Might as well try

One last look back at a strange, miserable year

My goal coming into 2020 was to reach my potential, which seems like a wonderfully naive sentiment considering that by March my only goal became getting through each day without losing my mind. Just making it through this year healthy and reasonably sane were major milestones, and like everyone else, I’m ready to put 2020 in my rearview mirror. 

But I would like to take a moment before the end of this cursed year to reconsider the idea of potential that popped into my head last December. Honestly, I didn’t know what that would entail, but I liked the nebulous parameters implied by the word. Reaching my potential would be a journey, and I figured I’d find out where that took me when I got there.

This was also a bit scary. Throughout my life, I’ve never really felt like I’ve been able to reach my potential. I have this unfortunate habit of putting roadblocks in front of me that don’t need to be there and make things harder than necessary. What would it be like to not do that anymore? That was the question I wanted to answer this year. 

In order to find out, I needed to challenge myself and not accept settling for good enough or polite applause. That may sound like I was setting myself up for failure, but in actuality I was opening myself up to critical self-examination. I would scrutinize everything from training routines and workout schedules to diet and sleep patterns, and try to do so in a nonjudgmental way.    

To guide this quest, I came up with some tangible goals. I was going to run a 50-miler and mix in a couple of 50Ks including a destination race in Vermont. The races got canceled, of course, but their absence opened the door to wide-ranging training explorations as the year went along. It was like an open invitation to work on my weaknesses without the added pressure of races hanging over my head. 

For example, I decided to concentrate on covering as much technical ground as possible with a heavy emphasis on running hills. I knew that would make me ‘slower’ in a certain sense, but it was work I needed to do if I wanted to improve my skills as a trail runner.

The thing about running hills is that it’s not so much going up that’s difficult, it’s coming down. There’s an art to running down hills, especially technical ones filled with roots and rocks, that can’t be taught. It has to be experienced. In other words, you have to want to do it. 

Around the time I started thinking about my potential in a broad sense, I was lamenting to a friend about some of the gnarly hills I have to run as a northeast trail runner. His eyes brightened and said, “Just think how much better you’ll be when you run them all the time.” 

That comment struck me both for its optimism and the confidence it conveyed. You will improve and you will run those hills. That stayed with me every time I took on one of those beasts, and helped turn a negative association -- this is gonna suck -- into a powerful affirmation. 

I remember vividly the day that my friend’s words really hit home. I was running hills on a humid summer morning. To be precise, I was running up and down a ski hill. Nothing technical, just straight up a steep incline. It was brutal, slow, and hot as hell. There was no one else around. Just me and this absurd hill.

I had done two reps and was trying to talk myself into doing another one when I came up with an incentive. Power up this hill just one more time and then treat yourself to some sweet single track. The trail I had in mind was one of those gnarly bastards I had avoided in the past. The idea that running that trail could be a reward was something I had never contemplated before. 

That was a magical day. I felt confident in my abilities and sure of my purpose. It didn’t feel like I was running, so much as dancing with effortless grace. I’m happy to report that I had several days like that in 2020, and I tried to cherish them all. 

To be sure, the loss of competitive races also had the effect of sapping motivation and turning weeks, if not months, into a slog with no end in sight. The summer was a particularly brutal stretch. Was I at my best every time out? No, of course not. That also happened a lot in 2020. 

What I realized, ultimately, was that in order to reach my potential, I would need to learn how to forgive myself when things didn’t go according to plan. Not to belabor the obvious, but literally nothing went according to plan this past year. The only thing I could control was simply showing up as much as possible and giving myself a chance. Success wasn’t beside the point, but it wasn’t the whole point either.  

I can look back now at the runner I was in 2013 when I started training -- inflexible and consumed with each day’s run like it was a referendum -- and the runner I am now and see real growth. I’m able to roll with the punches better and accept setbacks with a little more maturity, if not clarity.   

Did I reach my potential in 2020? Honestly, I’m not sure. It would have been nice to have some races as a measuring stick. The kind of progress I made doesn’t show up on Strava, although I believe it eventually gets folded into the results. 

Did I try? Yes, absolutely. That, and staying healthy, were the only things that truly mattered this year. 

For the record, this is what I ran this year. 

All the numbers are “career highs,” for whatever that’s worth. One of these years I’m going to get over 2,000 miles. Might as well be this next one. I’m proudest of the climbing total. This was the first year I tracked and actively sought out vert to such a degree. I’m pleased as punch with that number. 

How about you? Where did you see your biggest area of growth, and what would you like to work on next year?