On Athletic Insecurity and Individualism
I was pretty sick a few weeks ago. Like 1500s, family waiting outside your bedchamber, hoping that the leeches work kind of sick. I haven’t been knocked off my feet like that in a while, and it served as a bit of a forced reflection. As I lay there, trying to be just dramatic enough to get extra attention from Daria, my brain surprisingly didn’t go down it’s usual alleyway of concern, thinking about how much running I would miss, how much time it would take for my legs and my lungs to come back around after the fever, or what an unplanned break from training meant for my long-term progress. A week and a half later, just as my legs and lungs were getting back on the same page, I had an old achilles injury pop up and I’ve had to adjust my schedule again. I can probably chalk it up to some leftover inflammation from the illness and returning to intensity a bit too quickly, so a couple hours of self-pity later, I made a plan of action and leaned into what my body was saying. After a lifetime of useless frustration involving injury and unscheduled rest, I will (egocentrically) label both of these responses as laudable and magnificent progress. As someone who used to base their self-worth on how well training/racing was going, and as someone who continues to battle some exercise addiction (as many endurance athletes can), I celebrated it as a small personal victory and challenged myself to look a little deeper. What and where are my biggest insecurities in sport, and how have they changed over time?
I am happy to say that very few of my insecurities are rooted in performance anymore. As I’ve discussed on previous blog posts, coming from a background that was completely tied to competition forces you to compare yourself to others and previous versions of yourself. Curiosity is only celebrated if a best time or a high place is associated with it, and while that can be very motivating for some people, I became very burned out by the pursuit of marginal gains and podiums. Where I did find a small sense of insecurity is in my own relationship to trail running, and to outdoor/adventure sports more broadly.
Sometimes, in the world of mountain and ultra endurance running, it can feel like everyone is trying to out-adventure each other. The longer the distance, the rougher the terrain, the greater the danger – it all seems to validate the legitimacy of someone's athleticism. This phenomenon, exacerbated by the outdoor culture of social media, can foster some serious feelings of inadequacy when most of your runs aren’t as epic as what you see online. Take it from me, if you go to my instagram, most of the running pictures you will find are from my time on the trails. It represents a snapshot of me, but a very small one. At least sixty-five to seventy-five percent of my runs are from my front door, around my local paths and trails, and I sometimes find myself feeling some sense of shame or guilt for enjoying them when I call myself a mountain runner. Why else would I only post the pictures that make me look cool? But here’s the thing, my day to day routes may not offer the same flashy pictures that the trails do, but if given the choice, I wouldn’t change where I run even if it made me feel more aligned with how ultra running is represented more broadly.
I absolutely love knowing that I will be able to hit roads, dirt, and single track from my front door, that I will get to run around my favorite lake, amongst the prairie dogs, with a clear view of the mountains, that I will repeat the same routes in the sun, the snow, the rain, the mud, without ever straying too far from home. The routes we so often run are vital to forming us as humans and athletes, and while I understand that some may not have the opportunities that I have out of my front door, I want to challenge the notion that the heart of adventure sports lies solely in pushing boundaries to extremes. How you choose to enjoy running has nothing to do with your self-worth as an athlete. If the pursuit of fitness, personal growth, or athletic achievement harmonizes with a genuine passion for the activity, than there is no need to devolve into a relentless quest for ever-increasing challenges.
Adventure sports, by their very nature, are niche. The intensity of passion within the community can create an illusion of universality, i.e. when you are a runner, a majority of your instagram feed is running related, and you consume a lot of running media, it may feel like the everyone and everything is alined with you. In reality, these pursuits are unique to those who engage in them, but the same can be said with any interest and the community that surrounds it. Because of this universally driven mindset, it can begin to feel like your interest has expectations. Real trail runners climb 25,000 vertical feet a week, real trail runners wear minimal shoes, real trail runners never stop their watch. I’m here to confirm that there is no pervasive yardstick for being a trail runner, an ultra runner, or any kind of outdoor enthusiast. It's a personal journey defined by individual preferences, not external expectations…but it can be hard habit to break.
After some of my very best runs, I’ve gotten home, kicked off the shoes, grabbed a snack, and opened my phone only to see the longer, harder, or cooler effort that someone else posted about on Strava/Instagram. Not only does the excitement and confidence of my own run fade, but it makes me feel like slightly less of an athlete. Cue the, “I don’t run on enough trails to call myself a trail runner, I don’t race enough to compete at the ‘elite’ level, I enjoy cross-training so I’m not as invested in running as I could be,” kind of thoughts. But the more I reflect on it, the more I realize that the things that cause me insecurity are also the things that promote longevity. I get to run, bike, and climb over any terrain that sounds fun, I get to spend more time with my family on the days I run close to home, I can be flexible with my training should something come up, and racing less has allowed me to explore the places we travel through running without the stress of competition. Everyone is different, and these are simply the things that have made me a more mindful athlete, but I do think it’s easy to get caught up in what others are doing, and let it reduce our own experiences.
So yes, there will always be different levels of skill, experience, dedication, and goal-setting, but you should never feel like less of an outdoor enthusiast if you can only get to the trails on the weekends, or if you enjoy seeing the mountains on your bike ride to work, but don’t feel the need to ride down them. Nature is impartial, and is there to be enjoyed however suits you the best. The heart of adventure sports lies in the authenticity of the pursuit, and is balanced between consistent improvement and the love of the craft. It's crucial to avoid the trap of escalating stakes solely for the sake of comparison, in other words, don’t let your adventures become the sequel that no one asked for. Let your goals be driven by love, forget external validation, and go enjoy some miles the way that you want to.