This is the Middle

Why is the middle so hard?

Back in my foolish days of cross-country running it was always the middle of the race, both psychologically and physically, that was the toughest part to endure. I have generally fond memories of the start: even though stripping down to a vest and shorts in the middle of January and feeling your appendage shrink to the size of a chipstick wasn't always a barrel of laughs, there was a great camaraderie on the start-line and during the early parts of the race.

I remember a race in University days when the temperature was below freezing and, seconds before the start, the sky turned black and we runners huddled together whilst being battered by a hailstorm. The marshals (brief aside: if sadism is your thing then find out how to be a cross-country race official) decided to start the race anyway, and it was hilariously good fun. For about fourteen seconds. On another occasion, I remember laughing hysterically at a team-mate who fell flat on his face in the first fifty or so yards, only to trip myself as I hurdled his prostrate body, face-plant just in front of him, and then bring down another runner by hauling myself up on his thighs. In a crowded field of about 400 runners, I somehow managed to avoid getting spiked. I'm not sure if the other two were quite so lucky. Good times!

The end is exhilarating too, of course. The finish is in sight, the crowd are cheering and you know the pain will be over in just a few moments. You sometimes even start looking forward to the next race as you pass over the finish line and enjoy the satisfaction of a challenge met and overcome, when just ten minutes earlier you'd been wondering why on earth anyone would subject themselves to such brutal agony.

But the middle. Oh the middle! The middle, to put it bluntly, is a bastard. The enthusiasm and fun of the start is a distant memory. The finish-line is an impossible dream. You're out there, by yourself, gasping for breath, legs screaming in pain, face often drenched in spittle or snot (yours or someone else's) and it's all you can do just to keep going. Can I finish? I daren't even think about the end yet. Okay, can I just make the next stride? Maybe. Yes, maybe I can manage that.

Right now, it feels like we're in the middle. Nobody really knows how much longer this lockdown is going to last, so mathematically it may or may not be the middle. But it feels like it. Five weeks ago I was enthusiastic and energetic, even looking forward to the chance to step out of life's current for a while. Now I find myself shouting at my five year old if he doesn't put on his socks quickly enough. Five weeks ago, maneuvering my trolley so as to keep a safe distance from other shoppers, and waiting patiently for an aisle to clear, seemed quite novel and charming, even fun. Now I'm forcing myself to smile and have to fight the urge to shout - "Sod this, who's up for a game of Aldi dodgems!"

The middle is tough. Physically and mentally it's hard. What encouragement is there to be had? Well, the most enjoyable part of the whole-cross country running experience was always the after-race social. We did it boys! Every one of us went through the same pain and suffering, and now we're here and we can laugh about it and it's brought us all closer together. Well, apart from that poor bloke who Joe Shepherd dragged to the ground...

Good luck with your middle everyone! One stride at a time. Don't even think about the finish-line yet. But do believe that you will get there.

PS - One of my favourite ever poems is 'Aristotle' by Billy Collins, which is very relevant to all this. Highly recommended!