You're Doing Really Well

Turning heartbreak into positive self-talk.

To be honest, yes, it is heartbreaking to run my usual routes and find them so much harder than they were before I was hit by a speeding car. This shouldn’t be surprising: two and a half months of “deconditioning” has actually been 10 weeks of pretty solid cell regrowth and bone healing. But somehow it is surprising. I know I’m insanely lucky to be running at all, to be alive at all, but it’s impossible not to want things back the way they were.

It’s just like recovering from any other injury, and actually, that’s a helpful way of framing it for myself. I don’t know how to recover from being hit by a car, catapulted through the air and crawling out of a ditch. I do know how to build back strength and endurance from an injury, and how to cultivate a mindset driven by coming back stronger, more resilient and evermore grateful. I know how to put money in the piggy bank with every run and make sensible, incremental gains.

It’s just that I haven’t been this weak in a very long time. Hiking uphill and feeling burning in my feet, calves and quads is a sensation I just haven’t felt outside of an ultra marathon since before I can remember. I set out on my run with the intention of hiking the hills, hoping that within a few weeks I’ll be fit and strong enough to run the whole route again, but it’s a shock to find that even hiking is hard. Then the positive self-talk, the reality check: by doing this now, you are well on your way to getting back to where you were. This is the work. It’s only been 10 weeks since the crash, it’s insane you’re managing to do this at all. Gosh, so lucky. And what a beautiful day! What a privilege to get to do this, to feel that ache, to enjoy that ache.

All true.

It takes that much noise to counteract the very real emotional ache near my solar plexus. I am sad about how much muscle I’ve lost that was so hard to gain. I am sad about how long it will take to build it all back, not even to build on top of what I had. I am in a constant stasis between building up and getting knocked backwards again. Constant. Will I even manage to finish the 7 Valleys race in September? 110k in the Lake District, 3981m of elevation gain. I count the months. At least it’s at the end of September, that’s a bit more time. But yes, I think, as I continue hiking, trying to keep my effort and cadence steady, my rhythm honest, I have to be doing this. I can’t fall apart on this hill, I can’t give up, this is exactly where I need to be. How about I try running the last part of the hill? Yes, from that rock up ahead, I’ll run.

And my legs are fine and my arms are fine and my chest is absolutely fine. This hill was never easy before, if we’re really honest: the fitter I got, the faster I ran it, and therefore the effort remained the same, the same as now. I feel a little threat of tiredness, and negativity and fear are such loud, obnoxious emotions, but I talk out loud to myself to drown them out: “You’re amazing. You’re doing so well. Just keep going like this, you’re absolutely crushing it, let’s see if we can run all the way to the top of the road!”

I get to the top of the trail and pass through a gate and annoyingly, I have to stop to wait for a car to manoeuvre out of a driveway. I let it pull away and keenly spring back into my jog. My steps are small and I judge myself harshly, so unfit, so weak, but just as quickly I hype myself up: “You’re doing so well, just hold this, this is perfect and this will get easier.” And yes, I do make it to the top of the road. I bend over double and let myself breathe loud and long. I judge myself harshly for this too, of course, but it’s a hot day. I give myself some grace. I still have 3k to go to get home, but it’s largely downhill, the hardest part is done.

When I tilt back into my run, my watch alerts me to my 10k split, and it’s not nearly as slow as I felt. Perception and reality. This is why I like data. Even if the GPS is inaccurate, the numbers are true to themselves. I really am doing great, I know this to be true, and I want that to be my initial thought when things feel hard. I want to be celebrating being on the hill and trying, not heartbroken and comparing myself to a previous life.

But can I reframe the heartbreak? The grief is a yearning, a goal, a desire. Let’s look at my run up that hill again: what was it that drove me to progress from a hike? Next time I feel sadness, can I celebrate the feeling as an impetus to keep trying, to push myself a little more? It seems a little convoluted, but nothing about this situation has felt straightforward. I’ve always enjoyed a very clean input -> output approach to training: a little longer, a little faster, a little further. Next time, can I start the run uphill from even further down the track?

There will be a day - soon - when it doesn’t all feel so difficult. There will be a day - soon - when I can run the whole of the hill on that route. There will be days when it still feels tough, because suddenly I’m back to running 80k in a week and it’s supposed to feel like a challenge, and there will be others when it just flows, when it’s only a privilege and a joy, a celebration of being a body alive in the world. And in both instances, hopefully I’ll think of now, and be grateful to myself for not giving up. Hopefully, I’ll still tell myself out loud: “You’re amazing, you’re doing so well, this is perfect.”