“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit” - Aristotle
One week does not define an entire month, just as one month does not define an entire year.
Yet, such as it is, one particularly sour, unmotivated, undisciplined week seems to have shaped the mood of the month as a whole. This particular week, so perfectly placed in the middle of the month, saw the momentum I’d been building over the last couple of months grind to.. Somewhat of a halt, and with my motivation all but dissipated.
Despite my introduction to the month starting with disappointment, my reaction to it had been with enthusiasm and motivation. Corey’s and my, possibly naive but certainly grand, expectations of our Hyrox Doubles shot down, with both of us humbled by the reality of the race, opposed to what our simulation had us believe was feasible.
Our, largely misplaced, confidence had us believe that sub-60 was ‘easily’ attainable. If we’d managed sub-60 outside of race conditions, surely the actual event would have us surpass that definitively. Reality, as is so often the case with sport, differed from expectation. Where we crossed the line in 01:03, egos bruised, bodies sore and on the brink of cardiac arrest.
Yet, regardless of such a, subjectively, discouraging and disappointing introduction to a month otherwise so full of New Year’s Resolution deaths, I found myself encouraged and motivated.
I came away with confidence in my own body. Not in its ability to maintain the intensity and paces it once could; but in its ability of holding itself together, running.
Such encouragement was not in vain, either. The week following Hyrox I found myself at the track for the first real test of speed in a 10 x 400 workout where I held myself together, and faster than I could possibly have hoped or imagined. Touching paces my legs and body had not seen in at least 6 months and a heart rate that recovered surprisingly quickly between reps.
Though the workout was a test of speed and fitness, it too, was a test of just how resilient my body - my tendonitis - now was.
It passed.
And it continued to pass. The track workout was followed by a weekend trip and summit of Taranaki. Thankfully, holding itself together on the ascent, and more critically, the descent. The slipping and sliding down the hundreds of meters of loose scree offering confidence and absolute reassurance, in a now rehabilitated and robust tendon.
Where there was encouragement in disappointment before, there was encouragement in results now.
Such encouragement saw me start to build an itinerary, a race calendar, looking forward to what races could be targeted over the year. Some even as soon as March with the 8.4 waterfront kilometers at Round The Bays looking oh so tantalising.
Likewise, cliché as it may be, life just felt brighter, more optimistic, now I could run again. And though the New Zealand summer starts to fade, I’m still able to enjoy sun soaked runs along the waterfront followed by ocean dips.
I, too, can wake up with the sun and the birds and make my way to work via a commute powered by my own body.
Though running now takes the front seat, the cycle commute has mostly remained. And will surely continue to do so at least until the weather turns and my pedalling on the waterfront is met with too fierce of wind resistance.
But it is with the reintroduction of the run commute where my mood and enthusiasm plateaued; and this particularly sour mid-month week reared its head.
The commute was to feature a 5 x 1k workout. Encouraged by the previous week's reps on the track, I found myself aiming for something a bit too ambitious and promptly crashed and burned. On reflection, a well deserved humbling.
However, though immediately following the run I was not overly discouraged - likely due to the injection of endorphins and the novelty that was (and is) the return of the run commute - as the day went on, I was seemingly confronted with the realisation of how much work there is to be done. Just how far off I am where I once was.
This one workout made me take a step-back and reassess the race calendar and my immediate ambitions.
Though the days that followed were particularly disappointing ones; and discussion around these days likely extends far beyond any training diary, and calls for more psychoanalysis.
What was poignant though, and lingering, was the recognition and reminder of a particular weakness in my general running ability and something that has haunted me in the past; a feeble mental state. Sometimes, when I’ve found myself hurting and challenged, I’ve sooner thrown in the towel - metaphorically - than grit my teeth and persevere.
This recognition, in all its ugly glory, went so far as to cause me to take the following Thursday off work to wallow in a - absolutely unjustified - pit of self pity; where my inclination was to binge eat and sleep, rather than move my body.
Which I know, with absolute certainty, is the worst possible medicine for such infliction.
However, the guilt of that particular Thursday eventually morphed into self-reflection and I found myself asking questions about ‘what was so different this week’, compared to the last, beyond the failed workout.
I take comfort in my ability to have managed that self-reflection.
There were some immediate, noticeable differences between the two weeks. While yes, there are some more personal implications, what was clear is that i’d spent so much more time sedentary. No gym time, no cycling time, no swimming time. Only, up until that point, a short amount of running.
These things, beyond the personal, are controllable. And they make a difference.
Yet despite the wallowing and an alcohol heavy night that weekend, long runs made a return; having managed a 21km run. Another first in a considerable amount of time.
Whilst the final week of the month did not see a significant upturn in mood, the running consistency remained. And with it, the reintroduction of cycling, swimming and the sauna that had been missed the week prior.
The 5 x 1k workout that seemingly caused my self destruction also returned. But thankfully, this time it was able to be executed with some sense of control. The ego, and subsequently pace, was dropped, as was the rest period (down from 2’ to 90s), and the variation between the fastest and shortest rep extended to only 3 seconds.
February, objectively, has not been a bad month.
I’ve returned to running pain free.
And that, really, is what matters.