I LOVE IT WHEN A PLAN ALMOST COMES TOGETHER
Ilove creating running plans. The thrill of that blank white sheet, just waiting to be filled with the next immaculately constructed training programme. It’s a task I can get lost in, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle; gathering all the pieces and figuring out where to put them. Shall I put that last tempo run there? Maybe a half marathon would work best here? I’ve always seen each new blank sheet as a fresh opportunity to achieve perfection. This is the one!, I’ll think excitedly, as I lean back to look at my handiwork. But life isn’t a blank sheet. Nobody’s life – bar the professional athlete’s, perhaps – offers the luxury of 12-or-so empty weeks to fill in the exact manner you’d wish for. Even in the planning stage, there are weekend breaks, work dos, DIY projects and kids’ after-school activities to factor in – odd pieces of the puzzle that don’t quite fit. And once the runner (whether it’s me or a client) is following the plan, all bets are off – there are colds, niggles, late nights at work and the occasional hangover just waiting to throw the plan into disarray.
Life’s unwillingness to play ball with my meticulously planned race build-ups often frustrates me, but the truth is, few of us ever manage to execute a training plan in its entirety. There will always be stuff that gets missed or postponed, swapped or shortened. And even the runs we do manage are seldom perfect – interval sessions in which we don’t hit the target time on every rep; long runs where we run out of fuel, tempo runs where a headwind puts us way off pace.
And that’s OK. I’ve been reading about the Japanese philosophy of wabi sabi – the art of embracing the imperfect. The three key tenets of wabi sabi are that nothing lasts, nothing is ever finished and nothing is perfect. (I first came across it during the long months of my recent house renovation – a wabi sabi house isn’t afraid to expose its history and imperfections, be it a blackened chimney breast, a mossy roof or uneven floorboards, and it sure as hell isn’t ever finished!)
Yet many runners are perfectionists. Perhaps we’re drawn to our sport precisely because it’s something that’s so controllable and measurable; the result is all down to us, unlike a tennis match or team sport in which other people’s actions affect whether or not you reach your goal. The idea that perfection isn’t achievable may sound scary to a perfectionist – but it’s actually liberating. Perfectionism can take the joy out of training. You can become a slave to your training programme – endlessly berating yourself for not scoring 100 per cent in every session. In any aspect of life, relentless yearning for, or pursuit of, perfection is stressful – and it nearly always ends in disappointment.
Recent research suggests that when it comes to running, this approach can also raise your injury risk. A study from the University of Wisconsin in 2018 found runners who displayed signs of ‘unhealthy perfectionism’ (a combination of lofty standards, a high degree of concern over making mistakes and self-doubt) had a markedly greater incidence of running injuries than those who did not.
So should we just stop trying?
Ditch the training plan? I don’t think so. A plan is your road map for the journey between now and race day. There may be wrong turns, diversions and shortcuts, but the crucial thing is that you are able to enjoy the journey, with all its imperfections. When we press stop at the end of a run, or toe a race start line, we should be embracing what we have achieved, rather than obsessing over what we haven’t.
One thing that’s important to note about wabi sabi is that it doesn’t tell us not to try our best, it just reminds us that things don’t have to be done perfectly to be worth doing.
There’s a further benefit of never quite managing to execute the perfect plan: the tantalising prospect of what you could achieve if you did. It’s one of the things that keeps me coming back to that blank white sheet. Who cares if it’s a puzzle I will never solve? I’ll have a damn good time trying.