[Editor’s Note: We are pleased to welcome a new columnist to the iRunFar team, Aliza Lapierre! Her work will appear here monthly on Wednesdays. Welcome, Aliza!]
For the longest time, my instinctive nature was constantly telling me to protect myself from both the possibility of failure and the possibility of success. I was continually focusing on external variables that I had little or no control over. I was so deeply involved that I was unaware of the influences that were controlling me. These self-defeating behaviors became a part of my internal world, as I worried about rejection, disapproval, inadequacy, humiliation, and failure. I would not be involved in activities or situations where I could not calculate or predict how they would unfold. In other words, I attempted to control the uncontrollable. It was exhausting, it was stressful, and it created a great sense of internal pressure.
It has taken quite a while, but I have come to better understand my fear and anxiety. I spent countless years trying to hide the internal turmoil I often felt. I spent copious amounts of energy fighting back undesirable thoughts and feelings trying not to show it on my exterior in fear of what others would think. I hated living like that, but was afraid to be judged. I held as much as I could inside me, fearing that someone might catch a glimpse of insight into my innermost depths. I continually wondered how long I could keep deceiving people that I was a truly happy and well-put-together individual. I knew in my heart and soul that something had to change because I didn’t have the energy to keep putting on this facade.
After I started ultrarunning, a passion grew inside of me, and the sport helped open my eyes to the idea of challenging myself mentally, physically, and emotionally. On the trails, no one knew who I was or what to expect so I was working with a blank canvas. I could portray a strong, goal-oriented ultrarunner who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to get after it. Or I could portray a shy, self-doubting ultrarunner who felt like she had no right being in the midst of these true runners. What happened in actuality was a mixture of these two scenarios: my running was confident, but my body language, streaming consciousness, and interactions portrayed a clear lack of confidence and a sense of uncertainty. I knew that I didn’t want to be the meek athlete; I had (and have) the discipline to train and the drive to compete, but I was still allowing myself to be defined by negative feelings within myself.
Over the past few years, I have come to realize that a lot of my processing happens when I am running, as I find great peace in routine, exploration, and nature. The quietness and simplicity helps me focus on my thoughts with minimal distraction. Sometimes I need to be alone for this to happen. I need to feel like I am in control as I work through things at my own pace and on my own terms. Other times I am with one of my training partners who has the ability to help me dig deeper than the superficial responses that I think others want to hear. Their intentions are so pure and their words carefully placed so that I do not resort to changing the subject or silence. As we work our way up and down mountain trails, they help me expose thoughts that I hide and help me put together a plan of action, find resolution, or let those thoughts go by coming to peace with them. They have noted my process and I value their patience and acceptance. Alas, there are those really bad days where the best I can do is to work to set my uneasiness aside until I am able to approach it with more strength and clarity. Some days I wish that running could solve all my problems, but there are times when running seems to be the cause of my angst and not the solution.
It feels utterly embarrassing that simple things like registering for a race or writing an article like this one elicits doubt, hesitation, panic, and fear. I cannot fully explain how frustrating and outrageous I feel on days when I struggle to get out the door to run, not because I don’t want to, but rather because I convince myself I am incapable of completing the distance or prescribed workout. Who am I fooling? I am not an athlete, I am not a runner, I think to myself. On these days, I try to get out the door with the understanding that if I go a mile and still am not into it I can turn around and head home. And if I cannot get out the door, I get on the treadmill. I do not like to be defeated or controlled by my thoughts, but, yes, there are days where I become so chaotic inside that I crawl into bed and hope the next day is better.
With this being my first article on iRunFar, I have a feeling of honor and am using fear as my motivator to push myself outside my comfort zone. I wish I could be that confident person who toes the line of a race with the belief that I can challenge a course record, but that is not where I am at. I wish I could share my stories and not fear the criticism that may follow, but again that’s where I am at. I wish I could send this piece off to the editors at iRunFar without pacing around and around, but you’ve guessed it, that’s not where I am at.
I have come a long way socially and emotionally because of our sport. My family, training partners, sponsors, and individuals that have helped me process and accept what I feel have gotten me closer to knowing myself. I cannot imagine my life without trail running and the ultra community because it has given me the ability to say that I have chosen to fight to better learn what I am capable of and to discover what I have to offer others. I am proudly a work in progress.
Call for Comments (from Meghan)
- What has running taught you about yourself?
- Do you feel a little more comfortable in your own skin as a result of our sport?