Being Happy Even When It’s Not a Personal Record

This past year, I have run more miles than I have ever run before. I’ve been running 80 miles a week since April, and have had the best workouts of my life. But about a month ago, I ran one of my worst races — a 76:40 half-marathon. It doesn’t seem like a bad time for most people, but it was a terrible time for me, given what my training indicated.

I thought I was in 70- or 71-minute half-marathon shape, and I ran way worse than that. There were a lot of factors going against me that day — it was very humid, and the course was hillier than I thought it would be. It was my first race in three months, so I was breaking a lot of rust, and probably went out too fast for the conditions.

I thought about ways I might have shot myself in the foot. Perhaps it was the stress of starting a new job as an attorney after the grind of studying for the bar exam all summer. I also could have been overtraining and running too many miles, and perhaps that race was a harbinger of worse to come. Perhaps there was something wrong with my workouts, with my nutrition, sleep, or fueling.

Needless to say, it was just not my day. The second half of the day was when the race really fell apart. Every mile after mile 9, I catastrophized about how bad of a day I was having and whether I should drop out of the race.

I didn’t, hung tough, and still worked really, really hard just to finish, so I could hang my hat on not giving up. It was a humbling experience, but I was still upset and dejected that I did not meet my standards.

Right after the race, I went to get my bag. I said hello to the volunteers at the bag check, thanked them, and started chatting. One guy asked me how the race went. I admitted to him that the race went very, very poorly.

The man at the bag check said, “It’s okay, you can’t run a PR (personal record) every race!”

I was polite about it, but I said I was still disappointed. Although I understood what the volunteer said intellectually, and also had said the same thing to myself plenty of times (and to other runner friends), I still needed time to process what felt like a catastrophe.

But I was thankful. Since I am Chinese-American, I could tell the volunteers were also Chinese, so I let them know about a local Chinese running group in my area, and I could take pride that, although I had a bad day, I could still joke about being the top Asian finisher.

On the bright side, I knew that there was only a small chance my running performance could get worse.

Right after the half-marathon, I registered for a 20-mile race that I had done for the previous three years. I needed to show myself I still had the mojo. Last year, I got second place, running a 5:46 mile pace. If there was one race where I knew the course and had run well before, it was this one.

The day of the race was very humid and not ideal for a long-distance run. It was a trail race, and it had rained in the few days before. My goal was to run approximately a 5:40 mile pace, calibrating for the slight hills but generally adjusting my pace for elevation drops.

But my end time, averaging 5:47 mile pace, was slower. I rolled my ankle about five times on wet leaves, and then needed about 20-30 seconds to slow down and make sure I was okay.

I ran with someone for the first eight miles, but then I was largely on my own the rest of the way. This was a departure from the previous year, where I just ran behind or to the side of the first-place runner for 14 miles, which made pacing a lot easier and mindless. Leading the way for most of the race this year meant I was the one breaking the wind and setting the pace.

I thought I had a huge personal record in the bag, but the last five miles showed me otherwise.

While I was crushing the pace for the first 15 miles, miles 16–19 were all 6-minute miles or above, which meant I was dying relative to my previous pace. I felt like I was running much slower than I actually was, but most miles were around 6 minutes flat, and the slowest mile was a 6:12.

But I was slowing down and in the most pain I had been in — I no longer felt like I was gliding and relaxed, but rather just surviving. Part of me felt like the race was cratering like the week before, like a bunch of people were going to pass me.

However, I had to just keep going to finish. I make it a general rule not to look back during races, so I had no clue if the person in second place was going to pass me. I mentally broke down the race by checkpoints, like how many minutes I’d been running or how many miles I had left. I made myself not look at my watch for three or five-minute intervals, where I tried to pass the time in as mentally painless a way as possible.

Once I hit the last mile, I was still in an incredible amount of pain. But I was almost done, and the pain was almost over. A switch turned on in my head, and I started to run a lot faster to just get the race over with and minimize my chances of being passed.

I tried to delay looking at my watch until a minute had passed, but I saw the pace: I was running 5:20 per mile. It wasn’t easy by any stretch, but the rush and second wind I got from the race being almost over overrode the pain. I would maintain that pace all the way to the finish to salvage the race and still put up a respectable effort.

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Certificate from Charm City Run

I ended up winning the race by about three minutes. I did not run a personal best — I missed it by three seconds. But I took the win, ran hard, finished strong, and still had a terrific day. That race was a huge breakthrough to show myself I was in shape and still had the juice.

I had a lot of fun, and there were far more important things than the time or the victory, like executing a race plan, and continuing to press and grind in a sustainable way in tough conditions when the race got tough.

All the long-term work and training I had put in wasn’t wasted; it had paid off, and I knew it was just the beginning. Multiple people reached out to congratulate me on the win, but a few mentioned that the more impressive part was that I bounced back from a really bad race the week before.

I thought back to what the volunteer said — not every race could be a PR. That 20-mile race was a success in several ways — like the week before, I didn’t just call it quits and give up when the race got tough. I finished incredibly strong, even when I was feeling terrible. I executed reasonably well with tough footing and on a humid day.

It was not a PR, but I felt like I had leveled up and had a lot more confidence going into the next phase of the fall racing season.

Last week, I ran a 2:37:48 marathon on a very hilly course in Baltimore with a conservative race plan, which was another big breakthrough. I was not going all out (since I have another marathon coming up this season), but I was still running reasonably hard.

That race was also not a PR, but it was still a very strong day that was a good indicator of my ability to execute a good race plan. It was also a means of giving back to my local community and the running community in Baltimore, which I will get into in a later article.

To wrap up training for this fall, I am running another half-marathon in mid-November and then a marathon in December. There is a simple reason why these races will be faster: the weather. Forty degrees Fahrenheit with no humidity or wind is an ideal temperature for a marathon, which will make a faster time much more attainable in November and December than they were in September or October.

The mid-December marathon will be my main race, where I will aim to break 2:30. I believe I can do it, but I know that I need to execute a race plan well, prepare well with nutrition and sleep in advance, and also need a lot of conditions to align, like the weather. It’s a bit of a flexible goal, since I will adjust if there are unanticipated hurdles. I will also have all my in-laws out on the course to cheer, and have the opportunity to take in sights from a new city.

I realized from my last three races that perception is not always reality. There is a point in every race where I perceive myself to be dying, to be slowing down substantially. I perceive this difficult stage of the race to be catastrophic, and feel some temptation to drop out.

However, I tend to be slowing down only a little bit, even if my body feels like it’s in a lot of pain, and I can also muster a second wind any time I’m closer to the finish. Even if it’s true that it’s a catastrophe and I’m hitting the worst-case scenario, I have shown almost every time that I will not give up, and even if I have to walk or limp, I will keep working hard and make my way to the finish.

The most important thing about the 20-miler and my most recent marathon is that I was happy. It wasn’t a breakthrough time that made me happy, but the effort and experience. I think that’s a much better and healthier way to look at running, without the pressure and expectation of having to run a personal best every time. I was able to smile and say thank you to volunteers and police officers controlling traffic, despite how focused I was on how fast I was running.

As a runner, I am working on embracing the concept that a day I worked hard, did my best, and had fun is a good day, even if it’s not a PR.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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