The other day during my run home from work a really weird thought popped into my head. Why the hell am i running home? For the first time in a long-time the motivation i once had is on the wane. I guess it had a lot to do with the fact i hadn’t registered for any up and coming races. Or better yet the fact that i only now think of running as a competitive activity, pitting my wits against whoever dares line up next to me on race day. But that would be silly of me, at the moment I’m nowhere near winning a local race across any distance and nor do I really care too. So what changed? I have no fucking idea.
I’ve long since bleated on the notion that process trumps result. Living in the moment, savouring it for all its worth etc. But as we all know it’s a lot harder said than done.
I hope this will pass in time and I’ll once again revert back to that grounded person who decided to undergo a full lifestyle change a couple of years ago. Running in the beginning was all about me losing weight and fitting into better clothes, oh and if it meant i attracted a higher calibre of women, which was also a big, win! But i quickly realised that there was more to it than that, for the first time in a long time i felt at one with myself, i could run after the bus without breathing through my arse and those annoying spells of sickness magically disappeared (i can’t remember the last time i had to call in sick, genuinely!).
I guess this is a little reminder to myself and anyone reading to enjoy the process and the journey you’re on. Try and learn from the mistakes and celebrate the wins, in whatever shape they come. But be aware the dark clouds of plateau will surround you, but they too shall pass.