Start. Finish. Enjoy. Perform.

F@%k! I could cry. It’s not so much the physical pain - that’s a one out of ten. It’s the emotional pain of seeing three years of near-daily work undone in a twist of gristle.

But I better tell you what’s going on before I lose you completely.

On Monday, with much frowning from my coach Mike Porteous, I attended my first track session of the year. Track, if you’ve not been near one since a sadistic teacher drove you around it in gym class, is where you go to run fast. And, in many cases—me included—break down injured.

Mike described my near-constant hassling to get on the track as a “lust for track.” Which is about right. After a long and slow winter of snail-paced long runs and rides (which all build the huge aerobic base needed to go fast in endurance events), spring brings with it the blossom of cherry trees and the rising sap of my desire to unleash the athlete beast inside. Track is one of the few places I actually feel like an athlete. There’s nothing quite like it. 

The only, quite big, problem is that while my mind still lusts like a teenager for this activity, my nearly 50-year-old frame objects—and objects painfully.

Monday’s session started with some easy laps. All good so far. Then came the warm-up exercises to wake up the muscles. Riskier, but fun. Job done. Then we moved into a plyometrics session to build strength and coordination. The coach laid out a hopscotch trellis and some small hurdles for bunny hops.

I side-eyed the setup. This had the sniff of a problem. But, as is the way with track, you kind of just get sucked in. So bunny hop I did, and hopscotch I tried. First go was fine. I dropped my guard. Mistake. How many times does life have to teach me the “just when you think everything’s going to be fine” lesson?

Sure enough, one more time was required.

As I was bunny hopping down the hurdles (with added side jumps for extra fun), I sprang from midline to my right, and as I went to push off again, my knee gave out the most sickeningly loud crack. Instantly I knew it was bad news. I braced for the pain… but it didn’t arrive. It felt weird, but no pain.

"OK, maybe I got away with it," I tried to fool myself. So I did the only sensible thing under the circumstances. I called it a night and took my leave.

BWAHAHAHA. Gotcha. Of course I didn’t do the sensible thing that might have saved me a lot of hassle. Instead, because I am just another monkey-brained idiot, I did what rugby players always do: I tried to walk it off. And when my leg didn’t actually fall off, I decided to do a slow lap to see how it was. With my buddy.

I say buddy, but really, he’s complicit. A friend would have told me not to be silly and sit it out. A running buddy thinks doing a slow lap is a terrific idea. And then, when again my leg still felt a little odd but wasn’t painful or unstable or swelling to the size of a melon, he agreed heartily with me that it was probably fine. Probably.

So, with the road test done, I went on to do the entire session. And what a session it was—the best track experience yet. No pain, no joint seizing up. Just blissful hard running until I was breathing through my butt cheeks.

The next day, and the day after that, though, the swelling came. And the reduced range of motion showed up. I was lame, and a new clicking sensation emerged just for good measure. Fuck.

As of writing, I’m about ten days post-injury and walking relatively normally again. I’ve seen my superb physio Kevin Hall, who reckons I may have gotten away without tearing either my already partially knackered ACL or a meniscus. Maybe.

I see an orthopod next week and an MRI beckons. Until then I’m not getting my hopes up too much. The physical and emotional pain have receded. Hope is both my motivator and my enemy right now. It seduces me into believing the season might still be on. But it’s the hope that gets you when the news is bad. So for now, I'm holding my breath. Hoping but lightly, things will be ok.

Now we're up to date, let's get back to my mantra for the season and, more granularly, each race:

Start. Finish. Enjoy. Perform.

This is my race season mantra. It's built as a reminder that there's more going on than can be quantified by a single measurable outcome. (Ther result of a race). It's there for exactly the knee-exploding moments I'm experiencing now. Getting wrapped up in how the race will go can threaten your enjoyment and steal joy from the process as you get lost in the outcome. I know I could get injured; anything that pushes your body to the edge of performance carries that risk. Failure in a race is far less annoying than failure to even make the start line. So I create a concentric set of objectives that serve as mental strongholds in the event of disaster.

Didn’t perform? That’s a bummer, but it happens. You did complete and gained immensely valuable race experience. Onward to the next one.

Didn’t enjoy? Well, really, what did you expect? It’s competitive triathlon. If you’re enjoying it, there’s a high chance you’re doing something wrong!

Didn’t finish (DNF)? That’s a gut punch. Hopefully, you’re not injured or dead. If you had to walk, so be it. You still gained experience and now get to build some DNF mental resilience.

Didn’t start (DNS)? The worst outcome of all. Injury, scheduling disaster, or equipment failure—it matters not. DNS is "beat-a-wall" level frustration. With very little upside. Regret lingers here. Best to avoid it. I’ll definitely have at least one DNS this season as race one is out of reach. I might make race two if I’m super lucky, but with a 2-3 week layoff from everything but swimming and light cycling, I’m unlikely to have the pace needed to compete for a place on Team GB next year. Three years of work, one bit of gristle. Done.

But, you know what, there’s always a bright side, something to be grateful for:

1. It’s highly unlikely I’ll need surgery.

2. It’s highly likely I will be able to race later in the season.

3. I’m not in any pain now.

4. I’m mobile.

5. I can still swim.

6. I live somewhere where I have access to good medical care.

7. I did get to do track!

8. I’m swimming a shitload and getting pretty fast in the pool.

9. Maybe I’ll just be a swimmer?

Anyway, I think there are a few things in this little tale of woe that are worth pulling out as reasonable principles for navigating setbacks when they inevitably happen:

1. Shit will definitely happen, and all the planning in the world won’t prevent it.

2. If you fail trying to do something you love, then you were exactly where you were meant to be. Pick yourself up, take your medicine, do your physio, and get back in the game when it’s sensible.

3. Swimming is awesome for staying fit and just feeling amazing. Especially if the sun is on your back. But do some kind of movement when you’ve had a setback. It gives you an outlet for frustration and triggers all the good hormones.

4. When you have a setback, ask for help and support. And listen to professionals.

5. Consider risks and mitigate them where possible. It makes me sad to say it, but I may not go back to track. There are many lower-risk ways to do speed work.

6. Listen to your body and mind when they signal something’s not right.

7. Rest and sleep are almost always the answer.

8. When something goes wrong and your plan is threatened or torn to bits, you're going to feel emotional pain. When and how it shows up is unique to you. But being mindful that feelings aren’t facts helps. Moments like these pass.

9. DNFs and DNSs are just labels. No one actually cares but you. We give the label all the power. We can remove that power too.

10. There is enormous joy—perhaps even ultimate joy—in connecting to the process rather than marrying the outcome. The process is ours to control. While it makes the outcome more likely, it doesn’t guarantee it. Enjoy the process more. Obsess about the outcome less.

11. Track is for the young and bendy, not the middle-aged and creaky. (Though I’m not 100% sure this is the end of the story. But if I go back and get injured again, I’ll have no one but myself to blame.)

12. Doing hard things is not meant to be easy. Whether it’s track, triathlon, or leading a team of humans, it doesn’t matter. Doing hard things is tough. You will wobble, you will creak, just as you will run like the wind and dip for the line. Everything is part of the experience and the experience is everything.

    
    

Whatever your goals, I highly recommend that you aim to:

Start. Finish. Enjoy. Perform.

The end… for now. ;-)