Remember Your Victories, or "From Russia with Love"

I'm pretty good at owning my failures.  When I screw up at work, which is rare, I take accountability for fixing the problem.  Now that I'm completely out of shape, I recognize that there are no excuses.  I'm the one who didn't work hard enough.  I'm the one who didn't eat right.  And while I'm not so great at fixing those things, I am really, really good at kicking myself when I'm down and feeling like a complete loser compared to where I was a little over two years ago.

And yet, one positive thing that's happening within my little Brian brain recently is that despite the pain and struggles (lots of compartment syndrome symptoms on my last two runs), I'm starting to think of myself as a runner again, and I think that's somewhat I'm important.  But I also want to do a better job of owning my successes.  I may not be anywhere half-marathon or marathon shape, but I still ran two of each.  Those accomplishments are not taken away from me.  I don't say that so that I can rest on those laurels, but to remind myself of what I accomplished once, what I can still be proud of, and what I hope to accomplish again.

Shaun White lost in his bid for a third-straight Olympic gold medal in the snowboard half-pipe tonight.  They don't take away his gold from Torino or Vancouver.  He's still the greatest-ever in his sport, and indeed probably the only one from his sport that a lot of Americans can even name. 

I am not comparing myself to Shaun White.  He finished fourth at the Olympics.  I suck at running right now and would need some walk breaks to finish a 5K.  But those medals, from Virginia Beach and Philadelphia, they are still mine. I want to run to those distances again, and I'm going to work to get back to racing shape and to my goal weight, but even if I never run those distances again, those moments -- those successes of which I am proud -- they are part of me and they can't be taken away.  

I think it might help me to occasionally remember that.

Lacking Perspective

I'm trying to explain and thus move toward changing my negative mindset, not just be excessively pessimistic or whiny here. You've been warned.

I was coming off a very good 10K training run on Saturday, wishing I'd signed up for Broad Street, thinking perhaps a fall marathon was a good idea after all. Tired, sore, but feeling like I was ready to chase some PRs at my upcoming 5K, 8K, and 10K.

Just a few days later, it's hit me in the face what a shadow of my former running self I am right now. I had easily the worst run of the comeback tour, a 28-minute 3 mile where you name it, it probably hurt. Sore calves, like I was having before my layoff, trouble breathing, creaky knees, aching lower back and even a hitch in my stride (dragging the left foot on the ground too much) that I don't think is usually there.

I'm prone to excessive self-doubt and criticism after a bad run, which really doesn't make sense with my rather casual approach to training. So even as one side of my brain is thinking "You couldn't have gotten 5 miles tonight, you're in trouble" another part knows "you always do this after a bad run, it's never as bad as you think it is (you dummy)." As much as I am critical of Andy Reid in his coaching of my favorite football team, one of his mantras that I need to re-appropriate in my running is to "never let yourself get too high after a win or too low after a loss."

I had a bad run; but the Garmin gets set back to zero and I have a clean slate either way when I hit the road on Thursday or Friday. Knowing something is nothing to worry about is easy for me; making the transition to actually not worrying about it has always been a challenge. The easy workaround is to probably avoid the night running -- in which I don't use a music player -- until I'm feeling consistently stronger and more comfortable at 5-6 mile distances. Let Van Halen drown out the negative thoughts.

I think it's going to be a challenge for me to main perspective this year. Last year was far and away the best year of my career: first two marathons, a very good season of 5Ks, a significant mile PR within striking distance of 6:00; and one of 2 or 3 best races I've ever run to cap the year. I'll achieve much less this year it looks like, and even though I'm pretty sure I don't love the marathon, I don't think I'll feel like I'm all the way back until I finish another one.

But I can't let myself think like this -- and there's no reason to. Throwing out for a second that I'm missing Shamrock, I'll probably finish March at about the same place that I did last year, 6-7 mile training runs and no long races on the immediate horizon. With that in mind, this really is a minor setback and I just need to be more positive. My goal, totally unquantifiable of course, for the rest of March is to just try to enjoy each and every run for its own sake, without any concern for where it fits into a larger training plan or how they compare to each other or to last year.

Rediscover the fun.

I know...this post definitely requires at least one adorable kitty picture.

(Higgy, back in his chubbier days, was obsessed with climbing in the dryer and staring demonically at us.)

It's a Trap!

Your fleet has lost. And your friends on the Endor moon will not survive. There is no escape, my young apprentice. The Alliance will die...as will your friends.

- Emperor Palpatine, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi.

Things always seem darkest right before the Death Star blows up. I'm supposed to run 26.2 miles on Sunday, and I'm trying to be well-rested for it. In the week leading up to the race, though, I have enough deliverables due at work to force multiple all-nighters; I'm completely stressed-out; I'm starting to cough; it's going to be quite a bit warmer (disclaimer: This is my blog, and so perfect temperatures are the 30s and low 40s) than I planned for; and yes, I'm undertrained by any respected training plan.

The Death Star is fully operational, leaving the Rebel Alliance outnumbered and outgunned.

It doesn't matter. There's always a way out. I'm not sure in this analogy what is the vulnerable exhaust vent, but I'll find it.

Boom.