Just over here having my regular Friday night pre-long-run freak-out...
Boston registration season is always a trigger, even though BQing is only a vague and long-term goal for me right now. Early September is right before big fall races, and other people's anxiety gets to me. Plus the eternal debate over qualifying standards just reminds me exactly. how. far. off. that is for me. (1 hour, 19 minutes, and 17 seconds, plus two or three or five minutes of buffer, plus however much the BAA decides to tighten standards in future. Squeak, squeak. At which point I just throw up my hands and think 'eh, I should just give up now'.)
And then there's the identity thing. It's getting a little embarrassing: I am a small person, built like your stereotypical runner, who *looks* like she should be 'fast'. Whatever 'fast' means. It comes up in conversation when people hear I'm a runner. "Oh, are you going to do Boston?" And then I have to awkwardly extricate myself. You know how people who've lost a lot of weight are sometimes haunted by an inner 'fat kid'? I have an inner 'turtle girl'. Deep down I'll always be the girl who took six hours to finish her first marathon. Turtle girl says, dafuq are you doing here? Turtle girl says, echoing all those beardy crusty old guys in the deeply speedist and sexist history of the sport, You have no business running marathons.
It's true, I don't have a great history with marathons. I cramp, every single time. I happily run the first 20 miles with no ill effects, thinking I'm on track to finish strong and smooth, and then BAM! the quad cramps take over and I hobble home. I have no time goals for Baystate, I just. Want. To. Bloody. Not. Cramp. Is that too much to ask? I suppose I could walk the whole way and avoid cramps, but where's the fun in that?
I think the crux of this is, I'm afraid I'll just cramp up and be disappointed again this year. I'm afraid I'll feel like I've wasted all this time and effort in training. More than the training or the finish time, the disappointment lies in the sense that I'm not really running to my full potential the way I am with half marathons. And trying to push the limits of my potential is part of how and why running makes me happy.
I keep watching and rewatching this talk by Hillary Biscay: look where you go, and you'll go where you look. "If you're willing to keep showing up until you get where you want to go, you can't stop relentless forward progress."
I mean, there's no turning back now, is there? I still enjoy training. I still enjoy the act of running. And I'm still going to do this marathon. The only way out is through...
Boston registration season is always a trigger, even though BQing is only a vague and long-term goal for me right now. Early September is right before big fall races, and other people's anxiety gets to me. Plus the eternal debate over qualifying standards just reminds me exactly. how. far. off. that is for me. (1 hour, 19 minutes, and 17 seconds, plus two or three or five minutes of buffer, plus however much the BAA decides to tighten standards in future. Squeak, squeak. At which point I just throw up my hands and think 'eh, I should just give up now'.)
And then there's the identity thing. It's getting a little embarrassing: I am a small person, built like your stereotypical runner, who *looks* like she should be 'fast'. Whatever 'fast' means. It comes up in conversation when people hear I'm a runner. "Oh, are you going to do Boston?" And then I have to awkwardly extricate myself. You know how people who've lost a lot of weight are sometimes haunted by an inner 'fat kid'? I have an inner 'turtle girl'. Deep down I'll always be the girl who took six hours to finish her first marathon. Turtle girl says, dafuq are you doing here? Turtle girl says, echoing all those beardy crusty old guys in the deeply speedist and sexist history of the sport, You have no business running marathons.
It's true, I don't have a great history with marathons. I cramp, every single time. I happily run the first 20 miles with no ill effects, thinking I'm on track to finish strong and smooth, and then BAM! the quad cramps take over and I hobble home. I have no time goals for Baystate, I just. Want. To. Bloody. Not. Cramp. Is that too much to ask? I suppose I could walk the whole way and avoid cramps, but where's the fun in that?
I think the crux of this is, I'm afraid I'll just cramp up and be disappointed again this year. I'm afraid I'll feel like I've wasted all this time and effort in training. More than the training or the finish time, the disappointment lies in the sense that I'm not really running to my full potential the way I am with half marathons. And trying to push the limits of my potential is part of how and why running makes me happy.
I keep watching and rewatching this talk by Hillary Biscay: look where you go, and you'll go where you look. "If you're willing to keep showing up until you get where you want to go, you can't stop relentless forward progress."
I mean, there's no turning back now, is there? I still enjoy training. I still enjoy the act of running. And I'm still going to do this marathon. The only way out is through...
