Ego and Excuses vs. Joy and Self-Compassion

Two miles into last Saturday’s 25K, I run down switchbacks toward a small stream crossing. This route will be the longest I’ve attempted to run since getting injured in mid-March, and I’m trying hard to celebrate this moment of being back on the Western States Trail.

I tell myself, I’m back! Look how green everything is this time of year. Remember this stretch from 2016’s Western States 100, when Clare paced me out of Foresthill? It was sunset then, daybreak now. I’ll build up to 100 again. I think I can, I think I can….

But a couple of things keep harshing my buzz.

One, the twingy sore spot on the side of my abdomen, right next to where the muscles attach to the top of the pelvis, is telling me to be cautious. It tolerates a smooth, steady stride, but any sudden lateral move sends stabbing pain. My lower back and upper glute feel tight and not entirely right, nearly seven weeks after I fell off my horse and landed on my backside.

Two, I can’t bliss out on this trail because more than a dozen runners are right behind me. I’m the slow locomotive holding back a train of runners. I step aside, wave my hand to indicate they should pass, and off they go. Less than a quarter mile later, the scene repeats. I’m getting passed by masses of midpackers. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

Thirty minutes earlier, my morning brimmed with optimism and enthusiasm as I drove to the town of Foresthill near Auburn, pinned on a number and lined up to start the 25K at the Canyons Endurance Runs, a route that would measure about 16.5 miles on the gentle southbound out-and-back stretch. I was supposed to run the gnarly 100K, but then my training evaporated for six weeks while I limped from injury.

Starting the 25K of The Canyons Endurance Runs in Foresthill while hanging out with UltraRunnerPodcast’s Eric Schranz.

On the outbound portion of the route, I become mired in negative ego-driven thoughts. I’m frustrated by how cautiously I have to run and embarrassed by how slow I am relative to the others. I question whether I’ll ever regain the shape I was in two years ago, when I fulfilled my Western States 100 dreams on this very trail.

I’m being ridiculous, I objectively know that. I’m coming back from injury, so this slow, conservative 16-miler rightly feels challenging and tentative. As the miles pass and I loosen up, I work through my feelings and get back into positive territory during the second half of the run. But I’m admitting to my moodiness here because I know I’m not alone in being a tough self-critic who dwells on better past performances and who should practice more self-compassion.

Later, hanging out at the finish line, I chat with two friends who feel down on themselves due to lackluster running. One describes full-blown anxiety over recent DNF’s and DNS’s at 100s and wonders aloud “who am I?” if not a kick-ass runner? Another DNF’s because her heart and energy are not in the day’s event. We all muse about aging.

Also later on Saturday, my client who ran a 50K in Colorado writes me, “I had a hard time mentally getting down on myself; I had a bunch of people passing me. But I got my head straight and was able to be more positive. I think that is my biggest hurdle. I put too much pressure on myself sometimes. I do better when I let that go.”

I write her back and offer some advice that I need to try harder to follow: “Run your own race…. You are not competing against others, you are competing against yourself, aiming to fulfill your potential and reach your personal goals. Think of the others who are passing you as friends who will help carry you along. Do your own thing!”

Toward the end of the 25K, I feel a mix of a runner’s high and running pain. It feels so good to run steadily for three hours, sweaty and radiating “the good kind” of fatigue. But I tweaked my sore oblique muscle by suddenly lifting my leg to leap across a small stream, and it’s talking back to me; at the finish line, I’ll limp around a bit, but it’ll be OK later in the day. This strained muscle is stubborn, like my mood, but manageable.

A female runner catches up with a couple of miles to go. I can tell from her breathing she’s working quite hard, harder than I. We run together and leapfrog for a few miles, exchanging some pleasantries. I’m on the verge of telling her that I’m coming back from injury and this is “just a training run,” but then I realize what an annoying implied putdown that would be, given how hard she’s racing. A line from one of David Roche’s past coaching articles in Trail Runner comes to me, “Excuses are like genitals. Everyone has them, but you shouldn’t show them off.”

I keep a lid on my excuse and keep our conversation positive, telling her some encouraging words. And then I’m reminded of another line, by champ Kaci Lickteig, “Run with joy.” So simple and yet so powerful.

It’s funny how acting and thinking more positively actually makes you feel better. It’s the essence of cognitive-behavioral therapy: change your thoughts and behaviors to change your mood. By thinking and acting in a more positive, gracious manner, I physically feel better—so much so, I run faster and put a gap between the other runner and me.

I needed this 25K to jumpstart training for a series of upcoming events on which I have my heart set:

• A high-altitude, high-mileage ultrarunning training camp in Colorado Springs led by coach Jason Koop May 25 – 28
• The San Juan Solstice 50-miler June 23 (only 8 weeks from now, yikes)
• The San Juan Mountain Running Camp near Ouray that I’m coaching July 11 – 14
• And the ultimate challenge, the hardest 100 I’ve ever attempted: the Ouray 100 on July 28

I also needed this 25K to reconnect with the ultrarunning community whose colorful threads make up much of the fabric of my social life. Getting to the finish line and seeing all those familiar friendly faces felt so gratifying. Many congratulated me for getting back to running, and I don’t think anybody noticed or cared what my time was. I spent the whole day there, supporting a couple of clients running the 50K and 100K.

Hanging out with my friend and client Tiffany Trevers, who finished 2nd in the 50K.

I reflect on these issues and on the different phases of training and competing, which mirror different phases in life, as I hit the trail this morning for a Tuesday date with The Rocket, truly grateful for this combination of physical activity and camaraderie, which lifts me out of any funk. Errol tells me afterward, in reference to my concerns about being undertrained for the San Juan Solstice 50 and Ouray 100, “Stop bemoaning what’s to come running wise, you’ll be OK. You won’t be at your very best, but you’ll have enough to finish, and in the end that’s all that counts. It’s the journey that counts, not always how fast or the place you take.”

The moody, self-critical early miles of the 25K seem like a distant memory, and I am running with joy.

Books and Stuff

Last week, I finished reading North: Finding My Way While Running the Appalachian Trail by Scott and Jenny Jurek, and then Eric Schranz and I interviewed Jenny for this episode of UltraRunnerPodcast. I heartily recommend the book, which addresses the theme of coping with feeling past one’s prime and trying to make a comeback. We had a great Q&A with Jenny; I hope you’ll read North and listen to our talk on URP.

Speaking of books, it’s been a year since Falcon Guides published mine, The Trail Runner’s Companion: A Step-by-Step Guide to Trail Running and Racing, from 5Ks to Ultras. I’m giving away an in-depth coaching consultation to someone who buys the book this month. If you order the book and fill out this form, then you’ll be in a drawing I’ll do June 1 for the coaching session.

If you read and liked my book, you can do me a huge favor by recommending the book and tagging me on your social media, and/or writing an Amazon customer review on this page. Thank you!

Do you have any good summer reads picked out? I’m treating myself to another fun, easy Lianne Moriarty, then the Laura Ingalls Wilder biography Prairie Firesthat just won the Pulitzer for biography. For book recommendations, see the “My Bookshelf” sidebar in the righthand column.