I would first like to put my hands up to having openly and emphatically declared my total lack of respect for people who DNF. I have even stated in a previous post on here that DNFing for any reason short of actual, bodily collapse is totally unacceptable! Whilst, of course, I wrote that and meant it as slightly tongue-in-cheek, there is no denying that I take a dim view of people who throw in the towel mid-race simply because things aren't quite going their way. Failing to finish a race was something I thought I would never do. Getting used to clocking up several DNSes over the past two years has been a bitter enough pill to swallow; once of a day, if I entered a race, I would be on that start line, come hell or high water, and I would run the thing to the best of my ability. So, what's changed? Have I lost my steely determination and turned into a soppy softie who can't handle the going once it gets tough? Have I lost that inner grittiness that has always been my biggest strength when racing and which has often enabled me to compensate for any injuries, lack of fitness or lack of speed that might otherwise have held me back? I really hope not, and I really don't think so.
Have I lost my competitive edge? It is true that doing parkrun every week has taught me to rein it in somewhat. I have used parkrun to experiment with pacing strategy and, doing them every week, I don't always feel like racing it, eyeballs out. So, some weeks I push hard, some I take it easy, but most weeks, I run it at a comfortable and controllable tempo pace; enough to give the lungs a work out without putting the legs under too much stress. Have I gotten to like running at only 90% effort? Has this made pushing for that last 10% seem more uncomfortable and subconsciously made me back off pushing myself to my limits? After nearly 5 years of competitive running, has my hunger for success and victory waned slightly? Again, I hope not, and I really don't think so. I am still ridiculously competitive; I still go out with a desire to win everything and perform to the best of my ability. Parkrun is one thing, but racing is a whole different level with a much higher adrenaline boost that helps to lift you that last 10% and dig in for a good performance.
Was it due to injury that I bailed at Yeovilton? Yes, my achillies was niggling, but then, it almost always does. I have recently had the results of an MRI scan on it and, aside from some minor swelling in the area, there is no scaring or tearing of the tendon to be seen, even after 4 years of running with achillies niggles. The consultant says that, at this time, it is insufficient to warrant any intervention. I have raced with achillies stiffness at most events, I have raced on calf tears, so did that really play on my mind sufficiently to make me pull up at Yeovilton? Again, I don't think this was the culprit.
Were my legs tired due to having run hard at Parke parkrun two days previously? We had gone to Parke this week with our friends, Adam and Carly, as it was the one year anniversary run and I intended to enjoy it with a controlled tempo effort, but somehow this went flying out of the window from the off and I got caught up in racing it, running harder than I had planned. That said though, it was only 5k and unlike most weekends when I run parkrun on the Saturday and then race on the Sunday, this time I had a day in between to get over it, so I'm pretty sure this wasn't to blame either.
Finishing the 1 year anniversary parkrun at Parke Estate, Bovey, in 20:46. 1st lady... but should have saved some back for Monday and Yeovilton!
The bottom line is, I just felt rubbish. I have felt rubbish or somewhere close to it ever since my bout of glandular fever in November. I have been left with a much higher resting pulse rate (it used to be around 48 BPM, it's now hovering between 56 on a good day and 62 on a bad; 60 BMP being average). Every hard effort, whether it's racing or a training session, feels sluggish, uncomfortable and lacking. I managed to avoid my biannual February calf tear this year, and so, with 7 months consistent training now behind me, I would have expected to have sharpened up and be back in PB shape by now. But I'm not. I'm nowhere near it. I'm not getting slower, but I have definitely plateaued, as my recent 10k results all show.
My comeback 10k, at the Stoke Stampede at the end of December, saw me run an encouraging 38:42. At the time, considering I was getting over a bad illness, I was pleased with that and saw it as a benchmark from which to progress. One month later, I tackled the First Chance 10k, hoping to find an extra 20 – 30 seconds, but I clocked another 38:42, precisely. Two months later again, toeing the start line of the Age UK 10k in Exeter, I would have hoped to be dipping under 38 minutes and getting near to my PB (37:43), but I clocked 38:39, on a slightly downhill course, so no progress whatsoever. At Yeovilton, I would have hoped to progress to PB shape and, if the conditions came good on the day, maybe run a 37:30. The problem was, even on the start line, I just wasn't feeling fired up for it. I still had the remnants of a cold and cough combo that I've had for weeks: that's another legacy the glandular fever has apparently left me with, an even more depleted immune system that has ensured I have picked up absolutely every germ and bug going this winter. I strongly considered not going to the race, but I had had to make a case to get the day off work from Killerton – the bank holiday Monday being our busiest day of the year, so not an easy request to make! - and so to not go and waste the day seemed wrong. In hindsight, I shouldn't have gone: it's mentally so much more tolerable to not start a race than to not finish one!
I went through the first mile, feeling knackered already, in a slightly ambitious but not suicidal 5:52. It all went downhill from there. Mile 2 in 6:15 and, into the third mile, I was really struggling. Aside from the physical discomfort, which, let's face it, when you're running at threshold pace in a race, you are always going to experience to some extent, I was also feeling intensely negative and I decided that, once I got back to the end of the first loop, near the start where my parents would be watching, I was going to bail. I didn't in fact even make it that far; a short, sharp incline just after the 2.5 mile point totally finished me off and I pulled up shortly after. I just couldn't face carrying on; mentally and physically, I had nothing to give. A couple of women had come past me in the opening miles and I tried to go with them, but my body didn't want to know. The weird thing was, once I stopped, I wasn't frustrated, angry or upset, I just felt nothing. I was quite happy to have stopped and not be forcing myself on. The only positive thing I have to say about the experience was that the support and enquiries as to my well-being from every other runner who passed me was heart-warming.
Mainly, I was worried; worried why I should still be feeling the effects of an illness so many months on and worried that I seemingly can't do anything to control or prevent it (yes, I am a control freak, I freely admit, and so not being able to influence my recovery deeply bothers me!). I was also worried that, now I had done this once, the floodgates may well be open to me playing the old DNF joker card again in the future. There will always be moments, in any race, when you feel uncomfortable, as that is the nature of racing. But what sets apart people who win races from people who just complete them is their ability to push through that discomfort and for the strength of the mind to override that of the body: this is something I have always prided myself on being able to do, so it petrifies me that my mental strength might have deserted me somewhat.
In the end, I think the answer as to why I opted to DNF on this day, of all days, in this race, in these circumstances, is simply because I wanted to; both mentally and physically, it felt like the right thing to do. The figure of eight looped route that took you almost back to the start/finish area just after the halfway mark further opened the door of temptation for us wannabe drop-outs! Would I have found that extra something to carry on if it was a one large-loop course and I was as far as I could get from home, meaning that I had to get back regardless? Maybe I would. There have been numerous points in other races where the thought has flashed through my mind – go on, stop, just pull up, walk for a bit, it will feel nice, all this pain will stop – but I have never given into those thoughts because, whilst my body was sending out the signals to stop, my mind was having none of it: there was no way that it wanted me to give in. In this race, however, it was more my mind than my body that made the decision, otherwise I would indeed have forced myself to continue until I was physically unable to do so. I am glad I did not; chiefly because this would have no doubt ended in a highly dramatic and bloody embarrassing way and I have had enough of causing commotion after my little episode at an SWRR training night back in November when I decided it would be a good idea to train through glandular fever....
I DNFed because I wanted to; I made a conscious choice based on my circumstances at the time, and I believe in my heart that I made the correct choice; I think that is why I didn't overly berate myself about it after. Carrying on would have got me nowhere: 4th place, if I were extremely lucky, no PB, no SB, possibly caused further aggravation to my achillies and further delayed my recovery from this latest cold. No point.
What I now need is to forget about chasing times and PBs on the road for a while and just get out there, enjoy some lovely easy off-road outings in the lovely spring weather and learn to love running again. A few trail races may well feature as I feel I need to put the memory of the DNF to bed sooner rather than later and prove to myself that I can complete a race. In fact, I have just returned from parkrun, where I ran a pleasantly sedate 20:56, and afterwards, my coach Gordon joked, 'At least you managed to finish today'! He is not unduly worried, so there's no reason for me to be either. Glandular fever can apparently take upwards of a year to recover from, and I infamously do not have the greatest of immune systems to start with, so I just need to be kind to myself and give myself time. No reason not to enjoy some nice sunny trail runs whilst doing so :-)
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