When I cross the finish line at the Paris marathon in a month’s time, it will be the finish line of recreational competition for me. That’s it. I’m finished.
The last month has been difficult to say the least.
It made me think about why I race. It surprised me. And it made me wonder if it’s all worth it.
Injuries plagued February. An Achilles ache kept me from running for a week. Then the real deal breaker: an IT band injury I still haven’t been able to shake.
This is the second time I’ve been injured. The first time was also race-related. It was a small hamstring tear during the 2012 City2Surf.
If anger were a chemical, it now floods my mind asking, “Why do we even race to begin with?”, “To prove what?”, “To who?”
I miss running just for fun. Back when it was like learning without an exam at the end. No time to beat, no weekly mileage totals to meet. No injury to defeat.
And sure, injuries can be overcome, but what I’ve learnt is it’s the heartbreak and hopelessness that are hard to deal with.
I can run 60 kilometres a week for months on end. I can’t have all that work be for nothing; not for a second, certainly not for weeks. Nor can I cope with wanting to run but simply not physically being able to.
I hear in my head again: “For what? For who?”, and they’re questions I can’t answer.
But when I think back to running alone, just for the fun, without a race to prepare for, my answer is simple.
There’s a certain euphoria about running at a certain speed and for it to feel comfortable and relaxing.Steve from run club (http://steveskinner3.wordpress.com/2014/01/01/new-year-new-challenges-new-blog/)