Modern Athlete Magazine Issue 119, June 2019 | Page 59

TRAIL RUNNING
that stuck just long enough for me to seriously
review why I was lining up for these types of
races. I had come into 2018 with a desire to
go big in distance, and to be really honest, I
actually didn’t know why. I think it seemed like
the natural thing to want to ‘scale up,’ but after
that experience I really had nothing left to give
to trail running – at least for a while. I asked
myself, why am I doing this if I’m only in it for
the result and I feel this way if things don’t
go according to plan? Shouldn’t I be thrilled
with just being out here, enjoying the ride,
irrespective of the outcome? That definitely
wasn’t the case.
ANOTHER CHANCE
I
n trail running it’s not always high-fives and hashtags.
Social media constantly serves up highlight reels of
those around us, and in competition, it is success
that garners the attention of the spotlight, but there’s
another side, and therein lies the context for this
piece: Far too seldom do we read (or even celebrate)
the stories of failure, of disappointment, or frustration.
There’s so much goodness there to be learnt from,
though, so why not? Perhaps fear of judgment, having
put your expectations out there before the race?
Whatever the case, I enjoy reading about the darker
side of suffering in sports. There’s a purity in the
confession of expressing one’s emotions and feelings
into the considered word.
After DNF’ing (did not finish/withdrew) in a recent race
(UTCT) – for the second time in a year – I thought it
an opportune time to capitalise on some raw feelings
by reflecting on the previous 18 months of my
relationship with running, which by nothing more than
my own measure had been really disappointing.
ULTIMATE HIGH
It all started with me coming off a high with my first
and only win at a wintery 50km race in Franschhoek
in July 2017. I remember my thoughts and focus
being so clear, so convincing going into that race,
like I knew I was going to do something, and that I
was ready to go. I’ve looked back a few times with a
subtle hint of jealously at that guy. Where is he now?
It’s romantic going back in the past, and It’s taken me
a while to learn that we tend to have a strong bias
towards reframing an experience by forgetting that
which isn’t convenient.
I patched up my wounds (including my
ego) and let it be. I felt marginally content
knowing I had another shot at glory a few
months ahead, with my first title defence
at the Salomon Bastille Day 50km. I’d be
ready, I said to myself. I’d come back fighting and
make right all the disappointment I’d cast over myself.
No pressure. But it wasn’t meant to be. Roughly six
weeks prior to the race, enjoying some rock-climbing,
I had an accident and fell a couple metres, landing
squarely on my right heel, which literally stopped me
from being able to arrive race-ready and deliver on my
promises. FFS!
I lined up anyway, did what I could, and lasted a solid
20km before the obvious reality that I was no longer
a competitor in the race sank in. I guess reading this,
you might say, “You don’t need to compete to enjoy
it, man.” That may be so, but for those that have
experienced being at the sharper edge of the field, it’s
quite a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that your game
is up. The mental shift to let’s cruise and enjoy the ride
is one that I haven’t yet fully mastered, but I’ve come
to acknowledge that it’s about managing expectations
in line with your preparations, and having a back-up
plan if things go south.
I shuffled the remaining 30km of that race, forcing
a smile and a word of encouragement to those that
went past me, largely because I was embarrassed
(and felt ashamed) to show how disappointed I was
with myself. Even though my training leading up
to race day had been impaired. Even though I said
to myself that whatever happens doesn’t matter,
because this is where we’re at. It did still matter, and I
cared... perhaps too much. How many blows can you
take, and how often can you come back?
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
They say the more you win, the more often you’re
able to do it. Well at this point in my 2018 racing year,
it seemed I was proving to myself that the opposite
was also true, and that for whatever reasons, it was
becoming easier to accept mediocre outcomes.
Up until 18 months ago, my way of training, being
and simply going about my racing antics had seemed
to work well, and because of that there was no real
reason to adjust any aspect of what I considered
to be my formula for performance. Don’t mess with
what works, right? But after a few conversations with
myself, I decided that action was necessary if my
love for running was going to survive. It was time to
embark on a road I’ve been wanting to venture down
for a while: Speed.
After spontaneously dropping into a 21km (gravel)
race in September, I felt something I hadn’t felt in
racing in a long time. Similar, yet different, but I felt
fast. Moving at a pace where there’s only enough time
to react, not think. Instinct over decision. Full gas,
instead of churning along. Hold on or die. I was sold.
Perhaps I’ve been meaning to pivot for the longest
of times, but haven’t had the reason to do so, given
a decent set of results each year. I mean, why would
you change a good thing? That same month, I also
made another large adjustment, and one which even
today still makes me a little uneasy as I get used to
the process – I started getting coached. Sometimes
you need to roll with the changes and actually let go
of the things you love the most in order to really test
their resolve. I let go of (some) control.
SHIFT OF FOCUS
So, after what feels like two years of underperforming,
and being okay with almost believing that my lack of
results might simply be due to the natural swing of
things, I’ve decided to shift my training to focus on
speed-oriented workouts in line with specific road
races I’d like to test myself in, like Comrades. I haven’t
gone AWOL on trail running, and I’m certainly not
leaving the mountains behind. I’m simply being brutally
honest with what I want out of my racing now, and
more specifically, what I need to be a better person.
So here I write this, just a few days after my last race
where I shouldn’t have been disappointed with how
things turned out, given my non-specific and relatively
new training stimulus... but like I said before, It always
hurts, and it never just goes away, at least for me.
I started lining up at trail running races back in 2014,
and have been fortunate to enjoy a number of podium
finishes, while having relatively no downtime – a
blessing in a sport where bones and ligaments seem
to blow out as often as the Cape Doctor. For the next
two years, training, staying motivated and performing
at races weren’t a big deal in terms of having to apply
too much out of the ordinary. I’d do the work – often
running the entire race route as a simple acid test –
and when it was go time, things more often than not
all came together on race day. However, since my win
in 2017, I seemed to have let something slip along the
line, and I’ve been struggling ever since to replicate
what in the past seemed so easy.
After another DNF at the Ultra Trail Drakensberg
100km, I walked away with a bitter taste in my mouth
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