Expectations

This was something I was struggling with as I eased back into running. How could I feel sorry for myself with my running? I was out there, covering the miles. Sure I was walking a little more (okay a lot more in the beginning) then normal. Sure, my pace was significantly slower then normal. I was even moving slower then during my recovery runs after both Stories and Sangre de Cristo! But I was able to get out and move. That was the important part. Everything else would come back later. That’s all easy to say when you are alone, out by yourself and just focused on recovery. It’s a different world when you are immersed in the competitive vibe that is Colorado Springs running.

I told myself prior to the Rescue Run - no expectations. Pin the number on and just run what you felt. Staying away from the crowds before the race helped with the no expectations goal. But what would happen once the race started? When everyone I normally ran with took off? I didn’t know would happen at that point. How well would I be able to balance honoring where I was with my recovery and my running with the fact that I had a number on my chest? Despite my forgivings, I started near the front, with the women I’m usually racing. I wanted to be clear of any traffic if there was ice further out on the course. And if for some reason, I felt good running - maybe I would be able to contend for some age group points. We would see.

The first half mile actually felt really good. I was right in the mix of where I normally was - maybe just a little further back. But I was around the people I usually run with. I knew it would all change when we hit the major hill at end of the first mile. I wasn’t running up that hill. No way. Sure enough, I had to slow to a walk just as the course rounded the steepest section. I haven’t walked up that hill in years! But I had to respect what I was capable of doing in the moment. That mean walking. And that meant seeing the group of women I was with vanish up the hill and see another group pass me. Ouch. That one hurt mentally. Seeing my normal competition just run away from me and not being able to do anything about it was rough. I plastered a smile on my face, and just focused on running. Even stride, smooth gait pattern, breath as deeply as the ribs allowed. Gradually I was able to make up some of the distance I’d lost with my walk up the hill. But it wasn’t enough. While I was running comfortable, I was wasn’t running fast. It was just comfortable. I didn’t attempt to push the pace any more then where I was. Even so, the descent off Grand Mesa towards the finish area wasn’t super comfortable. The ribs were sore and the muscles weren’t pleased with the effort. Somehow, my comfortable run still got me into the top 10 women - but with my slowest time for the Rescue Run in about 20 years. I was happy with the effort and how I felt after the race, but not necessarily pleased. I had a long way to go...

Finishing the Rescue Run

One of the things I’ve decided to do with this whole thing is be a little more open. Life isn’t all sunshine and unicorns. Things go to hell some times and life really can suck. So instead of making it look like everything is fine, I’ve been honest with my feelings throughout. It’s okay to be frustrated with the setbacks and with how the recovery is progressing. I like giving myself low public goals and then berate myself for not reaching my personal high standards that no one but me is aware of. That doesn’t help with staying mentally healthy through this process. I also wasn’t prepared for the effects of words on the mental aspect of recovery.

At the Neilson, my motivation wasn’t really there. I knew I was going to be slow - relatively. I knew the ice on the course would affect the speed of the start. I started a little further back in the pack and got a little boxed in on the first section of ice. Anxiety through the roof as I carefully made my way through the ice, watching both my feet and everyone else around me! Uff. My motivation took another dive. I had to get through the first half mile and then things would smooth out and I would be able to run a little. Meh. Not so much. Again, I felt decent running but there was no turnover, no speed at all. I didn’t have an extra gear - stuck in first gear the entire time. Again, my slowest time for the Neilson ever. Part of the recovery process, I know - but internally, I wasn’t happy. Last year at this time I was a force. A formidable runner with both endurance and speed. I could show up to a race of any distance and feel comfortable with my ability to place in the top five. Now? Not so much. A completely different person.

The Neilson and my run - so slow!

When I posted a photo from before the race, with the comment that I was slow - so slow, I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I was just stating a fact. I was slow - almost two minutes slower over the two mile race. That’s huge. Of course I was disappointed and frustrated. I’ve tried to avoid commenting on time or pace on any of my posts up until this point. Why? Because I know. I know that my slow is fast to most people. I know that my slow is actually faster then many people’s race pace. I don’t need to be told that. While being open with my recovery, I’m trying to not degrade the people I am running with. I know how hard they are training to reach their goals and that speeds are relative. That doesn’t change my perspective or the facts - that right now I am slow. I know I am slow, compared to where I was last year.

I know the speed will come back - as will my endurance. I have to keep the goals of the year in focus and not get caught up stress of comparing myself to who I was last year. It’s 2020 - my expectations have to change with the year.