They say that
distance running is 90% mental. The other 10% is in your head.
They
are
a bunch of liars.
Distance running is in fact 89% mental. 8.4% is in your head. The
remaining 2.6% is all down to strategically placed globs of vaseline
and round plasters over your nipples.
Trust me.
I'm running my third marathon in two weeks time. It's been about
eighteen months since my last one and I've had to walk for stretches
on my previous two. With a bit of luck and a (hurricane strength)
following wind I may get close to breaking four hours.
I won't be first. I won't be last. But I most certainly will
get there un-chafed.
Even if the percentages are a bit out there's no doubt that most of
the battle is up top. Running long distances means keeping your legs
turning over for hours at a time. Getting your legs from the point
where twenty minutes of light jogging turns them into a two day
exploration of lactic acid pain to a point where you can run for
three hours and still function is relatively simple. Getting your
brain to the point where it stops sending out whatsthepointjustgiveup
messages takes longer.
I've employed all kinds of tricks over the last few weeks. I've
alternated between music and non-music runs. I read somewhere about
people who battle on race days because they are suddenly forced to
run without music to distract their brains. I think I'm ok either way
now although the timely intervention of Marathon by
Rush got me through one of my give up moments last
weekend if I'm honest. I've tried mixing up routes, incorporating
hills, deliberately going slowly, deliberately going too fast...the
list goes on. My latest trick has been to plan my route so that I
have to pass close to my house – the ultimate mental test for
anyone prone to giverupperitis. I ran just over 33km on Sunday (20
miles and change in old money) and made a point of running within a
decent sand-wedge of home at both the 15km and 25km mark just so I
could try and shout down the voices in my head who kept very politely
asking “what the fuck are you doing?”.
For a long time I kept thinking I would get to a point where running
for several hours would become easy. Truth is it never does. Rarely
do I start running with my legs feeling great and it can often take
half an hour or more before I settle into it. Other than the normal
735 niggles that affect my body on any given day I'm generally ok up
to about 25km at which point my hips start to feel like they are
trying to detach themselves from my body. Every kilometre after that
is mind over matter.
Writing (for me at least) throws up many similar
whatsthepointjustgiveup thoughts. It rarely feels easy and is
mostly a battle of will and commitment. It takes hours of time and
dedication to improve and is a solitary, lonely pursuit.
Perhaps the most important characteristic that running and writing
share is that both tend to be reflective in their glory. When I look
back over the miles I've logged and the races I've completed I feel
proud that I got off my arse. When I look back over what I've written
and the stories I've completed I feel proud that I...stayed on my
arse.
Like an arse-shaped yin and yang thing.
Whatever the science I hope I get to do both for a very long time. Coz, let's face it, if after a mere couple of thousand kilometres and tens of thousands of words I'm able to write lines of poetic prose such as arse-shaped yin and yang the possibilities are endless.
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