Mirror, Mirror...

I read somewhere that speaking in obscure metaphors makes you sound smarter. So, well...

I think that the function of a race in the life of an amateur athlete is effectively that of a mirror.

When I say that, you may think I’m referring to a mirror's ability to reflect the truth. I’m actually being clever and referring to the exact opposite. A mirror will reflect one’s outlook, more than one’s look. Even the average cave troll sees good things when he stands in front of a mirror with optimism and hope in his malformed heart.  

Either way, I always see a greek god. Go figure.

Race results are reflections of training effort. They are what they are, but we can choose how we see them. In races, with exceptions, most of us step up to the start line knowing that we’re not going to actually win anything, in the generally accepted sense of the word ‘win’.

This puts us at an advantage, because it allows us to define our victories for ourselves. Hell, it allows us to pretty much take obvious, utter disappointment, shrug our shoulders, and shout “Success!”

I like to think that I have, after four years of relentlessly using the above method, become somewhat of an expert at self-delusion.

Yesterday, I ran the Airtel Delhi Half Marathon in a time of 01:23:55.

On the plus side, unless my math is wrong (as it often is), this is 01 minute and 44 seconds faster than my previous personal best of 01:25:39.

On the other hand...I am also aware that this is 03 minutes and 55 seconds slower than my preposterous primary goal of 1:20:00, besides being 02 minutes and 04 seconds slower than Ms Nell McAndrew’s time over the same distance. I am aware that I may be quite close to the last PR I will ever clock. Progressively faster race times have been coming to me with happy regularity so far, but this, too, shall pass. I am aware that I was unable to summon the resolve to train as well as I wanted to, this time.

Still, I call it a resounding win. It’s not, I know! It’s ambiguous at best. But good luck trying to sell me on that :P

What I choose to see, is that I ran my heart out.

That I ran among good people.

That I ran in a city that looked beautiful in the morning, on a road that felt like a friend. 

That I asked my body for more, and it gave me more than I asked for.

That there was flow and pain and joy and rage and doubt and euphoria.

And that, at the end, I felt like a goddamn prince.

If you choose, that is what victory will look like, no matter what the numbers on the clock say.