Humbled

So I had my first foray back into running last weekend. And it was painful, terrible, and utterly embarrassing. I had an off day, an off week before that really, but even given those considerations, this was easily the worst race I have had since the Horsetooth Half-marathon in 2007 when I ran way too fast up the dam(n) hill at the start of the race and was nearly blacking out by mile eight. The major difference between the two days: I decided to run the Horsetooth race the day before while hanging out in Estes Park with some friends. This one I at least trained for six weeks in preparation for.

The major difference: age. I am getting older. I can’t get into half-marathon shape overnight anymore. And I still felt like I could.

Even standing at the starting line of the race on Saturday morning my confidence was inordinate. I had a bit of a swagger, thinking I was back and that my fast times would be back with me. I didn’t have visions of a PR or even anything close to it, but I did think I would be back in the 1:40-1:45 range. I ran a 1:52, good for my slowest time ever outside of the Horsetooth race. Slower than when I was 19 and had never run farther than 7 miles. When I was training for a marathon a few years ago I regularly clocked half-marathon times of 1:33-1:35 in runs of 20+ miles. My time this weekend was a full 20+ minutes slower than my PR. It is hard for me to even dignify the performance by calling it a shadow of my former running-self. A shadow assumes some substantiality to cast it—here there was none.

Undoubtedly my feeling about this day is overwrought and out of proportion. But really I am fine with that. I operate well in response to shame. And in our medals-for-5k culture no one else is going to shame me for running a half-marathon faster than 80% of the other participants. I have to do it myself. After Horsetooth I wore that race shirt on nearly every long training run to remind myself of the ignominy of that day. And every time I looked down and saw that light blue, too short in the belly tech shirt I ran faster. Something similar is called for in this instance.

Because for me running isn’t about finding something that will make me thin or make my heart healthier or because I enjoy chafing in weird areas, but a way of life, a way of experiencing this world in all of the frailty of my body. I want to see how far and how fast I can go. And for the past nearly three years I have pursued this all too lazily, imagining that I could somehow coast on my earlier (meager) accomplishments. And unsurprisingly I have grown fatter, lazier, and slower in that time.

Last Saturday’s humiliation may be the straw that finally broke my love-handled camel’s back. I don’t know that I will be a good runner again for a long time, but I know that I want to be and I know that is worth sacrificing sleep and comfort (not to mention my nightly habit of whiskey) to achieve.