No More Running from It: Embracing My Place Near the Back of the Pack

It was an uncharacteristically hot day for October. I was sweating, I was staring up at a monster of a hill, & I was wondering “Why am I doing this?”

I was a registered runner in the Pete Glavin XC series, a “friendly” fall running competition between neighboring area running clubs. My husband & all of his friends in Syracuse Track Club looked forward to this race series each year. 

“What’s not to love?” you’re thinking.  It’s more than hills. It’s the bragging rights amongst clubs, the celebratory beers post-race, & of course the Club Cup awarded at the end of the series to the best team.   

It had taken me YEARS to gather up the courage to run this series. These are elite runners. These people are serious. These people win races. This is the adult version of keeping youth sports alive. 

Isn’t there a hierarchy? What separates the “I run sometimes” crowd from “Welcome, you’ve made it”? 

For a while, I thought it was about speed & intensity. Unless you’re throwing down PR’s year after year, you are less than. If you’re not training for something as intense as a marathon, you’re a jogger. If you’re not in the elite corral at the start line, you’re a rookie.  

But a few months earlier, I was thinking maybe I was getting close. I had been picking up my running post-baby, had felt good about my progress, and was feeling extra confident. The legendary Syracuse Track Club coach Jerry had casually mentioned I should give it a try (wait…he knows I run?) & that was enough to believe I belonged. 

With a puffed out chest & casual, inconsistent training leading up to the series, I’m like, I should be good. 

So here I was. 

Here I was, imposter syndrome activated, because I was absolutely TANKING this race. I was mentally beating myself up with a baseball bat. I was spending more energy on the beatdown than salvaging my dignity & taking on this hill. 

As I’m puffing along, while an older gentleman passes me wearing what looks like jeans (JEANS?! I hate myself) my mind races: why do I think I can just go out each race & run my best run?

Toxic positivity? Unshakeable optimism? Temporary insanity? Naive hope? 

After the race, I’m feeling pretty blue, dare I say more blue than my STC singlet. I’m feeling like a capital L Loser. There’s one race left this season, & I’m not sure how to hype myself back up for it. I’m doing a seesaw between trying to stay positive & feeling like I shouldn’t return. 

But after a Winter Lager, a hot shower, & a long drive home, my emotions clear a bit & I realize something: I still want to run next week. My ego is bruised, but I’m still glad I finished. 

If I focus on the accomplishment, the challenge, the “wow, I can’t believe I did that.”, it feels a whole lot better. When I focus on that, I always want to do it again. 

After further reflection, I came to these conclusions to keep me in the game: 

It’s okay to have personal bests for each season of life. 

In 2017, if I had known my 2:00:03 half marathon time was going to continuously haunt me, that I’d be chasing down that sub 2 hour half for the rest of my life, I would have mustered up some quicker steps to check that box off when I was 28. Alas, I didn’t know, so I didn’t shave off those 3 little seconds (IYKYK). 

It’s now 2024, & I am still trying my damndest to hit that goal someday. But I should still be proud of the 2:12 half marathon I ran 8 months postpartum when I was 36. If I do hit it one day, it’ll be even sweeter. But I can’t hinge my happiness on it anymore. Setting that weight down. 

There’s a time & a place for every type of run. 

Back in high school x-country, my friends & I fondly called ourselves the “Pack in the Back”. X-country wasn’t our passion. We were there for the camaraderie. We were there to stay in shape for other sports that were our priority. We were a bag of misfit toys that found each other. We didn’t care that we were slow, we were having fun & getting better. And I’m still friends with many of them to this day. 

That slow & steady running set the groundwork for today. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be out here embarrassing myself being brave.

Not every race goes to plan, & it’s frustrating. 

Sometimes, you think you’re going to be the hare. You trained right, you ate well, you slept good, you’re feeling skippy. Then you go out & your legs feel like lead & you become the tortoise.

It is so annoying. 

Other times, you think you’re going to bomb, & then you end up doing surprisingly well. 

This is also kind of annoying…at least to me.

Best not to fret & move on to the next race.

Metrics matter, but up to a certain point. 

As they say, comparison is the thief of joy. What good does it do to look longingly at the first place female, if I know I’ll never align with their physical ability & how often they train? On the other hand, comparison as measurement can be good if you’re comparing against yourself. Things like:

“Am I staying on pace with my time goal I’m aiming for?”

“Am I staying amongst peers that are similarly paced?”

Or tougher questions, like: 

“Did I put in the work to make myself proud today?” 

“Could I have trained better?” (The answer, for me, is always). 

There’s a fine line between giving yourself grace & giving yourself an out.

Because the truth is, nobody else made me tank that race. But I also think: what’s helpful & what isn’t? Why run at all if I’m going to be sad about the unattainable standards I hold myself to?

“So, Danielle, what happened this week?”

This week, I went back out there for the final race. I started at a pace that was conservative but steady. I stayed amongst the pack I typically go back & forth with. I was breathing heavily but hanging in there. 

There was a part of the course where you do two loops. As one can guess, I was on Loop One while others were completing Loop Two. But contrary to my prior fears, the cheetahs weren’t laughing at me. They were cheering me on, slapping me on the back, supporting their teammate.

I ran one of the slowest times compared to the competition, but it was a good race time for me, & it was celebrated. 

So therefore, I celebrated too.

I’ve decided that’s what matters to me, & I hope that’s what keeps someone else out there or maybe gets you out there to begin with. After all, 5 miles ran slow is better than no miles ran at all. 

When it comes to being near the back of the pack versus not running the race at all, I’ll gladly take my place. Especially if my pace shows others they can run the race too.

Until next time,

<3 Danielle