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| My "daily encouragement" post-its are a MUST. Read on and you'll see why. |
In my previous post, I forgot to mention that I’m actively chasing my goal of qualifying for Boston at the Country Music Marathon on April 26, 2014. (Oh man, I just said that out loud. It’s such a tough course. It may be hot. It may pour the entire time. I may have to walk. I may get injured. There’s no way I can get in good enough shape to qualify on that course. What if no one shows up to cheer? What if everyone shows up and I’m dying?)
As I’ve thought about trying to BQ at the CMM this spring,
I’ve realized that I’m constantly battling three types of fear:
1) Fear of Failure
Okay, this is pretty obvious. You set a goal, and you might fail. However, it’s a little deeper than that,
right? For me, I face the fear of
failure on every single run. My training plan includes a specific distance
and pace for every workout. Every single
day, I wonder to myself, “Holy mac, can I actually do that?” Honestly, I
usually don’t believe I’m capable of whatever the plan is telling me to do that
day. So I’m already halfway defeated
before I even lace up my shoes. I don’t
even think it would matter what the plan was telling me to do—I’m pretty sure
I’d face the same self-doubt regardless of how unrealistic (or realistic) the
workout was.
Monday was my first workout of this training cycle, and I
was supposed to do an easy warm-up and cool-down with three mile repeats at
6:51 pace. (“Holy mac, can I actually do
that?”) It was the day of epically
freezing temperatures (yes, even here in Nashville), so I was relegated to
doing the workout either on a treadmill or an indoor “track” where 12 laps=1
mile. I begrudgingly opted for the
treadmill.
I got to the gym, hopped on the treadmill, did the warm-up,
and prepared for the first repeat. The
treadmill would only let me go at 6:53 or 6:47 pace, so I opted for 6:53—fully
intending to slow down after a quarter of a mile or so. But, there was a giant, tatted-up guy on the
treadmill next to me. I saw him glance
over at the monitor on my treadmill and thought to myself, “Wow, that guy
probably thinks I’m such a badass. I’m
killin’ it.” Now, in hindsight I’m sure
he only looked over because he heard my feet pounding so hard and was probably
bracing himself for the painfully awkward moment when I would inevitably fall
off the treadmill and planning out how he would react. Maybe not.
I mean, who actually knows what he was thinking. Still, telling myself that I looked like a
badass motivated me to keep the treadmill set for 6:53/mile…for the whole
mile. I did it! Two more to go…
After the first repeat, I hopped off the treadmill, got some
water, and waited until my heart rate slowed down enough for me to stand up and
see straight. Okay, I’m being a little
bit dramatic, but you get the idea.
Mile #2. Giant tatted-up
guy was gone. I wondered if I would
still be able to push myself without him looking over my shoulder. I did it.
6:53 again! One more to go…
Only I didn’t do the last mile. I dropped mile 3 completely and opted to go
straight into the cool down. FAILURE!
Hold that thought—I’m coming back to that in a bit.
2) Fear of Success
Wait…what? Seriously
though—I think I’m just as afraid of success as I am of failure. After I hit that first mile at 6:53, I fought
the conflicting thoughts of “Oh my gosh, I did it!” and “Shit, I guess I can do that. I don’t have an excuse now.” It’s almost as if I felt like I didn’t work
hard enough or try hard enough every other time before. Small successes change my perception of
what’s possible, and it’s scary to think about what it means to advance to a
totally new level.
Even when I do succeed in some form or fashion, I come up
with a million excuses about why it wasn’t actually
a success. “The treadmill doesn’t
count…there’s no wind, no turns, no hills.
The only options are to keep up, intentionally change the pace, or fall
off. If I had been on the roads, there’s
no way I would have been able to do that.”
3) Fear of “Whatever It Takes”
In running, chasing crazy goals requires a ton of pain and
sacrifice. I just don’t want to do it
some (most) days. It actually never
ceases to amaze me that even though I’m dying to qualify for Boston, I give up
so easily on every single run. If it’s a
long run, I tell myself it’s no big deal if I stop for a minute to stretch. I even stop my watch so it doesn’t “throw off
my pace.” (Oh, you didn’t know? Yeah,
that’s a new thing they’re doing in races these days—they only time the part
where you’re actually running.*) If it’s a repeat workout, I usually don’t even
try to hit the target pace, and sometimes I don’t do all of the repeats. Honestly, I’m just scared of how bad it’s
going to hurt. So…sometimes I just don’t do it.
In the last few days, I’ve spent some time reflecting on
that workout when I straight up gave up. I knew I had given up, but I was still proud
of myself for knocking out two of those miles at a faster pace than I’ve run in
years (even though I still feel a little bit like the treadmill is cheating).
Is it okay to be okay with what seems like a failure?
And was it really a failure?
According to the requirements of my training plan, it
was. But in some ways, I almost feel
like I’m assessing myself against some arbitrary measuring stick. Who decides what counts as a success or
failure on any given day? Did I not push
my body to its limits?
This all got me thinking about a fundamental question about
chasing crazy goals: When is it worth
the sacrifice?
For me, I’m still trying to figure that out. There are a hundred things I should be doing if I really wanted to
BQ. I should do every workout perfectly.
I should stop eating brownies. I should
only drink water. I should stop staying out late on the weekends. I should
get at least 8 hours of sleep a night.
But, if I’m being realistic and honest with myself, I’m not willing to
sacrifice some parts of my life just to BQ.
Maybe someday, but maybe not.
Till next time,
RR
Next up: “Letting Go of Crazy Goals”
*That was sarcasm, in case you weren’t sure.
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