DNF

Who cares?

Today I Did Not Finish.

I completed half a race before pulling out with a groin strain and walking it in. It wasn’t a new injury, but I aggravated it last night (in a confusing act of self sabotage) by going for a fast 5k effort in the rain, even though I knew I was racing today.

I wanted to race anyway because it was a nice day, and because in my head I was doing it and that idea wouldn’t be shifted.

Here I am starting, full of joy. (Far right of pic, dark green jacket, tucked in the 3rd-ish row).

The race started with half a mile of gravel track at a slight incline, followed by a half mile steep climb of 600ft on a winding path through forestry managed woodland. I was fine uphill, but fast down was impossible. If I had continued (at a half run shuffle) I would have made the injury a lot worse. I could’ve finished. I quit 2.5 miles into a race that was only 5.5, but it just didn’t seem worth it.

I’m fine with it. (Despite the fact I’ve just felt the need to justify it in such detail). But it’s the first time I’ve quit, and actually in lots of ways I’m not fine with it at all.

I’m never sure how I feel about racing. I’ve not done much. To date I’ve completed two 50k races, the Glamaig hill race on Skye, and a local series of virtual trail races.

My first race of any kind was a 50k trail race. That would seem a bit backwards to some I suppose, but quite honestly at the end of it I just wanted to keep running.

For weeks after I couldn’t stop thinking about where and when I might be able to do another race. If it wasn’t for COVID and the fact there was nothing available I’d have entered all sorts of things.

In fact, it’s true that I’ve loved all of my race experiences. It’s the bits in between I’m not sure about. I can’t train. Not because I don’t want put in the effort, just because when running becomes something I feel forced to do it kills the enjoyment.

Running is something to be savoured, not something to punish yourself with.

But the kicker is, I am quite competitive. I like seeing where I am in comparison to others. Running fast and hard is just another rewarding element of it. For some it’s the main draw. Try it. You’ll hate every sec of it (and every second will feel more like a minute) and you might not feel great about yourself when you’re puking in a ditch immediately after, but give it a few mins. Then you’ll feel like you’ve done something worthwhile.

You’ll go home with the glow of having pushed your meat suit to its limit. And that feels good.

So even though I physically couldn’t have continued running today (note the emphatic reiteration) it still doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel good at all. Of course it’s just a diddy local race, and in the summation of my running means absolutely nothing, but it’s still playing on my mind.

The real problem is, I think, that people were there. And I probably care too much what they think. A DNF was preferable to a poor performance.

Probably no-one gives a whistling shit about the fact I run or not, much less if I finish a race. Call it a hangover from years of preening, poser sports. Call it vanity. Call it plain ego. Whatever it is, it‘s something I’d rather break away from, and most of the running I do helps to dissolve this ego rather than accentuate it.

This is what just about to quit looks like

There was a friend of mine there today. He’s a good runner, but he doesn’t go out too often and he loathes the idea of taking it seriously. He never wears a watch he says, never times any runs. I watched him cross the finish line in 5th place, ahead of some very talented runners. He chatted for a bit, then he ran home. I think that’s a pretty decent model of how to approach racing. At least, it’s one I’d aspire to.

Meanwhile I was there at the line watching everyone come in because I’d logged my first DNF, and no-one really cared.

Except me.