Anger. Disappointment.
Frustration. Relief. It is hard to accurately describe my feelings after racing
late last Saturday night. Having flown to America to compete over twenty five
laps of the infamous Cobb track at Stanford, I had committed a lot of time and
money for this one race. The plan was to break twenty eight minutes for the
first time and in doing so, achieve the 2016 Olympic qualifying time, in
addition to a Northern Irish record. Sadly, the plan did not come to fruition
and after several days of pre-race preparation in America, I faced the prospect
of a long journey home and some tough questions to be asked.
The month of April was as perfect
as I could have hoped, in terms of training. I got down to my ideal racing
weight, was smashing each session and becoming stronger in the gym. There was
not a thing I would have changed about the previous four weeks. I had committed
myself fully to the training, with few distractions. I had sacrificed many
evenings out with friends in preparation and anticipation of what I might
possibly achieve in Stanford. As I boarded the plane to America, I was full of
optimism. If I had a near perfect race, breaking twenty eight minutes was
possible, only a solid race and running sub 28.15 was likely. A Northern Irish
record of 28.32 was, in my mind, a certainty. Going by the training I had done,
I was confident that I could run sub twenty nine minutes in a time trial on my
own, if I so desired.
I arrived in Stanford five days
before the race. With the eight hour time difference, the first two days were dedicated
to recovery, composed of five mile runs, no quicker than eight minute mile
pace. I would finish each run at the world class gym facilities on the Stanford
campus. Every piece of gym equipment imaginable was present, often in numerous
quantities. Never have I seen a gym so large or as well equipped. Each wall was
dotted with action photos of previous alumni….Tiger Woods, John McEnroe, Ryan
Hall. They had all passed through this gym. Having time to relax between the
runs, I explored the campus grounds. Beside the track were the tennis courts,
which would be well capable of hosting a tennis open championships. One hundred
metres away was the 50m swimming pool, complete with diving pool and practice
pool. A short walk round the corner and the Stanford Cardinal’s football
stadium stands block out the sunlight. Add in the perfectly maintained hockey
pitches, soccer pitches and baseball diamonds, among others, and it is easy to
see why Stanford is world renowned amongst the sporting elite. Dotted beside
each sporting facility were three tall boulders, each inscribed with the names
of previous Stanford Olympians in the chosen sport. It was an impressive list.
I wonder how many my old alma mater, Queen's University Belfast, can boast.
As in 2014, the race was to take
place at ten o’clock on Saturday evening. With fifty seven entrants in the
10,000m, the race was to be divided into an A and B race. Last year, Stanford
was my first ever track 10,000m and so it was a struggle to be placed in the A
race. This year, I was confident that I had improved sufficiently to be
competitive in the A race, if only I was given the chance. Forty eight hours
before the race, they announced the heats. The organisers clearly did not feel as
confident in my ability as I was. I was seeded in the B race. It felt like a
kick in the stomach. I had spent a large amount of money and time to travel
half way across the world, only to be told that I would not be racing in the
race that I wanted. It was clear in my mind, if I was to have any chance of
breaking twenty eight minutes, I needed to be in the A race. Emails were sent
and after a chat with the organiser, I had to resign myself to the fact that
things would not be changed. I was to compete in the B race.
From dreaming of possibilities
one moment, to hard hitting reality the next. As much as I wanted to stay
positive, I told myself that the trip was a waste of time. Without the fast
pace of the A race to pull me along, I knew that my goal was not achievable or
realistic. I had lost the race two days before I even got anywhere near the
startline. After a long chat with the coach, we tried to put an optimistic spin
on things. There was still much to race for. Firstly, it would be a good race
to win, and a Northern Irish record was still up for grabs. I tried to turn my
mindset around. Honestly though, I was annoyed, or rather perhaps more
frustrated, that I would not get a chance to prove how fit I was on a world
stage, in front of the watching athletic elite.
I had the splits all planned out.
I still had to believe that if we went through halfway in under 14.10 pace,
there might still be a chance of picking it up in the second half. I knew if I
was to do that, I would have to run the majority of the second half on my own,
without any assistance. As we came round to the end of the first lap, the clock
read 70 seconds high. Damnit, the pacemaker was already two seconds down on the
expected 68 second pace. I tried not to panic, maybe he will pick it up over
the next few laps. The second lap was another 70 and then a 69. As I sat right
behind him in second, I was staring at the clock every 200m. We were miles off
my splits. I would not break 28 minutes tonight. My head went down. What am I
doing here? The question repeated itself over and over in my mind. As we passed
halfway in 14.16, I wanted nothing more than just to finish the race. I could
not have cared less about what time I was running nor who was passing me by. I
still don’t know what my official time crossing the line was. I believe it was
around the 29.15 mark but honestly, it could have been 30.15 and I would still feel
the same. I crossed the finish line caught up in a sense of regret and
disappointment. I knew that I had not performed to my physical best, hampered
by my negative mental attitude, a thought that annoyed me even further. As I took off my spikes, I faced the prospect
of a long journey home alone.
And that is where I am now. Very
rarely in running do I through in the towel. Never before have I had a race
where I was so fed up with running and so glad to just simply complete the
required number of laps. You always read in books about how running is a
certain percentage physical and an another portion mental, but never have I
noticed it so acutely. I know I was not in the right frame of mind for racing,
once I found out that I was not to be in the A race. The question now is, where
do I go from here? And there really is only one option. To race again, and
soon. I know I am fit, fitter than I have ever been in my life. I now just have
to find a race in which I can prove it to everyone else. One positive to take
from Stanford, is that I have returned home injury free, something that could
not be said last year. At least with my body still in one piece, I will have
the chance to race again on another day.
The take home message for me this
month is simple. No matter what the distance, you are never going to run your
best when your mind is not prepared. I was ready to race something special in
Stanford but things were not to be. It would be easy to find an excuse. To say,
perhaps it was jetlag, or perhaps it was because the race was so late at night
or even that I was not fit enough. In reality, I know that the most likely
reason is simply that I was not ready mentally. It is easy to overthink
running, to start questioning training, to slip off the rails. But then I
remember, one bad race does not define an athlete. And if I go smash a
qualifying time in my next race, Stanford will long be forgotten. For now,
however, the pain and embarrassment is still raw. I am keen to bounce back and
prove my fitness. Next year, I don’t want to be able to give them the option of
putting me in the B race. And in order to do that, the only way is to keep
training and keep racing. For that is the only place where real answers can be
found.
