I’ve really struggled with motivation recently, so much so, that my running efforts have been pretty much non existent.
I miss the mornings that I’d wake up ready to face the tarmac. I was loaded with energy and pumped – it was almost as if I needed to get out there and lose myself for an hour or so.
The more I ran, the faster I got. In turn, I was happier and as running got easier, I’d be able to lose myself in thought. In fact, losing yourself in thought was for me one of the greatest things about running. I was at one with myself and I could mull over anything and everything from major life decisions to trivial things like what I’d be having for dinner.
As my running peaked, I grew in confidence, to the point of arrogance – though I hope that I never completely crossed that line (or at least not without a little dry humour).
Fast forwarding two years since my 19th place finish in the Leigh 10k and I’m probably in the worst place that I’ve ever been – in terms of running. Life’s great and I love the sunshine and chilled out stance towards working life. But I’m struggling, like really struggling with getting back out there.
It’s often said that the hardest step for a runner is the first one out of the door. And that’s true. But it’s not quite that easy, even when out on the pavement – I want to lose myself, think about life decisions once again; where to travel next, whether to go home to the UK and of course, what to have for dinner. I can’t.
The pavement was once my home. I know it’s only a matter of time and effort before I can shadow the runner I was. My main hurdle is that I’m never on the road long enough to think about things, I’m lethargic and lacking rhythm before I’ve even hit the half hour mark.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. A old friend of mine sent me a motivational photo the other day that clarified things for me;