Mud, resilience and what gets us through

“Look at me, I’m doing great!” (Spoiler alert: about 10 minutes later, I was not doing great.)

My legs were burning. My feet were soaked. My legs were caked in mud. I was also somewhat out of breath. I had just run 6.55 miles over steep hills, rocks, tree roots, puddles and icy patches. And I was standing at the start line, about to run the exact same course a second time.

I imagined most rational people wouldn't have been outside that morning at all.

The Little Patuxent River Run is already a tough course. It rolls over steep hills, rocks and tree roots winding through Patuxent Branch Park in Columbia, Maryland. I'd run it two years ago and knew what I was signing up for. Then an unprecedented winter weather system made the course impassable and forced the organizers to postpone the race for a few weeks. When we finally ran it, the new features included ice and mud. 

At the halfway point, the finish line was right there. The race organizers had told us at the start that anyone who wanted to end at the 10k mark would still get a medal. I seriously considered it. 

But I kept going anyway. I've never stopped in the middle of a race. I reminded myself I don't always do the safe, convenient, comfortable thing. I was confident my body could cover 6.5 more miles even if I had to walk them. And yes, I'd already trained, registered, paid and driven all the way up there. So maybe there was a little irrational attachment in there too.

At that halfway point, my confidence was in my physical ability to finish. The leap of faith was about how I'd manage it given how tired I was and how much harder the terrain had become. I went anyway.

I didn't enjoy every minute. But I'm glad I did. The weather was nearly perfect and the scenery was beautiful. I love the moments in a small race where it feels like you're the only person on the course. The fatigue afterward felt pretty typical despite everything. And a couple of days later, I felt genuinely energized just to be able to say I did it. It was the slowest and hardest half marathon I’d ever run.

Most of you aren't runners. But I suspect you know what it feels like when the course gets harder than expected and your reserves aren't what they used to be. That's where a lot of leaders are right now. Not burned out in the way we all found together during Covid, but navigating a level of complexity and uncertainty that keeps asking for more than the terrain originally advertised.

It's been a tough several months to start the year. You're going through some things, because everyone is right now. I wanted to share one example of my own. I see you.