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The race that never was

Writer's picture: The Useless RunnerThe Useless Runner

Updated: Mar 8, 2023

Pity [noun] ~ /ˈpɪti/

"a cause for regret or disappointment."


2022 was a tough year for me. I fought all kind of obstacles trying to push through a barrier of pain so deep and high, that not even the strongest willpower could defeat it. I tried time and time again to overcome my feelings of sorrow and regret, that eventually this snowball crashed down on me like a truck.


I wanted 2022 to be the year of redemption, the year to come back to the sport I love and do all the hard things I set myself to do. It was a year to challenge myself and overcome the barriers that I had created around me, not just socially, but emotionally and physically.


I failed. Miserably.


This is the story of the race that never was.


As I was physically depleted, I did my best to do what I learned to do well throughout my life: push harder. Time and time again I put myself in a position where I was so isolated from everything else, that nothing really mattered, and nothing really made any sense at all. There is no solace in that, because there is nothing to gain, there is nothing to give, and certainly there is nothing take. This is a simple fact. There isn't anyone there to pick up the pieces for you. I made sure of that.


I have been waiting to race the Windsor Triathlon for 2 years. It kept getting postponed because of that 5 word disease I don't like to talk about. When the time finally came to put pedal to the metal, I was stuck in first gear, pretending to make progress when the reality was that I was moving backwards.


Emotionally and physically I was in a very weird place. I knew why I wanted to do this, but it never clicked. I tried to convince myself that I was stronger than the feelings I had at the time, and that as always, I was going to conquer this monster and come out a winner. Truth is, I could have not been more wrong.


When I got my registration papers, I panicked. I was not ready, in any way, shape or form. I had a huge sense of disappointment just thinking this would be something I may not be able to do. Not just for me, but for my friends who were supporting me in this process.

I did what I knew how to do best: I grinded. I grinded hard. But not for long.


Within 2 weeks of making one stupid decision after another, I got injured.


Is one of those things that at the time felt like a huge weight off my back, I felt relieved. It felt nothing else but an excuse to stop, which I did.


I did not make any effort to recover, I did not want to, and I don't really regret it, because at the time that is how I felt. I was done.


All the memories from the previous years came flooding at me real fast. All those big accomplishments and races. All those trips to the mountains. All those amazing friendships. They were real, and they were mine forever.


But something else came to me. Something that I have not really felt before in that way. Pity.


I didn't do things the right way. I never really got into a place where I stood a chance at doing something great again. I failed. And looking back, I can see ways this could have gone, and it may be something that I cannot change, but is something I can learn from, and I am.


This is the race that never was, for the reasons that never were. Because I never felt it as mine. It felt foreign to me at the time.


And that is OK. Because I will be back. Back with a bang.


Thank you for reading.



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