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Hey Everyone!
Yesterday I raced at the KVACs at Cony. Although it was my worst race this season and one of the worst races of my life, I realized there is a lot that can be learned from this experience.
I remember my first KVAC race as a freshman. I toed the line with a pang of nervousness, but the nerves consisted of excitement and anxiousness. So far, my season had been going well--much better than I had ever anticipated--but despite my success, I felt no pressure to win. In fact, the idea of winning the race was no more than a small possibility in the back of my mind. All I wanted to do was to go out and run; to experience the joy and challenge that a cross country race brings. In my sophomore year, I entered the KVACs with a similar mentality, although this time I did expect myself to win, but I didn't let myself dwell on the possible outcomes of the race. I arrived at the starting line calm and confident. During both of these years, I won the KVAC championship by about a minute. I broke the course record my freshman year, then bettered this record as a sophomore. (The KVACs are now held at Cony High School; they used to be held at the University of Maine at Augusta.) My success during my first two years of high school came not only from how physically prepared I was, but how confident, relaxed, and positive I was mentally.
As a senior, there are a lot of expectations and responsibilities. It's my last chance to do well in high school, whether in academics, extracurriculars, or sports. I've been trying so hard to end on a good note, especially because I know everyone is watching me. Even though I've felt "watched" by the local newspapers and community members before, adding college coaches to the mix is even more nerve-wracking. So, coming into my senior year, I wanted to prove how good I was, especially since last year I was injured. I knew that I would have some new competitors, like Erzsie Nagy and Bethanie Brown, and I acknowledged that they could be beneficial; they could help me run faster.
But the thought of racing tough competition during the KVAC championship--a race that I had won so comfortably earlier in my career--haunted me for a month prior to the race. I've never tried so hard to transform my outlook on something in my entire life. I tried to turn every negative thought regarding the race into a positive one, I read articles and excerpts from running magazines and books to help ease my anxiety. Despite my efforts, the day before the race, my stomach already ached with nervousness. I shivered at the thought of facing my fear of losing. In the hours prior to the race, I still endured a dull ache in my stomach, this time with the occasional stab of a sharper, more intense pain. Yet I still had hope that I might be able to succeed--not necessarily to win, I was trying to detach myself from the outcome--but to run the race with a positive attitude. Warming up, I envisioned myself running, confident, relaxed, and strong, even with a new type of incessant stomach pain.
I remained in the front pack for about the first half of the race. At first, I felt okay. I told myself to "be like water"--calm yet powerful--and focused on my form. I was proud to think that I might actually be able to finish well despite my nerves. However, at the top of the big hill in the second mile, my stomach pain returned, and it was more intense than ever. Immediately, my mind flooded with worry. My muscles stiffened. My legs were as heavy as rocks. I let doubt and fear inundate my thoughts. For the remainder of the race, my stomach pain combined with the negative emotions that it brought led to failure--in addition to Bethanie and Erzsie, two Camden girls passed me, and I finished a disappointed 5th (4th in Class B).
All of these girls are talented, strong runners who I respect very much, and in no way am I ashamed to lose to them. I just feel that yesterday's performance was not an accurate reflection of my abilities. Everyone has to have a bad day at some point, and yesterday was certainly mine. Glancing over the results, I realized that my time of 20:09 that I ran on the same course early in the season, uncontested and after a week of hard workouts--was close to the 1st and 2nd place times. I believe I am much faster now than I was a month ago, so I think I could have (providing my stomach cramps weren't there) improved upon my time.
My physical fitness is not the problem--all of my workouts have been great. I ran my track workout last week with Jason, the #2 guy on the team. In no way am I tired of running; every day I look forward to coming to practice, and I get psyched for tough workouts.
My problem is my confidence. I've been trying so hard to prove to others that I am the runner I was during my freshman and sophomore years when the person I most needed to convince was myself. Strong results don't just come from physical preparation but self-confidence and the belief in one's abilities. Stepping back and reassessing my season so far, I realized I have what it takes to build on my past success. That being said, my ultimate goal for my senior year is to regain my confidence. I believe that if I achieve this goal, I will achieve (or at least come close to) my other, more result-oriented goals.
When I came home from the race, I wrote down messages on post-it notes and stuck them around my bedroom to inspire me to have confidence in myself. I was almost finished when I remembered my senior quote I had chosen for the school yearbook: "Success is not final, failure is not final: it is the courage to continue that counts." --Winston Churchill
I never thought that this quote could have such relevance to my life until now. But I think it is a perfect explanation for what I plan to do. One bad race won't define my abilities, and neither will my past successes. I know I can be courageous, and I know I can be confident, and these qualities will guide my achievements in the future.
-Abby Mace
