May As Well

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Soul searching, baby. 

The runner's spreadsheet running log is a fascinating thing. It can tell you a lot about the runner and his or her habits, and its harsh sodium-glare spotlight of truth often reveals things the hardened or perhaps not-so-hardened runner would rather not know, much less reveal to a wider audience.

For instance, a casual glance at my running log reveals that my performance yesterday followed three months of respectable training. An honest effort it was, to be sure, and with no short cuts taken. It was a worthy and respectable effort and almost a carbon copy of the three months training that led to my participation in the 2014 Sydney Half. And yet the results were radically different. Yesterday I crossed the line in 2h06m, nearly twelve whole minutes worse than my PB for the self same race. Two years earlier, following a very similar three months of training, I completed the event in 1h57m, nearly ten whole minutes quicker. 

My immediate response when I saw this was to blame circumstance, or perhaps age, but pretty clearly none of that is true. When I dig a little deeper, the truth is rather more self-evident. Prior to 2014, I had two years of solid running, pounding out a more than respectable weekly average for pretty much the entire two year period. After that however, things went somewhat backwards. 2014 and 2015 were not, it must be said, good running years, with only modest distances covered, and the theme of that brace of years would have to be called 'inconsistency'. 

No, it seems clear to me now that if I want to turn out some respectable performances - and by that I mean in my own modest terms of course - then I really do have to diligently turn up and crank out the miles week after week. That base mileage is quite simply the fundamental key. A 12 or 16 week training programme doesn't cut it any more unless built on genuine base mileage, and regular, routine running simply has to become part and parcel of daily life if I don't want my running to spiral ever downwards until it implodes in a sea of futility somewhere up my own arse.

It seems a harsh revelation, but that is the nature of the beast at this stage of life. I can no longer expect to 'get back' to a previously enjoyed level of fitness after just a few weeks of effort. It does now genuinely have to become lifestyle. You would think after nearly 13 years of running .. well hang on, with the help of the spreadsheet and the running log I can be more specific than that... yes, after 4,773 days of running you'd think I had this running business well and truly sorted out. But no, it still requires a determined effort of will to maintain the habit. Given the benefits of regular running it's an odd thing to admit, but persisting with running still presents difficulties which sometimes sees me fall into a stupor of non-running for weeks and sometimes months at a time. This depressing torpor of indifference and pessimism is the real danger, and sometimes a result like yesterday's slow half marathon with its pain and genuine 'is this really worth it?' over-arching question mark can be a dangerous turning point, too often leading me to take the easier path of booze and fried foods instead of salads and pre-dawn interval training. And we all know where that inevitably leads.

So, as I'm in a point of genuine turmoil at the moment, with extremely boring work and general life issues threatening to overshadow the value of running, it's all the more vital that I remain focussed and get on with it again. To that end I'm modifying my running goals somewhat. I'm removing the pressure of another marathon for now, at least for the remainder of this year as the effort required is simply too great. I will focus instead on regaining that lost half marathon form, to see if I can once again run sub-two hours without taxing myself too much. There are at least two more half marathon races I can participate in this year, as well as the Point to Pinnacle in November, so suitable goals are not a problem.

As with everything, choices abound. As Neo attested in Matrix Reloaded, the problem with everything is always choice. If there's no choice, there's no problem. Freedom, for all its blessings, always gives one a crisis of conscience. It's a funny thing, but we can choose to either become depressed about it, or to get active and tackle it head on. Stupor or action, pessimism or optimism. Not such a difficult choice really if you're thinking clearly.

I'll see you out there. Sorry for all the pretentiousness.