About 5 weeks ago, I decided I needed some kind of target to motivate my running during the summer. I picked a little club 5K race that I've run many times before. I set modest expectations for myself, to run somewhere in the 23-24 minute range. That's nowhere near the 19-20 minute times I've run this course in my prime masters years but it seemed a good goal for me at 62.
Training went well. I hit my targets in workouts and felt ready. And that's where it all fell apart. This was a Wednesday evening race and the conditions were quite warm (87°) and humid. The race started and even after a vigorous warm-up I felt flat. I wanted to be about 7;30 in the first mile and I was about 8:00. And it got worse from there. Before I knew it I was running 9:30 and then 10:30 miles. My legs felt like lead and my heart rate spiked. I staggered to the finish in a miserable 29:20, for a new PW at 5K.
I was furious with myself afterwards. Was I delusional about my goal? Did I just suck? Was this how it's always going to be for me now, at my age with two surgeries in the rear view mirror? Should I just hang it up for good?
But I've had some time to think it over. What really happened was a shutdown by my brain and body. When I slowed down it was not by choice, at least not the part of me that wanted to race. Rather it was an autonomic response to the conditions. Once the brain sent out the red flag message it was game over.
I can't lie, it sucks to fail so spectacularly in the moment. But it's water under the bridge. Can't unring a bell. Choose your favorite cliché here. All I can do is take whatever lessons I can from it and move on. And that's what I will do. We've all been there, the dark moments. But it's how you respond to them that matters.
A 16-week build-up to the Richmond Half Marathon starts next week and I will be ready. I'm already itching to get back to work.
