Telling a new story

I was only 5 miles in and felt completely drained.

Normally, I’d track miles remaining to the finish line, but given the elevation of this particular course, I was passing the time by counting feet. I was 500 feet away from the first peak at 9,100 feet elevation. You breathe 6% less air at this elevation than at sea level, where I live. Six percent might not sound like a lot, but when you exert yourself and your heart races to deliver enough oxygen to your muscles, it’s noticeable. A subtle weight presses down on the chest. Every breath feels like it’s not enough. At this point in the race, we were running up a steep incline through sharp switchbacks on a mountain pile of Navajo sandstone rocks. A past version of myself would have questioned the decision to sign up for this race. It would have had thoughts like “What were you thinking?” and “Just drop out; you’ll never finish.”

But this was not that version of me.

Three years ago, I woke up beside my partner in New York City on a weekday morning. I was new to the city and my relationship. She, an avid runner, tried convincing me to jog with her.

“I don’t run anymore," I said.

I rambled through my list of reasons why. I used to be a triathlete. Years prior, after several back and hip injuries, I had gone through quite a series of frustrating physical therapy experiences that didn’t get to the bottom of my injuries. Through a brilliant and skilled PT, I finally discovered what was going on and how to avoid hurting myself in the future. Instead of pressing forward with my old training and racing routine, I told myself a different story - which I believed wholeheartedly - that I wasn’t fit for running. “I’ll just keep injuring myself,” I said. I decided to stick to activities with less wear on the body, like yoga, swimming, and cycling.

My partner was persistent, asking me to run one mile with her. I reluctantly agreed. I did it slowly, of course, and was surprised at how good it felt. One mile turned into two, which turned into three, and less than a year later, I ran a half marathon - my first in eight years.

That’s where another mental block began.

I decided that 13 miles was a good enough. Why run more? I was able to do it injury-free. Why mess with a good thing? No need to push myself further.

Last month, I ran my longest race to date just outside Bryce Canyon in southeastern Utah: a 30k trail run. Bryce Canyon is known for its bizarre and other-worldly landscapes primarily made up of hoodoos: rock formations that seem to defy gravity, created over millions of years of erosion that could only happen in this particular climate. The race, just shy of 20 miles, was anything but a walk in a (National) park. Twenty miles doesn’t mean much until you consider the elevation and climbing: 3,000 feet, to be exact. It was a daunting endeavor to consider when I signed up. I decided to do it for two reasons. First, because my partner was running her first 50k ultramarathon there, and I had been toying with the idea of doing a shorter race while we were in Utah. Second, a conversation with a friend was the tipping point. He reminded me of something all endurance athletes have long known that I had forgotten:

It’s all mental.

Yes, training is essential if you want to finish in one piece. But a vast majority of the equation is all in your head. It’s simply believing you can do something, especially when things get tough.

I went into this race with this mindset, which was new for me. I not once questioned my ability to complete the race. I also went into it with clear expectations. Was I going to place first on this course? No. Was I going to run comparable to my average pace in Brooklyn, where I trained? No - the elevation and terrain made that impossible. I approached this race to have fun, enjoy the journey, and remind myself that pain is temporary. And that this experience would make me a stronger and more confident person.

And it did.

We tell ourselves stories all the time. That we can’t do certain things. That we’re not cut out for running, or that job or promotion.

But these are just stories we tell ourselves.

You are capable of much more than you know.