The Beast

I made a reference to the Beast in an earlier post, and after the day I had yesterday, I figure now is a good time to go into a little more detail about what it is.

So Saturday I had a pretty good day on the trail. It was only a 5 mile filler run, but my energy level was high and I felt strong. In control. It felt as if I was finally hitting my groove, and that trail running was becoming as natural as road running. It was also the end of almost 40 miles, my highest weekly total so far (which I'm really trying to increase at a safe and reasonable pace), and I knew going out there that the only expectation was to enjoy myself. Anyway, it was a great experience. Maybe it was because I had taken a day off, or I had eaten or slept well. I wish I knew because Sunday was the absolute worst and not at all like the shorter run the day before. No, on this run I got to entertain the Beast almost the entire way.

Let me say now that the run was designed to be a long one. The plan was to spend 3 hours on my feet and start getting used to the 6+ hours that would be required to finish a 50K. I certainly didn't expect to run the entire time, but I did want to keep the pace steady and the walks relatively short. What happened though was that I felt exhausted from the start, physically and mentally, and nothing I was doing was making it any better. Pre-workout nutrition? Check (cinnamon-raisin bagel). Hydration? Check (72 oz water). Workout calories? Check (Honey Stinger waffles and Espresso Love GU). I was smart with my pace. I was strategic with the hills. I took my salt tablets. And 4 miles in, I was ready to quit.

The Beast, a mental manifestation that represents itself by telling you how stupid and inadequate you are, showed up out of nowhere and wouldn't go away. So for 11 more miles, I questioned the feasibility of training for a race that was only 4 months away and more than twice the distance I'd ever run in my entire life. I wasn't going to be in shape. I wasn't going to be physically and mentally and spiritually tough enough for 31 miles if I couldn't even handle a half dozen without stopping. 4 months! Are you freaking kidding me? And I'll be 41 years old by then. There's just no way. This is absolutely stupid. The heat is smothering. My left ear just stopped up for some unknown reason. My nose and eyes are sore and raw from wiping them with my shirt. My left, non-injured ankle is hurting and forcing a slight limp out of me. And what is up with these giant mutant flies that are buzzing around my head and chasing me literally almost every step of the way? You're right, Beast. I should stick to the half marathons and consider myself lucky to finish those.

Well I finished my "run" in a little over three hours and wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't thirsty. I just wanted to lay down and wait for the hammered dog shit feeling to go away. I was beat. I challenged the Beast to a minor showdown and got my butt handed to me. My pride and body and will to persevere had left me for lands unknown, leaving me a stinky, salty, exhausted mess. Oh what a difference a day makes. Learning time!

What lesson? I'm still alive. The circling birds, and bat-like flies, and hundreds of stupid lizards of Palo Duro Canyon that love to scare the piss out me by rustling the trail brush every 100 ft will have to find some other paunchy white boy to feast upon this week. The experience didn't kill me, but rather showed me that even the worst times are beneficial. No, the bad times are the most beneficial. I mean, what do we learn from the easy things? Really learn. Sayings like "No pain, no gain" and "That which does not kill us makes us stronger" don't come out of nowhere, right? Genuine, forward progress is made through suffering and fatigue and hurt and sweat and horse flies, and the Beast is nothing more than a bullshit artist. (Ah ha! Now we know where the flies came from.)

So bring on the next run. Pain subsides and fades like all other less-than-enjoyable memories, and the pleasure that comes from surviving always trumps it in the end anyway. My legs and lungs and mind are stronger than they were before Sunday's run and the next run will prove that.

Oh and pictures!