Stoic Wisdom and Overcoming Pre-Race Anxiety
It’s Saturday, May 5th, 2024 - actually Sunday by this hour, and I’m lying awake in bed with a throbbing foot. Tomorrow is the Tamarack Ottawa Race Weekend, and I’m signed up to run the half-marathon alongside two friends. I’ve been looking forward to this race for months, but at this point, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to run it or not. The stress of the scenario is mounting as I inflate the importance of completing the event in my head.
Two days prior to this moment, I found myself working at my kitchen table, a daily routine. I have a persistent habit of tucking one foot under me while I work—something I am actually doing as I write this—allowing me to sit slightly higher and rest my elbows comfortably on the table. On this particular occasion, I had maintained this position for so long that my foot became completely numb, losing all sensation and blood flow.
When I stood up to take a step, my numb foot gave way, causing me to awkwardly step on its side. An audible crack accompanied my fall to the floor, and I immediately feared I had broken something as the throbbing and swelling began. I thought to myself, 'what a Loony Tunes-ass injury.'
Over the next two days, I diligently iced the injury and stayed off my foot as much as possible, though I continued to complete my upper-body workouts at the gym. Despite my efforts to remain positive, a nagging doubt persisted: if I couldn't walk without extreme pain, running a half-marathon seemed out of the question.
The Ottawa Race Weekend held significant meaning for me. I had been preparing my body and mind for my first Men’s Physique competition for nearly a year, during which my coach had primarily assigned my cardio workouts to the Stairmaster at my neighbourhood gym. As a runner at heart, I felt I was losing a part of my former self by focusing exclusively on weight training. Running had always been a cornerstone of my mental health, providing a means to connect with nature and let my mind wander freely.
Unbeknownst to my coach, I had been secretly training for the Race Weekend. I had concealed my participation in the event entirely (apologies, coach), knowing he would disapprove.
During this period of training, I also launched the business and website you are currently on. My passion for sharing my enthusiasm for running and weightlifting was so intense that it became an obsession. I saw the Ottawa Race Weekend as an opportunity to capture great running content—particularly photos of myself in action.
Over the past year, I’ve embraced Stoicism as a guiding philosophy. And while it is easy to practice Stoicism in moments of tranquility, such as while enjoying a morning coffee, its true value emerges during times of difficulty. As I lie in bed, tossing and turning, I am gripped by deep anxiety about the race. 'Why did I have to sit on my foot like that?' I ask myself. 'If only I could go back—' I stop myself.
Suddenly, an acute awareness of my surroundings floods my consciousness, and I realize I am existing simultaneously in the past and the future. This fragmented temporal state is depriving me of the peace and rest I need. I remind myself to experience the present moment and focus solely on what is within my control. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that the only thing I need to do is show up to the starting line. I remind myself that my injury was a morally neutral event. I did not get drunk and fall, nor did I get into a fight. What happened was a mere accident, a circumstance beyond my control. My focus must remain on the task at hand.
Regretting the past and fearing the future is futile. One can prepare for what lies ahead, but one cannot reason with fate.
When faced with the knowledge of an upcoming challenge, we have several choices:
We can experience anxiety in anticipation of it.
We can believe that it will work out in our favour.
We can focus on the process rather than the outcome.
Option one is undoubtedly the least desirable, as it involves indulging in panic. Option two may initially seem appealing, as it allows you to convince yourself that success is inevitable. However, this approach hinges on aligning your expectations with an outcome that is fundamentally beyond your control. While faith can provide comfort, it involves making a mental leap to accept something as fact that may or may not be true.
As someone who embraces adversity and challenge, I advocate for the third option. By dedicating yourself fully to the process and ensuring that you have given your best effort to every aspect of the task, the outcome becomes less significant. It transforms into another process to be mastered, rather than a source of stress or uncertainty.
Arriving at the starting line on Race Day alongside my friends, I still felt discomfort in my foot. However, once I began running, I discovered that the pain didn't hinder my stride. I pushed myself to my limits, focusing solely on the race ahead, and disregarded any physical discomfort. Crossing the finish line with a (Strava) time of 1:40:19—averaging 4:41 per kilometer—marked a new personal best. The sense of achievement was profound, a reminder of how needless my pre-race worries had been.
While I know that future challenges will likely provoke moments of panic and anxiety, I've learned the value of concentrating on the immediate task and focusing on what is in your control. I hope that this strategy may be of use to you the next time life throws an unexpected circumstance your way.
P.S.: I informed my bodybuilding coach later that I had completed the half-marathon at the 2024 Ottawa Natural Classic, when it became evident that I was the frontrunner for the best overall win. He appeared surprised but let me off easy. He has also allowed me to use running as my primary form of cardio moving forward.
