Free from the marathon, Sam runs for fun Murphy’s Lore
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The footpath bordering the fields has finally dried out. Not yet baked, it yields just a little under my feet, for which I’m grateful, because my legs have not yet forgotten the 26.2 miles they carried me around at the weekend. Amid the swaying flax, singular poppies assert themselves – splotches of red in a swathe of blue. Above, a swallow exuberantly loops the loop, announcing the impending arrival of summer. I, too, feel as free as a bird on the wing (albeit one with the DOMS that would inevitably result from a 6,000-mile migration flight). The reason I’m feeling so free is that the marathon – yes, the marathon I’ve been harping on about for the last few columns – is behind me. Whatever my feelings about the result (and that’s a complex set of feelings to unpick), I have another medal to add to my haul and I am free to turn my focus elsewhere. The last time I felt so liberated was when I finished my degree. After months of slogging over my dissertation and stressing over exams, I was off the hook at last, with the summer stretching out in front of me. What could be more exhilarating?
I don’t mean to sound negative about the marathon. In fact, I relished the training, the discipline and methodical focus that it required, and – just like when I no longer had to be in the physiology lab all morning and the library all afternoon – there’s a part of me that feels a little bit lost without it. But it’s telling how visceral this sense of emancipation is.
One reason, I think, is that marathon training holds us captive, curtailing spontaneity. And I don’t just mean impromptu big nights out or weekends away, but running spontaneity. I missed being able to go eyeballs-out in a speed session (not relevant for marathon pace and it takes too long to recover) or shoulder a backpack and hike a rugged trail (Sundays are reserved for long runs or rest days), or even rock up to a race off the cuff, just because.
In short, I missed not being able to miss what my programme told me to do in favour of something I just fancied doing. The same could be said, to some degree,
about preparing for any race, but the timescale and magnitude of the commitment are bigger when it comes to the marathon. For me, focusing all my running on a specific goal turned play into work.
There’s recently been some talk – and research – about goal setting in the sport-psychology world. It turns out that making your goals SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, timebound) isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Framing everything within such an all-or-nothing context means there are only two definable outcomes – success or failure. And even where success is achieved, the question ‘At what cost?’ is rarely asked, because everyone’s too busy asking ‘What’s next?’
There’s also a contention that being too focused on a specific outcome hinders creativity (a willingness to experiment with different methods), increases the likelihood of cutting corners, or even cheating, and, ultimately, yields less satisfaction. The suggestion is to engage with the journey rather than keep eyeing the finish line. Not such a new idea when you consider words written over 2,000 years ago in the Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita: ‘Those who are motivated only by desire for the fruits of action are miserable, for they are constantly anxious about the results of what they do.’
I plead not guilty to being chained to the outcome in this last marathon. But I was chained to the process – and even being free of that has opened up a world of possibilities. Normal life can resume! My mind is crowded with Things To Do, the same way someone fresh off a diet is overwhelmed by a tantalising menu. What to indulge in first? A good old beasting at the track? A jaunt around the woods to catch the last of the bluebells? A bit of canicross or duathlon? All of the above, I reckon. As soon as my wings have recovered.