“Seriously!” My anxiety gremlin shrieks in my brain (with a few more colorful words thrown in) as I gasp and hack, choking on two salt tablets. I’m barely a few miles into the Catamount 50k, and my legs are cramping as if I’ve already run 30 miles! Which is why I tried downing a few salt tablets. I feel the salt cutting into my throat as it dissolves, and while I finally begin to breath, I also start spitting up blood.
“Are you all right?” a concerned voice asks. I look around, still clutching my throat and gasping, to see another runner coming up behind me.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine” I manage to squeak out, while spitting up more blood. She looks at me as if she’s witnessing a zombie from “The Walking Dead.” I wave her on, trying to give my most convincing ‘I’m not dead yet!’ look.
Truth be told, I’m not convinced I’ll be fine. In fact, I didn’t even start the race convinced I would be fine – I’ve been battling a case of shingles for several weeks now, and the flare up on my side falls directly along the waist-band of my running shorts. I expected some serious discomfort late in the race, but now?! This is mile 3 for crying out loud. I feel like a complete amateur as I continue coughing and spitting up blood, while moving like a peg-legged pirate up to the cabin, the high-point for the course.
But honestly, isn’t this what I signed up for? To practice governing my uncomfortable emotions? I have done enough of these races to know and expect self-doubt, uncertainty, and even fear. You know early on, even before the race starts, all those challenging emotions are just waiting for you out there, on the other side of your extreme mental and physical fatigue, towards the end of your race.
Well not today.
Today those emotions are at mile 3, and my hand keeps making its way up to my side to itch my shingles. The severe cramping in my leg is causing me to start and stop every few feet. Come on! I know full well it will take 15-20 minutes for the salt tablets to have an effect, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping for instantaneous relief. A few more people run by, concerned looks on their faces.
My mind keeps ruminating on four simple words: “I had a plan.”
Well, I did! I had mentally prepared myself in the last weeks of my training to deal with the discomfort I knew I’d experience from the symptoms of the shingles. I had curmudgeonly accepted this would probably result in a slower finish time. I went into this race fully prepared to deal with my uncomfortable emotions and the uncertainty they always brought about in the late miles. That was the deal. Say about 4 hours in at least… but no sooner! Doesn’t every uncomfortable emotion only come when we’re expecting it? I mean seriously… I was certain my uncertainty would come when I had planned it to!
Alright. Hearing myself thinking this way, I began to smile. Still spitting up a bit of blood but smiling none-the-less. It’s that smile you give when figure out the joke is on you.
I start to walk again, drink water, and remind myself not to worry about my time. My calf feels a bit better, and I begin to gain some momentum. I was a bit naïve to think that the only place I would find challenging emotions was at the end of the race. To think I could actually predict when uncertainty in my race, my life, might rear its ugly head. But hey… I’m not out here looking for a sponsor. I’m here to work my mental-emotional tools, and it looks as though I will get some extra time to do just that.
First tool to practice?
“Everything changes. You will feel differently in the next minute, next hour, or waking up the next morning.” (I just may have trouble eating solid foods for a few days ????)
