Slipping up in our goals can be nothing more than a brief hiccup.
Halifax Marathon
Once per month, the Original Bootcamp crew (for their origin story, see the third marathon in Melbourne) would meet at the beach. It was just as we did at the park – lifting things, pushing things, jumping over things, crawling under things – but more difficult because now we were contending with Anakin Skywalker’s least favourite thing: sand. The sessions were brutal. I learned my body has more crevasses than originally thought. But we loved those early mornings next to the bay as the rest of the country awoke.
One of these mornings, as we warmed up, a member of our troupe mentioned his latest conundrum: his diligent diet had come to a stop last night. He’d slipped up. A five-week streak healthy eating and clean drinking had been totally demolished with a day of fried foods, alcohol and chocolate on the holiday. The guilt was written on his face. He lamented falling “off the wagon” and it weighed heavily on his mind.
At that moment, one of our most senior members – let’s call him Nick – turned and addressed him down the line.
“This isn’t a handbrake,” he advised, aimed at the guilty party but loudly enough for us all to hear. “This is a hiccup, and that is all. Your day yesterday doesn’t matter. All the work you have done still matters. As far as I’m concerned nothing has changed and you continue on with just a hiccup in the rearview mirror.”
There was silence as we all secretly soaked in the words. I could see it resonated for many of us. We all privately thought about our own journeys that had been interrupted before. Nick’s words were freeing: to know that a small misstep in a longer goal does not mean the journey has to be over.
And so with that in mind, after an emotional time in Washington DC, I was about to encounter my own hiccup in Halifax, for the seventh marathon.
Backwards and Forwards Against The Sea
Halifax sits on the eastern edge of Canada. It is remarkably positioned, almost halfway between the North pole and the equator, which keeps its climate milder and its natural harbour ice-free. Its history is baked in shifting territorial struggle; from the habitation by the first nations people, to the residence of the French and Acadians, and then the settlement of the British amongst ongoing resource trading.
In the month since my last marathon, I had relaxed my training. I had dialled back my running, skipped a few sessions at the gym, and attended a few birthday parties, weddings and work functions that allowed me to indulge in the fattiest of foods a more poisonous drinks. I was confident I could keep improving, given the growth I had felt in the United States a month before.
I was cruising now, surely. This would be a piece of cake.
I smelt the sea immediately as I entered the city and felt the ebb of history around me. The Citadel loomed high on the hill overlooking the harbour, and though I was no military man I could see the strategic attraction overlooking the channel flowing down into the heat of Canada. I picked a start mid-morning, letting myself sleep in. Wind low, sun high, the conditions were perfect. I was looking forward to another run with the sea to my side, so I started the watch with a smile on my face and set off downtown.
Time to crush it.
The first quarter kicked off well with laps of Point Pleasant Park. The large areas dedicated to off-leash activities meant plenty of four-legged friends joined me at my speed, bounding and sniffing along, running free until they were called back. The sun was out, the water was still, and I was breathing beautiful fresh air.
Turning off the park I headed back through the suburbs towards Melville Cove where I was met with the newest challenge in the Hundred City Run: hills. Lots of hills.
Queenstown was tough, but now I knew that it was nothing compared to this.
Up, down, up, down, the gradients of Halifax assaulted my legs. My pace slowed and my breathing heavied. Even the cars next to me were struggling. I cyclists attempting their own Tour de France-like heroics, and when I passed them I was glad to be on legs rather than not wheels. When I was given a downhill reprieve it felt bittersweet. In Halifax, what goes down must come up again.
Over the next twenty kilometres the ligaments around my knees seized to the point of no return. Memories of haunted days in New Zealand returned. Halifax’s beauty loomed around me and helped to distract at times, passing through sights such as Sir Sanford Fleming Memorial Tower, but I was paying the price for such views. Washington DC felt very far away. My breathing laboured. I downed my remaining fluids. The sun's strength grew and my body weakened.
But there was still the beauty to focus on. The trees and water crafted a perfect picture against the blue sky. I heard the light rustling of leaves as the air flowed around the hills, and despite the pain I was glad to be here. Cutting back through the city along the main roads was necessary to cross over the Angus Macdonald Bridge to Dartmouth, but I had been beaten into a walk back over it again.
In the final stages I felt my weaker lungs, legs, and core. I lamented the skipped gym sessions, and a few recent over-indulgence on burgers. As I finished, I felt gloomy. I had fallen back from my high point in the US, where I felt energised and powerful. I tried to blame the hills entirely, but I knew other factors were also behind it. I had got cocky. I thought I was invincible
I had dropped off thinking the results from here would take care of themselves.
When I stopped my watch, jogging slowly the last few metres of the Halifax boardwalk, I couldn’t help but that despite getting one marathon closer to that magical 100, I had taken a few steps backwards.
Reflection
Sometimes we are going to slip up. That’s okay, it’s natural. These journeys are long and arduous, so there is no doubt that we’ll have moments where we put a foot wrong on a path, trip over a route, and end up sprawled on the muddy ground, dirty and wet.
I certainly did here, and in hindsight I'm glad I did. This was a great lesson to learn.
But with the right mindset, we can make sure this is a hiccup, not a handbrake, just as my pal Nick wisely said. A wrong step in a journey does not need to derail it. The wrong exit on the highway does not mean we stop the car, get out, and abandon the trip altogether. If we can see it, acknowledge it and learn from it, then these hiccups are still just another method of learning.
A poor run does not need to be a reason to stop running. A bad meal does not need to end a diet. We can all get back track and continue the journey forward, making sure our slip up is nothing more than a hiccup.
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