December 15, 2019
At the start of every year I set myself a range of goals, some of them are always sport related. This year the running ones were:
In context they were fairly ambitious – I hadn’t come close to any of the times, and the furthest distance I had run in a calendar year was 325k. Nevertheless in about May I soon realised I was crushing all of the goals and so reset them to sub 25 mins for the 5k, sub 55 mins for the 10k, sub 90 mins for the Great South Run, and sub 2 hours for a half. At this point I didn’t up the annual mileage goal but at some point in September that became 1000 miles (or 1609k for those of you who work in kilometres).
2019 was also the year I fell in love with running, in a big way. I finally managed to make all the piece fit together and suddenly it was exciting to see the efforts of my hard work pay off. And then it wasn’t so fun any more…
I became so desperate to hit the 1000 miles I forgot what running for fun felt like. I missed the sub 2 hour half marathon goal twice over; once because I had missed weeks of training due to a sprained ankle, and the second time because I was fatigued and over-training. So I’m giving myself permission to quit the goal for the following reasons:
Do I feel sad? You bet. I have spent most of the day sulking, but the hard choices are often the right ones and I plan to spend the last few days of the year doing long runs with friends, trying to get a buddy to sub 30 mins at parkrun, and generally putting the joy back into running. I am walking away with several of the goals smashed, and a clearer sense of what I want to work on next year. I am not completely giving up, I still plan to see how close to 1000 miles I can get (I’m currently at 886 miles), and if I find a second wind over the next few days who knows what will happen, but for once I am not going to kick myself if I don’t reach it. Besides, I need a goal for 2020….