Today is the day of a death of a dream. It's a little dramatic I know, but I wanted to share what's going on today. Today is the day that I would have started my insanely epic 300km ultramarathon across the length of the Outer Hebrides.
As my would-have-been-fellow challengers start this epic adventure, I want to first wish everyone my very best for their adventure. I'll be following their progress as best I can as they run into the Scottish wilderness for the next 6 days, and hoping for fair weather and no accidents. I know what they would have endured simply to get there and that is deserving of high praise and huge respect.
For me, I feel a little shitty to not be there. After putting myself through so much the last year, to DNS (Did Not Start) something so big is a horrible feeling. But shit happens. And it's ALWAYS how we choose to respond to that shit that defines character in a person.
This has been a big deal for me. Like all major goals in life, it has taken months out of my life to work on. Cumulatively, I have accrued hundreds of hours of running. Much of which in mud, wind and rain, along with significant money spent on gear, treatment, etc. All to DNS today. I have sacrificed eating what I liked, and drinking alcohol, socialising, etc throughout this leg of the journey. And all to end up right where I started... the beginning.
This happens all the time, in all walks of life. And it sucks.
But when a dream dies you can go one of two ways:
You can let it suck you in, chew you up and eventually move onto something else after licking your wounds and crying about it...
2. Or you can learn the lessons you can, rethink what you want, and move forward again.
I choose number 2.
Number 1, gets you nowhere. You lose any value from the journey you've been on, and you only do harm to your own self-belief that you can accomplish the 'difficult' in your life. Simply turning your back after lamenting the loss will sit with you. Deep down. It will likely limit your choices and lower your bar of what goals you choose to target in future, never quite feeling you have the right to go for something bigger. Sure it's hard, it's painful, it's time-consuming, but it is mine. Quitting before I even got to the start is not the way I want to live my life. Not when you know you have something bigger in you.
This last 18 months has opened my eyes to so much about myself. I've discovered that I can do remarkable things waaaaaay outside my comfort zone. Just because one dream dies, it does not mean it is The End. Not by a long f*cking shot.
No. This is learning. It is armouring myself with the right knowledge and experience. It is trial and error. All that's required in the desire and perseverance to go forward, and changing the approach until you get there.
I have run multiple 50km ultras. I have run 84Km, I have run 100km. This is progress! Sure, it feels shit to stumble and miss the target, but when we fall we either stay down or pick ourselves back up. I'm not dead, so I can keep going. In fact it's immensely important that I do. I will not be beaten, when i haven't even started! I'd rather regret finding out I've bitten off more than I can chew, than to know I can but regret never seeing it through.
One dream may have to be sacrificed (in this case to the Trail Gods) and die in order to be successfully resurrected. It turns out that this is the dream. I intend to come through this stronger. Better equipped than where I got to before the injury. Better adapted through the lessons so far. I have my plan, I have my path forward, and I have the will to do this. And while this dream is dead, I have time to ensure that I can resurrect this again next year. It is a monster commitment. As someone at my stage of life with Kids, wife, pressures from wider family, my consulting business, and a less-than-ideal starting point with fitness and injury, it is daunting. But I know I can. I'm simply figuring out the 'how'. Today my Dream of 300km is dead. But also Today I am working on my dream of running this 300km (in style). We had Queen Elizabeth II's funeral this week. It was huge, poignant and an extraordinary show to mark and honour her death. For my dream's passing, I'll simply do my physio exercises, raise a rare glass of wine this evening, and declare in the Monarchy Death Tradition... "The Dream is Dead.... Long Live The Dream" (and I'll probably play a Bagpipes lament, just to set the mood)
Thanks for reading...
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