5K races: Why do they feel mentally harder than half marathons?
Standing on the start line of any race – especially when I’m vying for a faster finish time – I feel a twinge of anxiety pop up and, in my ear, I hear whispers telling me that something might go wrong. For example, I’ll miss my goal and all the hard work of training will have been for nothing, or I’ll end up slogging through the miles and regretting every step. Or, worse, I’ll find myself injured and sidelined.
These storylines have an even more negative tone when I’m on the start line of a 5K, rather than when I’m lining up for a longer distance like a half marathon. As I try to accept the fact that I’m going to feel uncomfortable (as in, really uncomfortable) for a solid 20-plus minutes, my mind tells me that the pace will feel impossible to hold.
When it comes to a 5K, I tend to taunt myself with the reminder that I need to chase a fast pace right from the start – with no progressing into it – if I want to get it done in record time. Unlike a half marathon, where I can settle into a comfortably hard effort before easing into the discomfort, every second counts in a short race. I essentially dread the feeling of sustaining a near-sprint speed and, because of that, even before I’ve started moving, I’ve told myself how much I’m not going to enjoy the 5K race. This, of course, only makes it more difficult to experience.
The plot tends to thicken when I’m in the middle of the run, as I question my moves: Can I really hold this pace? If I slow down, will I miss my goal? Why did I even set this goal or sign up for this race? How do I make the time go faster but my body feel better?
That’s the tricky thing about the mind. It can create a whole narrative about what might happen in the future, bringing you right out of the present where the atmosphere is light, lively and full of potential.
When talking to Mike Gross, head of sport psychology services at Princeton University and founder and director of TriState SportPsych, he mentions that the stories we tell ourselves about racing – such as when we’re on the start line of a 5K – likely come from previous experience with the distance and feeling the need to stack up to peers in terms of speed.
He also points out some major mistakes with my mental dialogue, both on the start line and throughout the race. In effect, I’m trying to combat my discomfort and talk myself out of it, which can actually make me feel worse. ‘We try to resolve discomfort or make it better by the process of thinking,’ says Gross. ‘But all we’re really doing is creating cognitive fatigue.’ Research shows that mental fatigue contributes to physical fatigue, so it only exacerbates the pain of pushing through.
The key, says Gross, is to pay attention to my stride, my sweat and my surroundings. He also suggests giving the pain and fatigue a one-word description (like ‘tenderness’, for example, or ‘soreness’) without trying to make it go away. Instead, it’s important to just lean into it.
‘We never have pain and fatigue in isolation. We have pain and we have the story about the pain,’ explains Gross. That’s why mindfulness is one of the go-to methods for treating pain. You can’t ruminate on it – you just have to sit in the present with it.
Those questions that I ask myself in the middle of a race basically show the story I’m telling about pain. Even if I can likely maintain a 5K race pace, I always tell myself that I’ll burn out in the process. However, if I were to stay more present and really pay attention to what I’m feeling in my lungs and legs, I might realise that I’m not as uncomfortable as I think and that I can not only hit my speed goals, but also enjoy the process of doing so.
‘The more willing you are while you run to allow yourself to be with the pain, and to be less caught up in the narrative of the pain, the more you’ll be able to tolerate it,’ says Gross, who adds that success lies in the acceptance of discomfort and the willingness to experience it. ‘Acceptance and willingness.’ That’s basically my new mantra.
Just by chatting with Gross about my mental struggles in a 5K, versus a half marathon, I feel like I have a new perspective on the distance, as well as a better mental script for the start line. The pace will certainly hurt, but I can handle it – and doing so will only make the achievement sweeter.
There’s one caveat to these mind games, though. ‘All of this is worthless if you don’t practice it, because we default to that escape mode of getting out of the discomfort,’ says Gross. He adds that you have to do the ‘bicep curls for the brain’ ahead of time, particularly during training.
Recently, as part of my race build-up, I’ve been working more on my mental playbook during speed intervals and tempo runs. Instead of dreading mile repeats at a pace much faster than my average, I’m trying to lean into the idea of being uncomfortable and learning to acknowledge how and where I experience pain and fatigue. I’m also focusing my attention on the trees and sky above me. In addition, I’ve been using the mental trick that Gross suggests: ‘When my mind says that I can’t go faster, I force my legs to do the opposite.’
I can’t say that I’m a professional at this yet. However, it has helped to snap me out of anxiety or anger – or whatever negative emotion pops up – and instead bring my mind to the positive results of the physical work. It’s also translated to a quicker pace (at least in some cases).
While I look forward to rewriting my mental narrative during speed workouts, I’m also excited to arrive at my next – and fastest – 5K with a fresh story to tell.
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