The Runner I Keep Chasing
This past week has featured two runners on each run. The one running down the road.
And the version of me from 3 weeks ago. The version that was not recovering from an illness. The version that was not worried about his training leading up to the Peachtree Road Race. The runner who did not think twice about heading out the door to tackle whatever the training plan had set.
The problem is only one of us was actually there in those moments. Only one, struggling through the miles. Only one, questioning each step.
But the other runner never seems to go away. Every time I glance down at my watch he is there. Every time my breathing gets heavier than I think it should, he is there. Quietly reminding me that this used to feel easier.
The Comparison Game
This past week I ran a total of 7.5 miles. A few weeks ago that would have been one day of running. Pace is slower. Heart rate is higher. Legs feel fresh but the lungs aren't having it. I try to tell myself it is all part of the process, but my brain has other ideas.
Every mile and every step seems to get graded against a version of myself that no longer exists. Not permanently, just temporarily. But for this moment he has a grip on me and won't let go.
The frustrating part is that I know better. I know recovering from pneumonia is not something you simply decide you are finished with. I know fitness does not disappear overnight and I know it will come back. Yet every time I glance down at my watch, I find myself doing the comparison anyway.
Before long I am no longer evaluating the run I am actually on. Instead, I am measuring it against a run that happened weeks ago.
The strange thing is that I am still running. I am still doing the thing I spent the previous week wishing I could do. Yet rather than appreciating that, I find myself focused on the gap between where I am and where I think I should be.
A week ago I was frustrated because I could not run. This week I am frustrated because I cannot run as well as I want to.
We All Do This
One of the most dangerous things a runner can do is compare themselves. Whether that is to other runners or a past version of themselves. Whether we admit it or not, we all do it.
The more I thought about it this week, the more I realized this is not really an illness problem. It is a runner problem.
I have been comparing myself to previous versions of myself for years. During marathon training I found myself thinking about past PRs. After a strong race, I wondered if I could get back to that fitness again. Now I find myself chasing the runner I was just a few weeks ago. Apparently, I have a long history of being disappointed in perfectly good versions of myself.
It is easy to get caught up in who we once were. Who we were before injury, before aging, before weight changes, before life got busy. We romanticize those versions of ourselves because we only remember the good parts. The strong workouts. The race day performances. The moments where everything clicked.
What we tend to forget are the struggles. The missed workouts. The self doubt. The runs where nothing felt right.
The flaw in chasing a previous version of ourselves is assuming that version is standing still waiting for us. What makes it even harder is that memory has a funny way of cleaning things up.
The runner from three weeks ago was not perfect. He had bad runs. He had workouts that felt harder than they should have. He had days where he questioned his fitness and wondered if he was doing enough.
But that is not the version I remember.
I remember the confidence. I remember the fitness. I remember the runs that felt effortless. I remember the highlight reel.
The runner I am comparing myself to was never perfect. I have just edited the story over time.
What Makes a Runner?
I have questioned myself more this week than I expected.
I fully expected to lace up my shoes and hit the ground running like I had never been sick. Instead, I found myself humbled by how quickly one week can change things. If my pace is not where it was, if my fitness has faded, if my mileage drops, am I still a runner?
It sounds ridiculous, but I would be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind.
I became a runner because I kept showing up.
On the days where I felt strong and on the days where I felt terrible. Through progress and setbacks. Through seasons where everything clicked and seasons where nothing seemed to go right.
Maybe being a runner has less to do with where I am fitness-wise and more to do with what I do next. The willingness to start over. The willingness to be patient. The willingness to keep showing up even when I feel like I should be further along than I am.
Stop Chasing
I am trying to stop measuring every run against the runner I was a few weeks ago. Is it easy? Absolutely not. But I know it is the right thing to do.
That version of me does not need my attention. The current version does.
The runner standing here today deserves the same effort that I have given every other version of myself over the last seven years.
In four weeks I will be running the Peachtree Road Race and I have no idea what that will look like. Maybe I will be back to where I was before pneumonia. Maybe I won't.
Either way, I am going to embrace it. I am going to embrace where I am, not where I wish I was. Embrace the runner who has worked hard, shown up, and learned a little patience along the way.
There may still be two runners on my next run. The one I am today and the one I used to be.
The difference is I am done trying to catch him.
He got me here.
Now it is my turn to see where this version goes.
