It looks like I’m not going to London. Qualifying in the last six weeks with only two seconds to spare and entering the race with the highest seed number (F200) who could have possibly seen that coming?
Such ambitious dreams, such an underwhelming performance, so many friends and family supporting me both in person and from afar, it begs the questions: Why would I drop out of the most important race of my life and how do I feel about it? Because my body told me to, and pretty darn good.
To quote Linda Holmes in the funniest sports editorial I have ever read regarding UConn’s win over Butler in the 2011 NCAA men’s basketball championship:
It takes a series of hard-fought wins to even be in the position to put on that kind of unmemorable championship-game performance.
This is precisely how I feel about my experience. Like all but a few serious contenders, qualifying for and being part of the trials was the goal I was striving for. I was there first to enjoy the privilege of taking the line with all of the best runners in the USA and second, to see how competitive I could be within my ability range.
I have no regrets. I ran my race according to plan. I went out conservatively, progressed through the race and was catching up to and passing people from miles 8 through 20 where things started to fall apart. It turns out that when you only do one training run longer than 2 hours 15 minutes your body isn’t prepared for the last six miles of a marathon. Oops. And by “oops” I mean I really shouldn’t have gotten hit by that car and cost myself 5 months of preparation. I’ve made a personal note to be less cavalier with my training “plan” in 2016.
But still, why did I drop out? It was the Olympic Trials. So many friends and family members have supported me in getting here. Didn’t I owe it to them to at least walk/jog my way across the finish line? I did it because I know the difference between injury pain and “I’d sure like to not be doing this anymore” pain. Furthermore, I have the confidence that there will be other even more important races in my future. I wasn’t in contention for an Olympic team or even for placing in the top 10 for the USA Championships. I was out there for myself striving for a personal best. I have dreams of getting to that next level, but I’m not there yet, and staying healthy is an essential part of the process.
Of all of the decisions I’ve had to make in my life and especially in the past year, dropping out of the race was neither regrettable nor damning. I used to put so much pressure on myself to perform. I would run on stress fractures, under eat, and over train. I hated any sign of weakness or bodily suggestion that I was human. I more than occasionally sulked and cried after disappointing races (which was any race where I didn’t run a personal best) and on several occasions fell into serious episodes of depression. Over the years, I learned that I don’t need to torture myself with my “livelihood”. Now I trust that life itself will provide a healthy dose of suffering and never cease to blindside me with strange new catastrophes. Running has become my escape. If I perform well, that’s great, if I have a bad day, I still got outside, released some endorphins and likely spent time with some amazing people.
Life is hard. Running should be fun.
