Running for non-runners
the mental spiral (and recovery) of an inner outcast turned trail runner
I do a lot of baking and running. Turns out they are related.
Last summer, while training for my first ever trail 10k, I attended a free 'speed' workout hosted by a local Finger Lakes NY running club. When I showed up I was greeted by the 'coach' who was exactly why people like me (potentially us) think we are not runners. He was maybe 70 something years old, white, taught-style skinny, and immediately dismissive of me and my abilities. He literally asked me NO questions about myself, my skills, my experience or why I was there. When I told him I'm running my first 10k he could barely contain some sort of eye-roll shrug combo, then managed to work in a story about running hills in an ultra marathon - hmmm I don't remember asking him about that!
When it came time for the group to start, a mixture of well younger and well older than myself runners, we organized by pace. Lo-and-behold, a group of people who regularly attend a speed workout are interested in training for speed! All but 2 (myself included) ran 7 minute miles or UNDER! several people ran 5min 30sec miles as their regular pace... ! (GULP) The coach then loudly proclaimed to everyone that 'Cadence probably won't be able to do more than 3 rounds because she's just not running the mileage to have enough stamina..' he then paired me with the fastest person (as the workout we were doing paired slow to fast) and sent us on our way.
Now maybe you are thinking I was immediately indignant... or felt sure I would blow everyone away, or told him right then and there what a dumb way that was to welcome a new person to the group. Nope. Like you, like anyone, I felt shamed and completely discouraged. Nice coaching job COACH!
I did my best to put it out of my head and just concentrate on the task. We were supposed to split from our partner on a 1km loop, meet in the middle, and run back together at a 'recovery pace'. I ran 100% too fast on a squishy mulch trail (extra challenging!), my ego attempting to cover my public shaming, met up with my speedy partner, then pretended his recovery pace suited me and slogged to the start. Great strategy!
By the third round I was not recovering at all and took a quick walk break to ... um, breath when no one was looking (how shameful it was that I needed a break!). I started to really spiral when other partners were passing me with ease, and even the slowest guy managed to get so ahead of me I couldn't see him around the bend in the trail. I was all alone, huffing humid air in the woods, STRUGGLING.
I felt like when I was 13 at Basketball camp and was laughed at by the coaches because I didn't know the rules (umm yeah, that's why I was there, to learn..?) then ignored each day until I quit. I got in touch with a less fun kind of resilience. I sank deep into my mind until I couldn't hear or feel anything. I felt like I was looking out a window. This event was happening around me, but not with me.
In the moment detaching can be a fantastic resource. It’s a wonderfully safe place we can go when in need of self protection or often, when we feel overwhelmed. It can also be frustrating and even feel like you’re being hi-jacked when it happens anytime anything is challenging, including when you’ve purposefully put yourself in a challenging position like signing up for a hard class, or like, dating… but whatever. Sometimes you're being eaten by a shark and then it's a REALLY GREAT resource.
It can also come back when circumstances that are similar to what we experienced the first time we developed this safety strategy happen again. Here I was, 41 years old, feeling singled out like the 6th grade 'new kid', and very similar to when I was little, with no guidance (you know, like a Coach) to find my footing except my own internal voice …which had decided to take a left turn into spiral-land.
I ran three 1km repeats as shy, embarrassed 13 year old me (I also had a terrible near shag haircut in 6th grade and frizz controlling hair products didn't exist yet so please feel extra bad for me). It wasn't elevating. It wasn’t empowering. It wasn’t confidence building. It just reminded me that that part of me still exists and can be triggered in the right circumstances. It reminded me that confidence is hard won and easily shaken.
The point of making yourself do hard things is that eventually (hopefully) you connect with a flow of strength and tenacity that we all have but maybe don't get to safely visit very much. Like, running a hard race sounds like a way better way to gain confidence from my inner resilience than living through a long messy divorce.. yah know? If I'm lucky, when my 'this is so fucking hard WHHHYYY' mental spiral dissipates, it gets replaced by calm determination. I can draw on that calm place during other hard times, like living during what appears to be humanity’s final decline or ...the month February. If I'm not lucky, I'm determined but with a lot more mental chatter. If I'm really not lucky, I'm not in a mental spiral but in a deep dark detached place full of shame and self delusion. I say delusion because I'm not 13 years old, terribly shy, and with a terrible haircut. I'm me, now, and I fully embrace my very unruly hair! (thank god for better hair products!)
Small things shifted my mental state back to presence. The one other guy who ran a 'slow' but still much faster pace than I am, shouted a legitimately warm 'good job' during my last two rounds. It was a nice moment of human connection. I felt seen. It buoyed me. I realized I was doing a good job. From the outside, he couldn't see my spiral, he just saw the 'new lady' working hard. I also realized everyone else was hot, sweaty and struggling. I started breathlessly shouting 'nice work' to everyone else that passed. I let myself lean into feeling inspired by a very young, very fast woman, excited that she is such a confident, powerful athlete rather than feel shitty by forcing a false comparison of us. The trail was beautiful, one of the main reasons I love trail running. It was getting towards sunset and the leaves were bright green and shiny with moisture, reflecting the dimming light. I felt lucky to be there. I reconnected to the present, to my body.
I got through the workout and even did as many rounds as my partner and the majority of the group. The good part, I got exactly what I wanted. It perfectly mimicked a race because there was no recovery and I was consistently running faster than I normally would. I also had a mental spiral, gave up then recovered and persevered, which is also like a race.
When I make pie, because it's something I've practiced since 2020 made baking go from a ‘sometimes interest’ to a weekly sanity-saving devotion, I am in a flow. I don't have doubts. I have confidence. I don't question. I have intuition. I can feel the dough take the right texture, I know how much sugar to add to the fruit without measuring. I don't hesitate flipping the rolled out crust into the pie dish. When I am running I am still new at this. I'm building my own history with it. I'm practicing.
This was only my 4th trail race, and my first longer one. When I ran my first trail 5k my only goal was to finish. Then I ran a trail 7k feeling pretty certain I could do it. Going into that summer’s 10k I was also pretty certain I could do it, but NOT confident. Confidence takes time and repetition.
This year I’ve signed up for my first Half Marathon. I do not intend to run it speedily or with any other goal than finishing. I have also learned that most of the hard work, including building my mental strength, will happen in the miles I log between now and then. I am pretty certain I can do it. I’m actually pretty confident I can, because I know that one day I will be able to run races the same way I make pie, with intuition, familiarity, and trust. I know that the more I do it, the closer to that flow I will be.
Each time I cross a finish line, little shy Cadence is in my heart, whether I'm aware of her or not. I celebrate with her all this hard work. I look back with her and see how far we've come. Each time I practice it's for her, because each time I get through hard things, it's for me. Each time we practice making that pie, we get to enjoy eating it, together.
Also, fuck that coach.
If you enjoyed this piece and have had a similarly rough time running or wish you could run but are scared any run group will feel like that terrible experience for me, please check out Virtual Run Club, my coaching program I co-host with the kindest most helpful Run Coach of all time, Rachel Spurrier.
We began Virtual Run Club in 2020 and it is completely due to our club that I am the consistent runner I am today. Before VRC I would never have had the guts to even try that speed class, nor did I ever consider myself someone who would runs races. It’s been an absolute joy to discover running and then trail running in my 40s and to reap the benefits of pushing myself in this new way.
Virtual Run Club is BEGINNER FRIENDLY. We have two distance goals: either 1 mile of continuous running or a 5k. More advanced runners are welcome to join as all the workouts are scalable. We also host a Marathon Run Club in the spring that goes through early Nov to coach folks interested in distances beyond 5k up through full Marathon.
Early Bird Enrollment opens today! Save $100 when you join us this season. Welcomed to the running club where YOU belong.
I want some pie and I want to go on a run. Thanks for sharing this, very very relatable.