Wake me up inside
Wake me up insideCall my name and save me from the darkBid my blood to runBefore I come undoneSave me
Save me from the nothing I've become
Bring me to life
—Amy Lee, Ben Moody, David Hodges
***I was a runner, not that long ago.
For several years, in fact, I ran quite often, and occasionally quite a ways.
For several years, in fact, I ran quite often, and occasionally quite a ways.
Now, I occasionally talk about running...but the actual running itself? The part where I put on the shorts and shoes and one foot in front of the other? Not so much.
There's not a thing wrong with me physically—if my daily FarmFit™ routine is any indication.
Between-the-ears, though, the gears are making an unwelcome noise.
There's not a thing wrong with me physically—if my daily FarmFit™ routine is any indication.
Between-the-ears, though, the gears are making an unwelcome noise.
Where once I was anxious to get out and run, now the idea of running makes me anxious.
Where running once was my therapy, now it seems it'll take therapy to get me running again.
***
What I think about when I think about running: {feeling of dread}
What I think about when I think about not running: {dreadful fomo}
***
Where running once was my therapy, now it seems it'll take therapy to get me running again.
***
What I think about when I think about running: {feeling of dread}
What I think about when I think about not running: {dreadful fomo}
***
Backstory:
In 2019 I ran two ultramarathons. In between those, I was also regularly getting to the gym—because yay, cross-training!
Then 2020 happened and, of course, the world went upside down. Gyms closed, races were cancelled, and, oh yeah, people died. Lots and lots of people died.
For a while, when little was known about the etiology of COVID-19, group photos of smiling runners were replaced with photos of empty trails. Meet-ups to run with anyone other than the family dog were rare, involving separate cars, masking, and keeping a cautious distance.
It didn't take long, though, for many people to get bored with doing the right thing.
At a time when modes of covid transmission were still being studied and vaccines were months away and more than a thousand Americans were dying of covid every day—countless people just decided it was time to "return to normal".
To my comical surprise, many in the trail running/racing community were among them.
***
Up to that moment, my experience in the community had convinced me trail runners were different from most people (aside from how we liked to run a long time in often adverse conditions). I thought our little subculture was an equable bastion of empathy and shared responsibility and mutual support.
Up to that moment, my experience in the community had convinced me trail runners were different from most people (aside from how we liked to run a long time in often adverse conditions). I thought our little subculture was an equable bastion of empathy and shared responsibility and mutual support.
Sitting here now, I’m embarrassed by how naive I was. I mean, I’m OLD—I’ve lived a while and seen some things and REALLY SHOULD'VE KNOWN BETTER.
In my defense, I wanted to believe such a community existed, and that I could be a part of it. So, I believed, eagerly and joyfully.
I was wrong, of course.
Example: Some race directors (bless them) at that time pivoted to safe alternatives to large gatherings of runners, sponsoring virtual races and events.
Other RDs (and their customers) decided their events were necessary—more necessary, even, than the health of participants, communities, and front line healthcare workers already overrun with patients. So, the moment it was allowed, their covid-safe* events were back on.
The difference between those responses became a thing on trail running social media. The hostility was prolific and loud and months-long. People showed who they were in ways that might've made one wonder how there was ever a community in the first place.
Narrator: "There wasn't. There was only a small group of people who enjoyed the same hobby, co-existing until they were pressure-tested by extraordinary circumstances."
***
I'm no longer angry at people who basically declared that [their activity here] was more important than other people's wellbeing/health/life. Even though covid is still with us, fueled by mutations of the coronavirus that might not have evolved if some of our fellow humans had worn a mask and gotten vaccinated and not contracted covid at superspreader events and forwarded it on to innocent people whose riskiest behavior at the time was going to the grocery store.
Nope. Not angry at all.
I am cranky, though, about how I reacted to those people—letting them get into my head, undermine my trust that people will do the right thing, and (waaaay downstream) negatively impact my desire and ability to run.
That part is very disappointing.
***
It's been a year since I logged any meaningful miles.
And by meaningful I mean, "a cheerful embrace of an eccentric activity that once gave me peace of mind."
I continue to accessorize for the long run (or any run), on the theory that the next purchase will be the one that puts the wind back in my sails. It hasn't worked so far, but as noted above, I want to believe.
And so, a fancy GPS watch counts the steps I take carrying buckets of water around the farm.
A new hydration pack sits in its shipping envelope on the dresser.
Near-new trail shoes languish in the closet, along with two pairs of road shoes, still in the box. New running shorts wait in a dresser drawer, and a barely used waterproof running jacket hangs in the utility room.
When the time comes, I will be very geared up.
With each passing day, though, I wonder if that time has passed me by.
***
Accomplished runner-friend:
“I should probably just retire from ultra running. I’ve had my moment.”
[later] “Oh, hey, .”
Supportive friend: "As an ultra running retiree, let me tell you this: we're all addicts—and that urge will be with you for the rest of your life."
***
*Narrator: "The events were not covid-safe."
