Unbeknownst to me, it all began last July when, yet again, I DNF'd at Knee Knacker. In my mind, I had to wait 3 1/2 months for my echocardiogram before I thought it was 'safe' to run trails again. Really this was just an excuse to avoid them. The longer I stayed away from them, the less motivated I became to get back out there. And that's when the unseen bubble of stress grew to its first snow ball.
Winter came and went and I still avoided the trails. It wasn't until mid-March when I finally made my first attempt at a return. I ran 20 km and it was amazing, but it was short lived. Knee Knacker was only 3 1/2 months away and I had run in the trails only 3 times since last year's race. The stormy cloud of DNF'ing Knee Knacker again was starting to consume my brain. Snowball #2.
I love the Knee Knacker. I love the course. I love the Baden Powell. And the community is one of the most supportive I've come across. But my brain started to see it differently. I knew I had made no attempt at improving my climbing legs, which made making that first cut off a near impossibility. But the belief that I would actually get out there and make those improvements was still there. I just had no follow through. I kept focusing on what happened last year and wondered if I had successfully made any of the adjustments I was supposed to. My Professor Brain and my Computer Brain were talking the talk. But that asshole Chimp Brain was screaming from the rafters, stomping his feet, and convincing me it was too fucking hard and it would be safer to just stay home. So I did. Snowballs 3, 4, and 5.
At this point, I could make a snowman with all this shit going on in my head. But why stop at one? By keeping it inside, I can make an army of them on my front yard like in Calvin and Hobbes. Which was cool when you opened the newspaper and laughed hysterically at it. It's a different story when they're being built in your head and they're not the fun filled snowmen of childhood. So I thought this would be a great time to think about letting everyone down, which I know is totally illogical, I just couldn't get to the point where I believed it. I started to think about how every year we get told about the amazing finisher rate of KK and how I've managed to single handedly bring that percentage down two years running. And because I don't suffer through the lottery and have a spot given to me, my mind blocks out the effort I actually put in to getting that spot and just focuses on letting down any and every one who didn't get picked in the lottery. And last but not least, there's all those people who actually gave money to North Shore Rescue on my behalf. So many snowballs, my army of snowmen now have ammunition.
This may have been the point where I realized how unhappy I actually was. And yet, I still didn't act. I added more ammo to the pile thinking about how easy it had become to DNF, and how devastingly long it takes to recover from one. I shared with friends how stressed I was with the cutoffs, but that conversation happened every year leading up to the race. How were they to know this year was different? I actually dreaded going to the mountains, and when I did go, Tinkerbell remained elusive. Hansel and Gretel didn't give a crap that there was no candy house to eat. It wasn't until I mumbled out loud at the bottom of the Seymour Grind, "No race is worth my mental health or my happiness. And I am not fucking happy right now." that I finally realized how much ammo those snowmen had. I broke into tears multiple times as I slowly ascended the BP. It was an agonizing low, but a hopeful high. This was my A-Ha moment (not the band). I finally believed that I wasn't letting anyone down. And if someone did feel that way, that's their fucking problem, not mine. Had I donated to someone's cause and they opted out part way, I'd be more concerned for my friend than any donation I made. Why in the hell would the people who support me be any different? Finally. Finally those snowballs were starting to melt. I decided then and there that there was a 50/50 chance I would start Knee Knacker this year. Immediately I felt lighter.
A few people have tried to convince me to show up on race day. I try to tune them out. The majority have shown the utmost support, embracing me and my decisions, just happy that I'm okay. And I am okay. At least, I'm working on getting there. Thank you to all those who reached out when I needed it most.