I’m going to treat last Friday’s race as a wake-up call, a reality check, a shaking of the shoulders, a smack in the face.
I am not invincible…yet (!). Yes, my workouts have been better than ever before, yes I felt like my old self at the Mt. SAC Relays, yes my iron levels are high, my heart rate is low, my speed is good and my strength even better.
But there’s a reason we don’t normally do a steeple workout the same week as a steeple race. There’s a reason to take an ice bath when you’ve been sore for 3 days (better yet, before you’ve been sore for 3 days). There’s a reason to take time on race day to listen to my music and really focus on the race. All of those things really do matter when you’re not invincible.
There were times in my life when I could get away with a much more casual attitude. In high school, I would jump in my dad’s caddy (which we affectionately call “the Office” since he keeps all of his “coaching papers” with splits, handouts, etc., in it) and change from my soccer uniform to my track uniform in the back seat while he whisked me from the soccer field in one town to a track in another. I would jump out of the car, run over to the track, and depending on how “on-time” the meet was, maybe do some jogging and stretching before jumping in the mile or 2-mile race. I would usually run 5:17 or 11:30 to win, maybe cool down and stretch, and go home to do some homework. At the conference meet, I would triple in the 2-mile, mile and 800 within a couple hours and win all three. Then I would play all 80 minutes of our soccer game the next morning. At the bigger track meets, I would purposely sit in a chair and act really calm, as if I didn’t have a care in the world, while my competitors nervously jumped around in the call area doing various drills and strides. Let’s face it, I was a little bit cocky. And I got away with it.
I don’t get away with that anymore because now I’m up in the big leagues. Everything counts. Sore and heavy legs aren’t going to cut it against good competition. I can’t just “pull it off anyway”. I can’t train through a meet unless I’m willing to get beat pretty badly. If I’m not at my best, I get trampled.
So yes, I got to enjoy the two weeks that followed the Mt SAC Relays, basking in the feeling of being myself again on the track, having the ability to run with the lead pack, surprising myself with each workout, and so on. I even got interviewed by my hometown newspaper, the State Journal-Register, which reminded me of the good old days in high school when they thought I was a big deal (don’t tell them the truth!) and an interview with them was a regular occurrence. The reporter, by whom I’ve been interviewed since high school, wanted to know if I still haven’t eaten a McDonald’s hamburger, because there was a rumor that I had. “Put that rumor to rest!” I said, laughing. It felt good to feel important enough to have a rumor like that circulating, I’m not going to lie!
I went to Columbus on Thursday flying a little too high, and I don’t mean in the air. I was excited to room with my best friend, Anne Shadle, who I only see a few times a year, to see my family, all of whom were coming to watch except for my sister-in-law, and put on a show for them because I got my old self back and can do that again! Well maybe, but 5:17 won’t win the mile anymore and 10:22 certainly won’t win the steeplechase. So when your legs are heavy from Tuesday’s workout and the wind is gusting at 30mph and you didn’t mentally prepare to deal with the literal and figurative obstacles in the race, you’re going to embarrass yourself, which is what I did.
I put my shoes on after the waste of a race was over and looked straight ahead down the track and thought, “I am done crying about running. Today was my own fault and I’m going to learn from it. I will not feel sorry for myself”. I got up and turned around and there were Matt and Catherine, my brother and sister, waiting next to the fence for me to get up. They knew exactly where to wait for me and exactly what to say. They are part of the small group of people in the world that I don’t feel like I have to “answer to” after a bad race. They already get it, every time. They’ve been there. They know what it’s like.
“I’m done being upset about running,” I barked, “I’m just ticked off and it doesn’t make any sense because workouts have been going really well and I should be able to run decently, no matter the weather or if I’m sore or whatever!” If you were a bystander, you would have thought I was yelling at them for something they did.
“I think it just shows you the level you’re at,” Matt said, “You are on the edge every single day and any detail missed throws you over to the other side. That’s how high of a level you are at.”
How did he manage to turn this terrible race into a compliment? Because he understands. He’s competed not in this sport but in triathlons, the Ironman sort in fact, another endurance event that requires mental toughness for long periods of time; a sport that can show you how strong you are as well as how weak; a sport that doesn’t lie; a sport that is painfully and brutally honest.
“You know, I think 5-10 seconds of that were just me not being excited about how the race was going. I knew I wasn’t feeling good today so it’s hard to run the last 2 laps all out like you would when you’re about to PR when all it’s going to get you is a sub-standard time,” I said, throwing up my hands.
“Well that makes sense,” said Catherine, “What’s the point? Save that effort for the big day when it actually matters. No sense in collapsing on the track today, that’s totally unnecessary.”
“Yeah, that’s a veteran move,” Matt said, “You know when to lay it on the line and when to save it for another day.”
Wow, they’re making me feel like I totally have it together! They’re not pitying me, they’re not scolding me, they’re just giving me a rational view of the race and what happened and suddenly it is all in perspective and I feel no need to dwell on it anymore.
“OK let’s go find mom and dad so they don’t think I’m really upset,” I said, because deep down all parents really care about is that their kids are happy, “and then let’s go eat!”
Later that night, we had a nice , quiet, calm “Gaffigan” dinner; wait, those don’t exist. We were rowdy, we made fun of each other, Matt and I rudely stole food from each other’s plates and we told stories until our stomachs hurt from laughing. That is a Gaffigan dinner. I’m so lucky to be in this family. I wouldn't have traded this weekend for the world.
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