Confidence and cockiness

I have a particular strategy I like to employ when I’m attempting something new and outside my current comfort zones. I immerse myself in the idea and, as much as possible, surround myself in environments wherein the new idea is commonplace, old hat. It was what I did when I was pregnant and looking at homebirth; it was how I handled things like parenting and breastfeeding. Find the folks doing what I want to do and spend as much time among them as possible, just listening to them and absorbing their relaxed attitudes. It normalizes the situation for me and makes it less strange or uncomfortable.

I did this when I was a new runner, too, and when I jumped into marathon training. Now that I’m looking at my first ultra, it seemed logical to subscribe to a few listservs for ultrarunners, just to lurk, listen, and learn.

Well, it seems more normal all the time, listening to these people chat. Fifty kilometers, in fact, is starting to seem much more manageable each day, and I haven’t even started training for it. There’s just been one hitch about that, though, and it’s become my first resolution regarding this whole adventure. Confidence is a good thing and something I want to foster, of course, but…well, my first personal goal has become not to become a jerk. Because…wow.

An “ultramarathon” is technically a race of any distance beyond 26.2 miles. If someone organized a 27-mile race, it would qualify. In the more traditional sense, though, the shortest usual ultra is considered to be a 50K, about 31 miles, which is what I plan to run in July. I’m suffering no delusions in comparing it to a fifty or hundred-miler, but when I hear folks start saying things like, “A REAL ultra starts at fifty miles!” I sort of wonder whether they’re compensating for lack of length in other areas of their lives. This sort of “my race is better than yours” isn’t limited to ultrarunning; for some reason, a certain segment of people feel like their achievements are diminished when the field gets more populated. (Poor babies; somebody else got a medal, too!) It’s embarrassing – not because of a slower group of runners, but because of overinflated egos that also tend to be more vocal than they ought to be.

I got even more incensed when somebody on one of the ultra listservs wrote in asking about a support crew for an upcoming fifty-mile race, and another, more seasoned, runner had the gall to reply to the tune of, “A crew for a fifty-miler? What a concept…” Well, hurray for you! You sure showed that new runner! A real runner wouldn’t think of needing assistance for anything less than a hundred miles! A fifty-mile race shouldn’t require more than a fanny pack and a visor!

Again, confidence is great. I can remember when I was a new runner, barely able to get down the block without my heart feeling about to pulse right through my chest, and now I can’t imagine not being able to step out my door and go for at least an hour without much effort. A “short run” for me is four or five miles; I threw that Thanksgiving 5K in on top of my regular training without needing to compensate in any way. But here’s the thing: my confidence in my own abilities doesn’t require any sort of judgment of anybody else’s. Some folks are fast, and some are slow. I was slow, and now I’m faster, but I’m still just an age-grouper and will be lucky to stay there. It doesn’t stop me from cheering on slower or newer runners any more than it keeps me from rooting for Paula Radcliffe or Usain Bolt. Resentment isn’t in it. It doesn’t belong in it at all.

If I ever get so cocky as to mock another runner’s speed or skill, I hope somebody takes away my running shoes.

Hello, Holidailies.