the longest endurance race
It’s been more than a while. It’s been quite tough.
When you’re challenged for so long, not only do you question everything, but you actually change as a person. You learn a lot about yourself, and more again, even when you think you’re done learning and there is nothing more you need to learn.
The ITBS saga continues as described -more than I care to count- months ago. There has been progress; after I fitted the insoles I slowly started building the running. There was a point when I was doing more and it was actually fading in the background. Things were making sense and I was feeling hopeful. I was coming out of this.
Until I suddenly wasn’t. I couldn’t run once again for a while. I was getting this sudden pain that would develop within seconds leaving me unable to even walk. This curveball was the toughest one, shaking all my belief; in my program, in the steps I had taken to address the causes of the issue, everything around it. I had exhausted everything - the specialists to consult, the imaging, focus on strength, the non-focus on strength, the shoes, the insoles, the bike fit and bike shoe inserts, certainly the money…
It was a real kick in the teeth and yet, once again, I had to pick myself up. This time, with nothing to hold onto. Not even blind belief, just survival. I’d either do that or sink into depression, a choice not as obvious as it sounds.
I scoured the corners of the internet for anecdotal solutions and this was the most painful of all: coming across so many stories of catastrophe, runners retiring, others suffering for years. This affected me a lot but eventually I did find a thing or two that I could at least try and stopped searching. Because when you’re desperate, you need to find something to change. It is impossible to continue with the same recipe when it has just failed you. So after dialing back the running for a bit, fitting a tight strap over my knee, a fresh pair of shoes, an MRI and the sports doctor advising to ‘just keep building tolerance’, off I went; to try and do just that - build tolerance.
And that’s exactly how it feels like, ‘tolerable’, just about. The courage I have to summon before stepping out the door for a run is immense. The fear of something going wrong and having to stop again lingers. I still take my phone with me in case I need picking up.
The worst part is that, the way this happened out of the blue the last time, without obvious reason, it took all the trust away. It was going so well I even thought I had my shot in the long distance… so I had just transferred my race entry to IM Portugal at the end of the season. And then, boom.
I would now need months of consistency before I can even dream about racing. Or would I? Maybe this reluctance is holding me back? Honestly, after so many months of pain, I don’t even have a sense of what’s real and what’s in my head anymore. Especially with something so ‘subtle’ -it’s not even a ‘serious injury’ they said, my knee is ‘structurally fine’. It almost makes you feel like a lunatic trying to explain what’s going on in this ‘rare case’ of something that goes away within six weeks for 80% of the people. You feel totally helpless because nobody really sees enough of a problem to really try to help you, and you just become ‘noise’ to everybody. That’s how it feels anyway. It is very very lonely.
The saddest part is, it becomes part of your reality and you’re no longer making an intense effort to solve it, because you’re so exhausted about it. You’ve run out of ideas.
Then anyone who knows you, either those who see you regularly and those who don’t, keeps asking… Interestingly, I found out it can become quite triggering as you really hear yourself repeating the same again and again and it’s just so sad. You really don’t want to talk about it; you want to (pretend?) that you still have a life outside this (okay, you do, and you can be, still, a content person) but then it becomes this elephant in the room. Because, who are you trying to fool? Yourself or those who know you? Eveyone knows, as much as you do, that chasing these goals is what you strive for and so no matter how hard you try, this. Just. Hurts.
Yesterday I watched with tears in my eyes as Katarina Johnson Thompson became World Champion again, after four cruel years plagued by injuries. I have many times related to her desperation, especially when she was questioning ‘what’s the whole point’. And then yesterday she said something that really stuck with me: ‘I committed to breaking my heart’.
That’s exactly what we do… sport is such a gamble. Probably second to… love? It’s a relief to make this association because it kind of makes this commitment acceptable, I suppose. Just like with love, everyone’s heart gets broken, and yet everyone seeks it. And that’s acceptable. So there MUST be a point.
So back to the learnings.
I learnt… I can survive without my favourite thing. Racing.
I can train hard and push myself without a race in sight. Because I race to push myself, I don’t push myself to race. So I can still do that, in the hope that there is a long-term gain that one day will pay off.
I can train day in and day out without racing in sight. Because I simply, actually love it. Every swim stroke, every pedal turn, every breath. And in those few moments when I get to run well, my heart is full.
Did I not know all these things? Of course I did. But I hadn’t felt them that deeply before.
The chase has always been the progress and the transcendence, the reward come race day. It’s easy to love when it’s so rewarding. But strip it all off and then you’re left with the truth.
It’s a relief and it’s quite freeing, I realise. It’s like a very very long, endurance race, you don’t even know the distance…
