And Darkness Descended...

I finished the session a little bit tight, particularly in the left calf but wasn't worried at all.  I've been training plenty and a bit of muscular tiredness was to be expected.  Unconcerned, I went about my business through the day and into the evening, vaguely aware of the further stiffening.

The next morning brought moderate alarm bells.  Both calves were stiff with a familiar sinister sensation of feeling full up, as if they could cramp at any moment.  The realist side of my brain recognised the symptoms from the long-term injury that blighted early season preparations, but unlike last January, this time I had the sense to cancel a scheduled tempo session.

Wednesday brought optimism, no pain, nothing abnormal and so I threw myself into a crucifying turbo trainer session, over 35 minutes maintaining a 180+ bpm heart rate, rivers of sweat on the floor and legs feeling great.  Blip over, I felt fit and raring, if still a little nervously to get stuck into the next day's run.

Thursday, I got 500m into the Forest Park, body feeling really good, savouring that finely balanced sensation of 'in the moment' fitness.  But the calves were all wrong and less than three minutes later I was stretching against a fence before trudging back to the van.  Injury confirmed, darkness rapidly descended, mood blackening with the sky as I drove a funereal pace to work, mind rushing with the consequences.

Emotions were in turmoil but dominated by utter disappointment at the possibility of missing an upcoming race.  I really want to race but much more importantly I need to run.  I suffer constantly from anxiety, a debilitating mental and physical illness for which mountain running is my only medicine, alleviating the build up of the pressure in my head and the pains in my stomach.

Anger follows, why me, why now?  I've worked so fucking hard this year, transforming my mindset, accepting the protracted pain of longer effort, embracing and on occasion even excelling.  If I'd overtrained, fallen, twisted or got sick then I could handle it but this just seems so innocuous, an eight mile training run on easy terrain at a relaxed enough pace bar a couple of unscheduled efforts.  A hot bath and some foam rolling should've seen off any resultant tightness.

This sums up my last week, turbo trainer and deep tissue work!

I defy any athlete to not suffer mentally at this juncture.  When emotional wellbeing is so closely intertwined with physical effort a dive in mood is an inevitable consequence of injury.  I don't want to be this person, shorter, snappier and surlier but a sense of burning injustice is pervading the background of my subconscious and I can't break clear of it.  Already formulating apologies to those closest who have to bear my disappointment I now wait for the blissful time when the darkness rises and I become human again.

When the simple process of rapidly putting one foot in front of the other attains such redemptive powers the need for self-regulation is vital.  As long as I train hard there will always be injuries and sadly they're going to be ever more frequent unless I temper my behaviour to counteract the opposing forces of increasing age and increasing volume.  Maybe I should just stop competing and enjoy the health, the fitness, the sheer joy of mountain running without the pressures but I understand, I'm a competitor first and foremost and without that personal challenge the rewards will never be as fulfilling.

All is not lost.  I can still train on the bike and for that I'm hugely grateful.  Sanity and fitness can both be preserved and it's only a few days until the start of the taper period anyway.  Physio and rehabilitation are in full swing and the eternal optimist in me still believes this injury may just disappear as rapidly as it arrived.  If I can do the race I'll be truly delighted, it's a brilliant event and a great opportunity to pit myself against better athletes than me.  More important though is to recover fully and ensure that sometime soon I'll be moving through the Mournes peaks again, battered by the wind and rain but loving every minute.

The only medicine for me, as long as I can get amongst them!

I only discovered running five years ago and am amazed how much it has come to mean to me.  It brings fun, health and relief from a sickness that has tried to blight my Thirties.  The competition aspect may well go by the wayside at some point but I want it to be on my terms, not enforced by permanent damage.  In the meantime I have to treat this recovery period as a learning process, mentally preparing for a possible time when the rehab is tougher, because recovery, just like training starts in the head.

The Curse of Egotism

My Garmin bleeped at me signalling the first mile completed.  Glancing down I quickly absorbed the information, a 6:18 mile, heart rate 149, mostly uphill, all in order for a steady effort.  Rounding the corner the trail steepened and I should've backed off to compensate but instead without much conscious input my chest leaned forward slightly, knees rose and weight transferred to my toes as I upped the tempo and increased the pace.  Maintaining a casual, effortless facial expression I breezed past the lady sat on the boulder with a cheery 'hiya', the lack of heavy breathing despite the almost sprint speed highlighting my physical prowess.

The trail levelled and my watch insistently warned me of a deviation from the specified heart rate zone, the delayed reaction of technology catching up with the noticeable beating from my chest.  I admonished myself angrily, what was I doing?  Why the hell had I pushed hard like that?  This was meant to be a recovery run, entirely fuelled by my aerobic system, minimal effort and an opportunity for my muscles to actively recover from the previous day's intervals hell.

Recovering my composure and dropping the effort allowed time to analyse my bizarre reaction to being observed.  It certainly wasn't a primal, alpha male mating call.  I wasn't showing off my running capabilities as a weak effort at being attractive.  In many ways I wish it had been, at least that could be excused as a natural process, driven by the evolutionary requirement to attract the opposite sex, to secure a mate and guarantee the survival of the species.  Sadly it was something much cheaper, dirtier and indicative of an inherent lack of maturity, I'd accelerated past the walker because of ego.

These days I'd like to think I'm not massively egotistical.  I certainly used to be, breezing through my mid-twenties on a wave of financial and sporting success whilst located in the South of England where brash overconfidence is lauded, made it an inevitability.  Since then, a decade in Ireland has mellowed me.  The Irish have a mistrust of success to some degree and whilst they're still quick to congratulate, they're even quicker to ensure that nobody is allowed to take themselves too seriously, cutting egos down to size before they begin to grow and mutate.  I've embraced this mindset wholeheartedly, preferring to seek self-satisfaction over external admiration to the extent that I'm a bit embarrassed by praise, but on occasions that egotistical side can still fight through and become the dominant force again.

Winning breeds confidence, confidence breeds ego, ego breeds expectation and expectation breeds the fear!

Ego is a curse.  In running terms it has cost me the purity of racing for racing's sake.  I occasionally jealously watch competitors coming over the line together, way down the field but with smiles as wide as their faces, eschewing the sprint in order to share the final moments with their friends.  I'll have always finished way before, gnashing my teeth in a fast finish, often simply against the clock to put more time into my rivals and sew more doubt in their minds next time we line up together.  Don't get me wrong, I love to race, to compete and push myself, to move rapidly through technical terrain.  I delight in the camaraderie, sharing that indescribable pain of extreme effort and its unique bonding qualities that make lifelong friends out of new acquaintances, but I also love to win.  Winning fuels the ego and with ego comes expectation.

I'll rarely start a race unless I feel in peak condition because my ego won't allow me to lose.  I'll dig deeper, hurt more and grind out results rather than admit defeat.  And so I usually expect to win, but expectation can only bring disappointment as victories are anticipated and defeats are doubly gutting.  As a result I've probably missed out on some wonderful experiences and also probably further success because I was unwilling to take part for fear of losing.  This is ego and ego breeds the fear.

Often the races that I enjoy the most are the ones with no expectations, ones where I flog myself to death with no possibility of winning.  This season has seen me virtually undefeated but my favourite race was the Worlds where my body fell apart and I fought beyond the pain to just dip into the top forty.  For once I was the runner crossing the line way down the field, the relief of finishing far overriding any egotistical need to excel.  Perhaps I should only do International standard races?!

Shattered and satisfied despite defeat, the Worlds is no place for ego

Back to yesterday.  The unwanted sprint on unprepared muscles tore deep into my calves.  A pinpoint burning was a precursor to a wider tightening that developed throughout the rest of the session.  By the evening I was limping slightly and by morning today's scheduled tempo session was shelved.  Now I'm staring at a potential injury, disruption to my preparations and worst of all a possible inability to get into the mountains.

I'm hugely annoyed at myself for the frivolity of my actions.  Why would I care if someone saw me running slowly?  Why didn't I have the maturity to just maintain the correct outputs, keep the legs turning over and the heart in the right zone?  Why, at 38 do I still feel the need to prove myself to total strangers who don't give a damn whether I can run fast up a hill?  The power of egotism is strong and to maximise recovery, appreciate the truly important facets of life, avoid injury and guarantee my long term participation in the sport I love I need to keep taming its urges.

I'll think back to this blog next time I round that corner, and then probably still kick on regardless!