As you are reading this, I am running. I may be an hour in, maybe two. And I know myself, I would have already wanted to stop many times.
Not that it would be that unusual, really.
You see, I always want to stop. In fact, I never know if I will make it to the end of any given workout.
It is the nature of the beast, the nature of anxiety. You don’t. You never know. The “know” mechanism is broken.
Last week, I wasn’t sure if I was going to find the strength to push to the end of a 30-second interval. Then I made it.
And immediately started doubting whether I’d be able to make it to the end of the next one. Surely, I will fail eventually. If not this one, then definitely the next one.
The only person doubting that I will finish is myself. It’s always been only myself.
“Of course, you will finish!”, says a friend. “You’ll crush it as usual”, says another. “I am not worried”, says Italian. I’m worried. And sometimes, it gets to be a little lonely – to always be the only one worried.
Today, I will want to stop.
I will want to quit.
I will want to fail.
Failing is the easiest thing to do.
In process of becoming an ultrarunner, Solo