Why I Miss Races
And I never thought I would
Races. They’re not happening this year, are they? Or, not really. All the big ones — the London, Paris, and Boston marathons, to name just three — have been postponed, and I don’t think many people really believe the world will be normal enough at any point before 2021 for the sort of crowds and crush and lack of social distancing that is an inevitable part and parcel of a large organised running event.
I would never, ever have thought this sort of a year would be disappointing to me. I don’t see my running as “training.” I see it as me, running, so that I can listen to my thoughts and my music and feel my body respond to my mind in that unique way that all runners can understand — I see it like that for the duration of a run, my mind and body are working together, which is peaceful. I just love running, in and of itself.
What I don’t love, usually, are races. Races make me nervous. There is so much to dislike.
I dislike the smell of Deep Heat everywhere from the carpark onwards and the bickering over safety pins and the queues for the Portaloos. I dislike the decisions about what to have for breakfast (FYI, my usual choice: for anything under a half marathon, 2 slices of white toast and a banana. For half-marathons or more, 4 slices of white toast and a banana. In each case, at least 2 hours before running, preferably 3). I dislike having to plan my meal carefully the night before and not have a glass of wine.
I dislike the anxious foot-to-foot pacing on the start line, the checking and re-checking of laces and headphones and GPS on my sports watch. I dislike the labelled pens for different paces, because I know I should push myself into a pen for a time I can barely hope for, but my instinct herds me into a pen for a time I know I can achieve, even though I’ll probably be stepping impatiently on heels once we actually get moving.
I dislike the cheery warm-up dudes, jumping around and encouraging us runners to attempt stretches we’d never usually do before running, risking unusual and unanticipated injuries. I dislike the megaphones and loudspeakers and their jumbled, garbled announcements which I can never properly hear, so I worry I’ve missed something important.
I dislike the countdown, the panicky seconds to the terrifying air horn or starting gun. I dislike the crush of everyone jogging forward, that surge of fear and adrenaline, the throb of blood in my ears as I set off at an inevitably overenthusiastic and unsustainable pace. I dislike the way it feels like a year before the first-mile marker appears, whatever the distance I’m racing. I dislike how much I care about that first-mile pace and time.
I dislike the boring miles in the middle, stuck in housing estates or the fringes of cities, feeling like it’ll never be over. I dislike the glum feeling of knowing my pace has died a bit, of accepting I might not get a PB. I dislike needing a wee and wondering if I’ll wet myself and whether it even matters.
I dislike the last mile, the desperation to find the 400m, 200m, 100m markers, the way my chest feels like it’ll burst as I wring every bit of myself into a knot for a sprint finish. I dislike the hot salty crystals of sweat that burst through and settle onto my bare skin at the moment I cross the line and stop running. I dislike the gasping hunt for a bottle of water and the queue to get a medal and the fact that the T-shirts are not consistently sized and the fact that there is never any phone reception at this point, to find my travel companions or family, and my sweaty clothes are sticking to my skin.
I dislike all of these things. With every race I sign up for, the days tick down and I dread all of these things. I wonder why I’m doing it and I sometimes wish for a mild hurricane or some other unforeseen event to allow me a guilt-free reprieve from the stress of it.
But all of that, everything on my list — every single bit of it — is what I’m already missing. It’s why I keep signing up, why I always keep doing races despite telling myself and everyone who’ll listen that I hate them.
I really hope we get it all back.
