It’s one of those days — when I feel old, tired and inadequate. Perhaps it’s a lack of sleep, a lack of food, a lack of rest. Perhaps, it’s too much work, too much thinking, too much stress. Or perhaps, it’s just age.
A decade ago, a cousin of mine, 12 years older than me, asked, “Do you ever get tired?” “Of course,” I told him. And he snapped almost immediately, “I don’t believe you.”
Most times, I do seem like an inexhaustible ball of energy. It does seem to people that I never get tired. Well, I do. Even a decade ago. But even more so, today, a decade later.
I admit, though, that I can go long hours without rest. I can keep going for very long periods of time. That’s just how I’m built. What weighs me down is not physical exhaustion but mental and emotional exhaustion.
While some days can be long and physically taxing, it’s the weight of responsibility and duty, the stress of making the right decisions that drain me.
Most people think I have it all together. Well, I don’t. They think I’m brave, strong and disciplined. Well, I am. But not all the time. Most times, I’m just happy to make it through the day. Every day is still a struggle.
Three weeks ago, I joined a race. It was my 30th race and my 18th half-marathon. Things were going well. And I was feeling pretty strong when at kilometer five, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my inner knee.
I foolishly thought that like side stitches, if I adjusted my gait or pace, my body would self-correct and the pain would go away. Well, it didn’t. The pain only got worse as I continued to push on with the race.
But I had never found myself in this situation so my heart started pounding and my mind started calculating. Kilometer seven was only one-third of the way. But I wasn’t even there yet. I was still struggling to make it to kilometer six.
How was I going to finish this race? The pain was excruciating. This was going to be my first DNF (Did Not Finish), I was sure. I could not possibly run with this pain for 15 kilometers. I didn’t even think I could walk another kilometer.
But I couldn’t give up without, at least, trying.
I started to do Jeff Galloway’s run-walk-run method because I needed to survive and finish this race.
I didn’t really think I could do it. But I did all I could to get to the finish line. I told myself that the pain I was feeling was nothing compared to the pain others were suffering. Life was suffering, I told myself. Push on.
With every step I took, my body kept saying, it would be the last. But with every step I took, my mind kept saying, don’t give up.
It worked. I finished the race. When my family, later on, asked me how I did it, I told them I just did all I could. I walked. I ran. I jogged. I hopped. I’m glad I didn’t have to crawl, though.
After the race, I did RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation). The following day, Monday, I skipped the recovery run. And since this incident really scared me, I even rested on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I got back on the treadmill.
By definition, it was not a good race. And I was disappointed in myself because my body did not cooperate when in fact, the weather did. No sun. Lots of clouds. A nice breeze. A rare day perfect for racing.
So often, life’s like that. But it was not a bad race. And today is not a bad day. It’s just one of those days — when I feel old, tired and inadequate. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day and Sunday will be a better race.
“Brave birds still fly through fog.”
Let’s be one of those brave birds. Let’s not give up.