I chalk it up to my shoes. I'll get new ones. The old ones felt so much better on those 7 miles than the new ones on 1.75. I'll wear my old shoes until I get a better pair fitted to me.

I got sick, and derailed, but not too badly, so I went out today for an easy 3 miles so I could still do tomorrow's 8. But Wednesday still lingered in my mind. Before I even left, I heard it "Are you sure you should be doing this? After all, tomorrow you have to run 8. Somehow." The voice had a little smirk to it this time. I headed out anyway. I had to. I can't miss my trainings.

Mile 1: "I told you you couldn't do it. Why are you even trying?" No, I am determined. I'll back off, try not to run so fast. I'll be OK with a slower time if it means no shin pain, finishing the 3 miles. I slow down. I can do this!

Mile 2: "You're too slow and you know it. You're too overweight. Still. You're not strong enough. You don't run often enough during the week. Work is too crazy for you to try to add this in." No, I am! I strength train, I stretch, I fit in everything I can to stay fit for the long runs! I want this! I want it so bad!

I grind to a walk. I realize I'm sobbing. Yup, in the middle of my run, along a field full of middle schoolers and their parents, I'm sobbing while running. Coooool. But I keep walking. I don't turn off my watch. I'm stubborn. I will finish these 3 damn miles. After a few feet, I start running again.

Mile 2.5: "You hate running. You always have. None of the songs on your playlist are inspiring. Why are you wasting your time? You don't even look like a runner anymore." No, I love running. It's my solace, my companion, my release! And running is for everyone...right?

I walk again. Damn it! No crying this time, but I'm pretty sure every car that drives by is looking only at my ill-fitting clothes and how my stomach still jiggles too much for the outfit I chose today. How my arms are just a little too wide for these sleeves. How my cheeks are a little too red for how slowly I'm going.

Mile 3: "Well, you made it. Barely. Do you feel better? Pshh... Good luck with your 8 miles tomorrow." WHY is this voice still here?! Isn't running supposed to make me feel better? Why am I still angry, still sad, still terrified that I will fail?

I've never had my confidence shaken in this way before - not with running. With other things, yes, absolutely. Work? All the time. Being a mom? Every day. Relationships? Constantly. But not running. Running has been sacred. I can always rely on running to help me heal, forgive, relax, cope. Not today. Not lately.

Lately, I've been running with fear. With cracks in my confidence, in my joy. And into those cracks has seeped self-doubt. Let me tell you, fear and self-doubt are pretty crappy running buddies. Where I used to enjoy crunching over leaves in the fall, I find myself worried that I will trip or slip and fall. Where I used to hop up and down on and off the curb, I find myself avoiding any disturbance in the flat cadence of the asphalt to spare the physical pain that even a slight change of terrain brings.

I wish I could round out this post with a resolution. I wish I could say, "and then I thought ________, and I knew how to banish the fear and doubt I have been experiencing!" But I can't.

I'm terrified for tomorrow's 8 miles. But I'm going out anyway. Because if nothing else, I'm stubborn.

Maybe this is common for runners. I've never run or trained for a half, so I don't know. All I know is, I don't like it, and I'm ready to move on and enjoy running again.

Here is a good (although getting heavy) running buddy. At least she has fun with me!