Goals are decisions

Injuries are not

Old goals

The abrupt ending of my marathon preparation just one day before the race was a complete shift in perspective for me. For days and weeks, I’ve been zoning in on this one particular goal:

Perfection in Execution

Running a perfectly executed marathon. That was the big thing. The compass that aligned my life and running. And I love it, when my life and running are aligned.

The last days before the marathon, my world was filled with pedantic details. Such as which color my self-catering bottles should have, to recognize them in milliseconds, while thrashing through the refreshment points. Or excessively checking the weather report, to make sure I bring the right set of clothes to the start line.

As far as my body was concerned, I simply expected it to function. I had cautiously put in the miles and wanted endurance and strength in return. A handshake-deal, that, I thought, was fair. Actually, quite ignorant of me.

(Latergram from the New York Marathon 2017 because I can)

At first, I felt that my last-minute buzzkill injury was unjust. But I didn’t get injured because I tripped over a stone or got hit by a car. It was hard to admit, but I was clearly facing an overuse injury. Something that grows unrecognized over days and weeks. Although I experienced this training cycle to be rather easy, I had, in fact, demanded a lot from my body. Obviously too much and our handshake-deal was off.

New Goals

I never would have thought that my focus would change so radically within the blink of an eye. I was surprised, though, how easy it was for me to let go. Not running in general, but the envisaged A-race. It just didn’t matter anymore. From one second to the next, it was replaced by something greater. A much more profound meaning and purpose of my thoughts and actions. And that is to heal and recover. To be healthy.

Sounds a bit odd, I know. And if my “live fast die young” 25-year-old me could read this now, he would probably say that I speak like an old man. And yes, maybe I am an old man, but also a wiser man. Contrary to 25-year-old Chris, I have internalized, that my health is the most valuable asset I have. That we all have, for that matter.

My new situation made me reflect on my actual running goals a lot. Sure, I had been training for a marathon, so it was quite obvious that running a marathon was my goal. But what for? What is the actual goal, hidden below the haze of child-like ambition, strife for self-worth and a bit of vanity. I’m not judging here. I’m just being honest.

Decisions

And I’m also honest, when I tell you that I don’t exactly know why I had granted the marathon such a great importance, after I had actually abandoned it for good. Twice. Especially in road racing, my running goals sometimes appear to me like thought constructs. A projection screen for my emotions, positive and negative ones. Almost like they are extrinsically driven. But they aren’t.

Goals are decisions. Our own decisions. We have power over them.

If we find out, that they’re not helpful anymore, or even become a source of negative thoughts and emotions, it is time to let them go. And that decision is no else’s business, but our own.

Sounds like I have abandoned the marathon, right? You are gravely mistaken. You will see me racing this f*cker, and it’s gonna be one hell of a ride. I’ll find a new marathon. And I’ll find new goals.

However, what I am learning firsthand right now is, that the biggest goal of all is to be and stay healthy. To be able to run at all. And that’s what I’m working towards. With everything I’ve got.

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Everything not running

My dad asked me what I wanted for my 44th birthday. Since world peace and complete animal liberation unfortunately is out of (his) reach, I asked him for some childhood photos, preferably digitalized. Of course, my dad was too lazy to scan them, but with a little delay, he delivered a shoebox full of long-forgotten memories.

I have made peace with my somewhat troublesome childhood long ago, so I didn’t expect any noteworthy emotional amplitude while browsing through these photos. Well, two pictures in, I was emotionally so exhausted, that I put the lid on the box and postponed my journey into the past for an indefinite time.

No hard feelings. I even found this incident to be a bit funny.

(Ca. 1985, probably first or second year of school, bad hair like in 2023)