(The following details my 2022 outdoor track season–my first ever collegiate season, after dealing with 2 years of injury.)
After dealing with nagging flare-ups over the winter, I finally put together a few weeks of consistent workouts, and they had seemed to indicate that I was ready to kick off my collegiate career by racing the 1500 at Raleigh Relays. But then, my roommates and I all got slammed with non-Covid sickness the week of the race. Rather than joyfully anticipating being able to race for the first time in 2 years, I woke up the morning of (after having slept for over 12 hours) trying to maintain a positive mindset, but mostly dreading what was to come. I physically felt so terrible that the last thing I wanted to do was line up, but I did anyway because my family came to watch the race, and I knew that it would serve as good race experience regardless. I did my best, but my body had no response when moves were made, and I finished last in the fast heat. Honestly, it was not fun at all, and I couldn’t help but release some tears afterward because of how discouraged I felt.
After a few days off, I seemed to have recovered from the sickness and was able to pick up where I left off in training. Next up was to race an 800…(a race distance that I consider to be my nemesis). We ran it as part of a workout, but the result still fell short of what we thought it could be. And once again, I finished last in my heat. Not gonna lie, it was very hard for me to find any joy in that race too, and the disappointment once again felt overwhelming (even though I was able to later put into perspective that it was technically still my 2nd fastest 800 I’ve ever ran, and that was coming off a big training week).
Unfortunately, 2 days later I fell sick again, and this time it was even worse. Being someone who has rarely gotten sick all my life, I was nearly in disbelief that this was happening to me. After being brought in to see a doctor, some tests were ordered, but all came back negative. My frustration was building as another setback was significantly interrupting my training. But then, just as soon as the sickness came again, it left (thankfully, this time for good).
So, I regrouped again, got in a few more quality workouts, traveled to UVA with my teammates to help pace a 5k, then prepared to have another go at the 1500 at Penn Relays–with the goal of getting a regional mark and finally performing at the level my workouts seemed to indicate. However, coming off the weekend of travel, combined with a few days of abnormal stress from schoolwork, I suddenly found myself on the verge of a mental breakdown, because the physical and mental exhaustion from the past few weeks had all worn me thin, and it was all beginning to catch up with me. That week, I went to practice for the last tune-up before the race and felt the worst I’ve ever felt in a workout. Afterward, I immediately went home and slept for over 2 hours. My mind and body were absolutely fried. The next morning, I woke up once again dreading the thought of even having to run that day (which really scared me) and was seriously considering telling my coach that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Everything felt like too much. I thought, I can’t do this anymore…I can’t keep putting myself through this only to be disappointed again…so what’s the point? Is it so bad if I just call it quits? I mean, I’m already too far gone to do anything significant this season…
But then my dad called me. He knew how much I was struggling, and he felt like God had spoken some things to him that needed to be shared with me. I was in tears as he talked to me over the phone, because it was exactly what I needed to hear: I was taking my physical ability to run for granted and losing sight of the joy that I always found in running. Never mind the fact that I was performing far below how I hoped I would. Regardless of any race results, I was making huge progress in my running journey because of the fact that I was simply able to race! What a gift–the very one I had been craving for years! My dad encouraged me that I could still bring God glory this season by not giving up and instead continuing to pursue the joy of this gift. After that conversation, my heart became more centered in a place of gratitude, and my perspective changed to one that contained a new sense of hope.
However, that’s not to say that I was miraculously seeing rainbows and filled with positivity right away. The day of my race at Penn Relays, I was still mostly apprehensive about my race rather than grateful for the opportunity, but things began to change once I got to Franklin field. I started to soak in the familiar sights and reminisce about past high school races there, ran into several familiar faces from the PA running community, and even got to see my high school coach and one of my best friends from my hometown in PA (even better, they both joined me on my warmup)! I was gradually able to appreciate where I was, who I was with, and be thankful that I was once again able to compete in this place that held so many memories. All of these things helped me to mentally feel the most like myself than I had in a long time. In the race itself however, I was so focused on trying to get into position without getting tripped that I had no idea what any of the splits were, lost track of laps (yeah, I don’t know how that happened either), all of a sudden found myself leading and having no idea what to do, and then getting dropped by the entire field in the last lap. My time ended up being even slower than what I ran when I was sick, but here’s the good part: when I crossed the line, I was strangely happy. It almost brought tears to my eyes as I realized why: for the first time this season, I could say that I finally had fun in a race. What a victory…far better than any time or place, I finally rediscovered my joy in racing! Sometimes, that can be the hardest thing to achieve, especially when you are not performing to meet your own expectations and standards. But there I was, joyful anyway, and that was by far the most valuable thing I could have possibly taken away from the race that day.
After that week, I still struggled. There were a few times that I found myself in tears before or after a few solo runs, but I kept showing up. That glimmer of hope was still in my heart, and it gave me just enough strength to keep pushing forward each day. I raced one last 1500 to try getting a time that would qualify me for regionals, but once again, I ran even slower. Now it was heartbreakingly clear to me: this just isn’t working. I was too far gone to do anything in the postseason. I had done my best, but I accepted that my season was likely coming to an end, because all that was left was ACCs. I remember telling my coach, “I just can’t run another 1500…if I could run the 5k instead, I know I would enjoy it more, and maybe there would be a shot for me to get a regional mark in that event”. So, we decided to switch it up, because I had nothing to lose. Even though I was still feeling discouraged and had zero expectations for the race, I was looking forward to one last opportunity, because I could simply enjoy running alongside my teammates and see what happens. But that piece of hope was still at the back of my mind, making me wonder…could that be enough to keep this season going?
(Continued in Part 2) https://fanhubtf.com/marleestarliper/part-2-actively-dreaming/
