It’s been a month since I have tied on my running shoes and there is part of me that misses it terribly. It’s the seeking part of me. The Oil Creek 100 ended for me at mile 62 and I still haven’t processed the experience. I have attempted to update this blog on many occasions and have been left staring at the white of my Microsoft word doc or deleting a long rambling. I have decided to take a break from training and long distance running and cleared my calendar of any ultras I had scheduled for 2011 including the McNaughton 200 mile in March. I’m not sure what my future as an ultra runner holds for me. Training for Oil Creek the second time around and my inability to lose one pound no matter how many miles I ran or how strict I stayed on my diet was terribly disappointing. Many people run to lose weight. I was stuck in an endless rut of not being able to lose weight so I could be a better runner. In four months of intense training and dieting I was one pound heavier. I began to no longer look forward to my long runs. I was always hungry. Running became a chore and the only reason I was doing it was because I made a commitment and I had to follow through. Everything I did revolved around my running and losing weight and what I needed to do to lose it. I tried everything I could think of. Cleanses, diet pills, 1,500 calories a day diet, 3,000 calorie a day diet, Weight Watchers, appointments with doctors and nutritionists, metabolism checks (I apparently don’t have a metabolism) it all became tiresome and nothing worked. I was eating to much or I was not eating enough. I was going in circles. Terribly frustrated. The simple reality for me was that burning more calories than I put in my body resulted in no weight loss. Running was once a way I could lift myself out of any depression I was feeling but now I was depressed just thinking about running. I ran Oil Creek 30 pounds heavier than I’d hoped and I was 17 pounds heavier than the year before. Why my body now refused to lose one pound, I have no idea. I wasn’t disappointed when my run ended at mile 62. The run started off amazing but eventually my stomach couldn’t keep anything down. My pace slowed so much I could not have made the next cut off time. To be perfectly honest, I was just glad it was over. Instead of feeling disappointed, I was now glad I could take a break from being disappointed. Feeling healthy and running should go hand in hand and I was terribly tired of running so long and so far and no longer feeling healthy doing it. I was tired of seeing the scale say I was one or two pounds heavier two days after a 20 or 30 mile trail run. I was tired of stepping on the scale and having it ruin my day or my week. I know this post is not terribly inspirational and if you are still reading I’m surprised. In a way I’m writing just to get these thoughts down and move on from the race. Maybe move on from running. I enjoy overcoming challenges and I love doing the impossible. That was once running 50, 100 or 135 miles. Today, it’s simply learning how or why I can’t lose five pounds. When and if I can figure that one out I hope to try again. Someone said to me this week that I accomplished goals and dreams with my running that are hard to fathom and for some hard to even believe. Those adventures were all about believing. No matter what the future brings, those times, those dreams will always shape my life.
1 comment:
That's rough, Tom. Most of the things you said in this post really resonated with me. I sometimes feel like light runners are unable to empathize with the struggles that chronically heavy runners face. They who were able to experience successful weight loss.. or who were never heavy in the first place. How even a 6-mile quick jaunt is never just a quick jaunt for us. They never see the intense envy that big guys who have been running for years feel when they see them. How discouraging, demoralizing, hopeless it can be. I hope you figure this thing out. I hope *I* figure this thing out. Because I have often thought of writing a post like this myself.
It's rough, Tom. Really rough.
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