The 5 Stages of Training

 

The 5 Stages of  Grief  Training

I ponder all sorts of things while running, partly to solve problems, make decisions, or play out conversations in my head, but mostly to distract myself from the terribleness of running. I've still been thinking about grief this week, reading through and thinking about your all's comments. I am just over halfway through an 8-week training for a half I am running at the end of October. During one of my morning runs last week, just for a little fun and to distract myself from my misery, I started comparing the stages of a training cycle to the 5 Stages of Grief.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with running. In fact, I have developed this "running self" that I frequently have conversations with as if she is a whole other entity from me. "Oh, you're tired and thinking of cutting this run short? Fine. Go ahead. Why don't you go on home and sit on the couch and eat bags of Cheetos, you lazy bum?" That's a common one. I don't know why Cheetos are the bad guy; probably because I love them. So my running self uses it against me. I have a strange way of motivating my running self, I know, but it works. Kind of a tough love approach. 😆

A few months after we moved to Florida, I started training for a spring half. Only two weeks in, a dull pain in my hip suddenly became a sharp pain that sidelined me. For a month. Despite the longstanding love/hate relationship, I was devastated. I couldn't figure out why I was so upset at first. I mean, it hurt, it sucked to be injured, and I had to postpone completing my first race as a Floridian, but I literally CRIED when I couldn't run. What in the world?? After some soul searching, I came to realize my reaction was due to running being one of the few "familiars" I still had. I was grieving being so far from my family, my home, my previous life, and running was something that "felt like home." And then it, too, was taken. I wasn't grieving running, I was grieving home. 

Anyway, enough with the serious and back to the silly scene I played out in my mind of my running self and I having a conversation as it went through the stages of "grief" when forced to train for a half:

Denial - "Ok. No problem. This is fine. Not much different than what we normally run. One extra day or so, about the same mileage. No worries."

Anger - "Wait. What is this multiple days in a row thing? We run every OTHER day. And why are we running for so long? This is ridiculous. I did not agree to this. What is wrong with you?!"

Bargaining - "Ok, ok. I've got it. How about this? I'll give you three good miles, ok? No pain, no problems, for three miles. THREE. After that, we stop. K?"

Depression - "Well. That's it. Everything hurts and I'm dying. Maybe I will just run us into traffic. Or off a cliff. This is it. This is how we die. I hope you're happy."

Acceptance - "Hmm, alright, ok. I see what we are doing here... We can do this. I can't believe we can run this far! I mean, it's not exactly "fun"...but I am really looking forward to earning some new bling. We got this!" 👍

This will be my 12th half, so I know the drill. I know the difference between a real injury and my body just rebelling. I know at what point in the training the knees start to hurt from increasing the mileage, when the doubts creep in and the "why's" ("Why am I doing this? Why does ANYONE run unless they are being chased?!?!"), when my legs are as heavy as lead, when the self-berating moves from my mind to out loud... I also know when my times will start to improve, when hills start to feel easy. I know what it feels like to daydream away the miles and suddenly realize I am nearly done. And I definitely know the joy of taper week, and how at the end of that week my legs are itching to run more and seem to be asking, "Why are we stopping so soon ? Let's GO!" And knowing all of this and how it always comes together in the end (and that someone is standing there to hand me some new bling!!) helps me push through every one of the hard stages. 

I don't give in to the doubts in weeks 5-6 (highest mileage weeks) because I trust the process. And I trust the process because of my experience with it. Last Sunday I ran 8 miles, and as usual at this time in the training (week 4-5), something started to hurt. This time it was my knee. As if on cue, my body was bargaining for that "3 good miles then we stop, K??" If this was my first rodeo, I would have stopped. That run at least, but maybe the whole training. But it's not my first rodeo. So I pushed through five miles of babying a tweaked knee. The pain was bad, and I had to walk multiple times. In full disclosure, I even tried to call Doug to come get me at one point, but luckily, he didn't answer. 😆 But what I gained by going through that was so much more valuable than if I had quit. I CAN DO HARD THINGS. I am teaching myself that with each hard thing I do. I have survived 100% of the hard things so far. I only hope I can remember that lesson when real grief comes like a wave to wash me away. I can, and you can, draw strength from our past "trainings." Even when we don't immediately see the way (or even the why), we WILL make it through. "We got this."

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P.S. Here's where I am in the training. Just starting the two highest mileage weeks. Which means "everything hurts and I'm dying" will be my running self's mantra this coming week. And I will ignore her. "Taper week is coming, taper week is coming," I will whisper.  And though it doesn't feel like it now, by the middle of week 7, runs will suddenly come easier, and faster, and my conversations with my running self will become more positive. And Sunday, 10/29/23, with new bling in my hand, those hard weeks will be a distant memory. 🏅