Am I Racing

Am I Really Racing?

Most weekends on the social media platforms someone will tweet or Facebook status post “wishing those who are racing good luck.”  But lately I've felt kind of conflicted with the term racing.

Am I really racing?

I've come to the relation that I may not have the physical ability, the inherent athletic genes or the time in my life to really train hard to run for the win.

So am I really racing?

 

I approach every "race" with a target finishing time in mind.  I base my training, my focus and my preparation to meet this performance benchmark.   Race Day for me is when my fitness and race planning are challenged by a digital pacer not by the other competitors.

Is this really racing?

On the starting line, I feel the same excitement as the elite runners who are competing for the podium, but my competition is not the runner standing next to me, behind me or in front of me.  My competition is something much more imposing.  My race is run not against the crowd but against the shadow of my goal pace. 

Is this really racing?

In the middle of the race when a move on the competition is to be made, I don’t judge the success or strength of this move compared to the distance I’ve separate from the pack.  My move may only re-position me from one pack of runners to another.  I can’t focus on beating another runner my focus is squarely on a pace/distance milestone, a milestone based on time not on another runner.

 

Is this really racing?

I’ll be judged a success or failure on a invisible figure propelled by my goal.  My standing will be validated not by the distance gained on another runner, and not on the number of runners I leave behind.  My success or failure will be based on the sinister pacer and the ticking of the digital judge poised high above the finish line.  

Is this really racing?

Nearing the finish tape I won't be leaning forward to beat out my competition by a nose, my finishing lean will be to edge out the last tick on the clock, that ever present timekeeper.  My success or lack of will be measured against the digital monster that judges me with every tick.

Is this really racing?

I lavish in the same feelings of success or crumble in the remorse of failure hinged with the cadence of my foot strike.  The highs of winning my personal race are every bit as high as the runner standing on the podium and my failure is every bit as low as the Olympic athlete who comes in fourth.

Is my run against the clock racing, Is it really racing...HECK YES!