Running Against The Wind
A race has been cancelled, but I still have pop in my feet.
A race I was supposed to be doing at the end of this month has been cancelled. The company has ceased trading. I won’t go into the details here, not least because it’s only just happened, and a lot is unclear. We will find out more about what happens to the individual runners’ entries, as well as what happens to the events themselves, in the weeks and months to come.
But personally, I am annoyed, frustrated, upset and out of pocket. This will be the fifth ultra marathon that I have neither started nor finished since 2023. I haven’t actually even finished one since August 2023. I thought I could rely on this one - I signed up because they were a solid, reputable company and I was excited to just enjoy 55km exploring the Yorkshire Dales and racing some other people to the finish line.
I’ve been through myriad confusing feelings about it. I’ve felt numb, I’ve felt like I just want to give up on the sport entirely and cancel my races for the rest of the year, all the way to feeling like an idiot. What must people think of me, I have wondered? Spending hundreds of pounds on these weird, long races every year to not even start them, let alone finish them. Only a fool would keep signing up for them. Would others start avoiding races I’ve signed up for, aware of the curse I bring?
To be honest, I’m still not out of the woods on that (slightly ridiculous) feeling, nor am I fully recovered from the thought of cancelling my races for the rest of the year. I just can’t keep going through the admin and the grief. It wears on my wellbeing, my finances, my work schedule, my career goals. What on earth is the world trying to tell me, if not that I should stay away from ultra marathons?
And then on Thursday night, having just received this news, I ran home through the wind. I wanted to do 8 repetitions of 400m at 10k pace, but the wind was blowing so hard, the rate of perceived exertion was just whatever it took to keep moving forwards, not backwards. It was kind of awful, but also fun and hilarious, and it sure did blow some cobwebs out of my ears. I spent the rest of the evening trying to understand the news about the race, trying not to let it affect me, then trying to let it affect me so that I could understand how I felt. I needed to sleep on it.
The next day, I mainly remembered the feeling of the run the night before. I could have done the reps backwards, using the tailwind to propel me. I could have just jogged home. Heck, I could have got the bus. But I chose the hardest option and I enjoyed it. I don’t know what that means besides being clearly, indefatigably, incorrigibly silly, destined to choose the most challenging way even when I’ve just received a blow to my plans and hopes. I’ll still laugh into the wind, apparently, enjoying my music and the pop in my feet at the very start of each interval.
And I suppose that’s how I’ll continue. It’s the Bath Half tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to learning what racing a half marathon feels like, and to just getting to race on tarmac for the first time in years. I’ve got hayfever coming out of my ears, so I’m getting my excuses in early, but as long as I keep moving forwards, not backwards, I should be okay.
I’m running the Bath Half for the RSPB, and you can still donate to my fundraiser! Doing it for a cause I care so much about has been hugely motivating throughout this training block, and will be tomorrow, too. I have already pinned my bib number to my vest with RSPB pin badges. (Swift, corncrake, song thrush and oyster catcher.) Thank you for anything you can offer, I’m extremely grateful, and thank you to everyone who has donated so far.
https://www.justgiving.com/page/lydia-thomson-bath-half
