I was really excited to run a race this past Saturday.
I first looked for upcoming races in mid-February, and after exploring options in New York and New Hampshire, which seem to be holding more nearly-real races than other nearby states, I chose a March 13th 10K in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, about a two-hour drive from home. I even decided, based on my recent running and my rather old (2012) 10K personal best (39:31), that I would have a chance to set a PR if I could run well that day, and at my age (43) that’s a not-so-frequent opportunity. I trained pretty well over the next few weeks, both building my miles and doing some good speedwork, and I was so excited to race that I tweeted about it several times in the lead-up.
I tapered just a bit in the week prior, reducing my mileage a little and keeping my hard running to a minimum, and I even spent the night before the race in Portsmouth so I wouldn’t have to drive two hours in the morning.
Then came Saturday morning, when I tweeted: “Not a good night of sleep, not feeling very well, not feeling like trying to run fast would be enjoyable in the least bit, and so not doing the 10K. It’s supposed to be fun. Going for a nice, easy run instead.”
Immediately after I made the decision not to race my imaginary critic jumped at the chance to question my running commitment and fitness and indeed my very character and self. But I am older than I used to be, and I think just a bit wiser and more comfortable with myself, so I brushed that dirt off my shoulder pretty quick. Frankly, the tweet said all that needed to be said: “It’s supposed to be fun.” Like any other competitive person who runs, I can get too caught up in miles and times and numbers and goals. But I am not a professional runner; this is not my job. I run because it makes me feel good in the moment, because it makes me feel better about myself when I’m done, and because it makes me feel lighter and happier overall. I run for me. And while it was pretty unusual for me, I decided, that day, racing was not going to be fun, and so I said fuck it, let’s go for a nice, easy run instead.
Right about the same time as the race, I took one of my favorite kinds of runs, a wandering, touristy run around lovely Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and I let my mind roam to things near and far, the past and the future, exploring the land and where I might be headed. I don’t know yet, but I feel one run closer to figuring it out. Sometimes the unexpected is just what you need. I may find my way yet.