Why Negativity Is Not My Friend As A Runner.
For most of my adult life I was a miserable bastard.
I started off as a Goth.
Then I became one of those militant atheists who couldn’t bear to see anyone with a differing worldview to his own find joy in their own beliefs.
I would happily remind people about how life is meaningless and that our lives were just a charade.
I was a bit of a fucking dildo.
The point of this rant is to say that I’ve changed for the better.
For the past few years I’ve tried to find something to believe in and have since fallen in love with running.
Before all of this, I thought those who tried to embrace a positive mindset were somehow lying to themselves. That it’s futile to be a positive in an uncaring Universe as it all ends in the same way for everyone.
Thanks to running and the people I’ve met since then, I’m of the belief that it takes much more courage to actually try to find the positives in life.
To sit and gaze at your fucking navel whilst you live in the first world is absurd.
It’s a rut we can all fall into at times, but the bullshit we feed ourselves when we’re at our lowest is every bit as untrue as the bullshit spiel of the “positivity for life” brigade.
I’d rather not be positive or negative and just try and enjoy life as much as possible.
If that makes me a hippy then I’m a fucking hippy.
If the worst is true and life is essentially meaningless, then what’s wrong with creating a meaning that actually makes life fun?
You’re responsible for your own outlook and how that outlook will shape your life
I finished my final run for the Dublin Marathon today and I’m really on quite a high.
In previous marathons I fell into the trap of trying to find the fault in every run and went into each race thinking that the worst was gonna happen.
My beliefs weren’t based on reality or observation. It was all based on my outlook.
My problem is that I still sometimes have that negative outlook ingrained into me, as if the bad outcome is the only true outcome.
I’m not sure if it’s my Britishness or my Irishness showing through, but it’s a fucking lie and I’m disassociating myself from it completely.
The reality of the situation is that I’m as ready for a marathon as I’ve ever been.
On every single race I’ve ran so far I’ve assumed that the worst will happen. And it never has. I’ve always finished.
It’s time for me to accept responsibility not just for my own future, but also my own outlook for the future.
It isn’t going to be bleak. It isn’t gonna be shitty.
My nightmare of running a race in my sleep and having a mantug in the final mile isn’t gonna happen.
Most importantly – I will set a personal best on Monday.
Fucking hippie.