Out Here, Doing It
Moving away from long runs to a shorter, sharper mindset
Well yes indeed, of course I miss The Long Run, of course I do, it is my favourite type of run, I love packing my vest with everything I might need for 5-6 hours out in the elements, out on my own, out running and traversing, pondering and exploring, but it’s a lot. It doesn’t take a lot out of you necessarily, it’s more that it gives a lot, a lot of things that the rest of the world doesn’t provide. A sort of swap-shop takes place, a gradual palming off of misplaced priorities and eventually, yes, I am free of dust, I am uncluttered, I am on a more peaceful plain, no matter how tough the actual run has been. But a gutting out has taken place, and it’s a lot to do to yourself, every week.
It’s much simpler to do a 5k hobby jog around the town and come back largely the same person I was when I left, if a little perkier, more energetic and more awake. Much easier even to fantasise about a 12.5km run on the trails with a couple of hills, arriving home well within 90 minutes, not even touching the sides of a moment when I might need to take on more fuel. A bottle of water might only be necessary in the very height of summer in the hottest part of the day. I don’t have to flip any switches in my brain to make sure it gets done, I don’t have to open any valves, I don’t have to consider very far in the future or take stock of who I am now. I am not particularly transformed by it.
It will be like this for a while. I am devoting my energies to running fast instead of running far, so my easy runs are significantly shorter than what I’ve been used to. This is because I’m erring on the more cautious side of recovery. I’m asking my muscles to fire differently to what they’ve been used to for at least a year, and it can sometimes mean flying a little bit closer to injury. I have to ease my body back into it, allow it time away from running to make adaptations. But so far, so good, and so fun. It’s a relief to just let the hydration vest and the gels have a rest for a while. To get my road shoes out more often. To not worry so much about layers, because I won’t be out for long, and will soon warm up with 5 minute reps at 10k pace.
Looking forward on the schedule, I will even have the opportunity to go to the athletics track for some sessions. I haven’t been to the track in nearly two years which is a shame, because I really, really love it. Almost as much as The Long Run. If what I want from my hobby is a stripping away of all extraneous noise, running at a hard pace in circles is the way to do it. No one is questioning any life choices in a 6x800m session, besides choosing to do the session at all. There’s no time or energy for meaningful thought. And then it’s over, and you’re glad you’ve done it. Double win. Oh, to have a break from those existential questions, a break from trying to quiet them. To exist only in time, distance and power.
To feel the benefits of this time when yes, at last, I return to my old friend, The Long Run. I think this will be in winter when skies are dark and cold, but sunrises are nice and I might see frost on the tips of the grass stems. I might see my own breath before me for hours at a time, I might fumble for gels with gloved hands, I might arrive home to tea and a bath and a frozen head that can only stare into the middle distance as my extremities come back to life. I might take the longer route to run home after work, even when it’s raining, my head torch necessary for the full 21km while sprinkles of glittering raindrops shaft across the beam.
All in good time. It’s just nice to have a bit of a change, isn’t it. After a year so fraught with failure, I do feel let down by ultra running. Extremely let down. I used to be good, I used to be in love with it, and now I’m being asked to love it on different terms. I love it as a fan, a spectator, a geek, not as a participant. I am going back to my roadie roots to soothe my wounds a little bit. For a small while, I want to enter a race where my finishing it is pretty much guaranteed, it’s the other stuff that’s a variable. I want a medal. I want to cross a line under an arch. I want those moments of completion I had previously taken for granted.
Did I get too ambitious too soon? Maybe. I wanted to be one of those people who could take on an audacious goal and complete it, even if it meant going down in a glorious ball of flames. I could do this, once, but the goals became too colossal, the mountains too steep and the courses too long. This level of ambition can rob you of all the things that make a life present, positive and full of gratitude, it can chip away at your self-confidence and self-compassion. When I get back to the long runs, I hope I’m no longer cursing how slow I’ve become. I hope I’m faster, but I also hope it doesn’t matter, because that sort of naval-gazing serves nobody, least of all myself. A silly mantra I’ve started repeating to myself to deter me from judging my pace too much during interval workouts is “out here, doing it.” Because wow, that is achievement enough. When I look at others out running, or my fellow competitors in a race, that’s all I think of them. I’m only congratulating their presence. I can’t keep criticising what I’m not. I can only congratulate what I am. Out here, doing it.