I’ve been quiet lately. I have been running, although not as much as I would have liked to. I haven’t been doing my conditioning as much as I would have liked to either. I said it. I’ve started to drag my feet, and it feels like, I’ve already started to drag my feet.
The biggest hurdle for me with achieving my goals and training as much and hard as I would like to is my mental health. I have mood swings and I’m on a low swing – although a mild one. This means a number of things, but most importantly in relation to my training, this means that I’m quite unmotivated. It means I’m anxious about lacing up and going out of my front door because you never know, I may collapse and die from severe sudden onset dehydration. I could collapse from hyperventilating because I’m all of a sudden unfit. It’s a slight possibility that I could die if I lace up. You just never know.
I feel like all of these concerns flood me every time I consider going out. Then I also consider the potential heckles, the likelihood of my not meeting my expectations, or maybe the off chance I’m going to shit myself whilst running having not seen it coming at all. Just, out the blue, shit myself.
With all that in mind, it is absolutely no wonder that I am anxious about going out. I have a 0% rate of any of these things happening to me. I have a 100% success rate at finishing a run and feeling better than when I started out the door. Yet somehow, every, single, bloody time… there is a pit of dread in my stomach that is screaming at me to, no, don’t do this to me again, like a child throwing a tantrum about not getting that lego set they asked for in Tesco that costs £60 again. Nooooo! Don’t say no to me agaiinnnnnn!!!!! and all the kicks, screams and hollers that that entails in an average 2-5 year old, or spoilt any-year-old.
When I manage to subside the anxiety down with rationalisations, there’s the real lack of energy to motivate myself any further that sets in around about then too. This is a heavy weight amongst my limbs and body that makes me feel like moving is an impossible feat. I KNOW it’s not, but it FEELS like it is.
Living with mental health issues is annoying for getting in the way of my running goals and plans. The things is though, that I have a choice. I can let it win over me again. When I say again, I really mean again because so many times in my life does my mental illness batter and destroy me. The other choice is to embrace it and to use this as my chance to really really fight it. I can use this opportunity to put my brilliant personality trait of being a stubborn little shit into good use. So instead of being stubborn in being right about something, or not listening to someone, or refusing to do something I don’t want to do I’m going to throw a new idea out there for myself: I could be stubborn about doing something. That something being running the marathon. I’m not going to defer it. I’m making the whole hearted decision to be as stubborn as fuck about training and meeting my goals.
I know everyone has days when they don’t want to. I know a lot of people manage to do anyway, even when they don’t want to. I want to be one of those people, regardless of my mental illness when it comes to running. At the moment, the longest length of time I’ll have to endure training and running for is 1 1/2 hours. I’ve sulked through longer time commitments, I’m quite sure I can make myself sulk through a run or training session. I’m a pro sulker, so why not expand my horizons of activities to do whilst sulking?
This is a particular challenge I face in training for a marathon. We are all going to have our own particular challenges, and instead of letting them loom over me and defeat me I’m going to do my damned hardest at knuckling through.
One saying I’ve lived by since I was at school is that if I try my best, even if I fail, I’m not letting myself down. I can only try my best, and I can only fail knowing I tried my best. If I don’t try my best, I’m only letting myself down – and that’s a much more bitter pill to swallow. I can blame. I can wallow in self pity. I can also scowl, clench my teeth and give it a bloody good shot of what I’ve got.