The Comedown

Well done, you’re reached the finish line. Your back has been slapped and the medal hung round your neck. The warm glow of achievement makes you feel all fuzzy for a few days and you get to relate tales of mid-race turmoil and heroics to friends and loved ones.

In the flush of excitement that comes with the completing of a big event, what is often forgotten is what happens when all the bunting is taking down and the race medals are safely packed away. A lot of people find themselves at a bit of a loss and you’ll often see sportspeople of all types hastily signing up to the next big challenge in an effort to counteract the low that often follows the finish line high.

I’ll be honest, it’s where I find myself currently, dear reader. I can readily admit to you that emotional steadiness is a bit of an alien concept at TrainandScoff Mansions (outdoor pool, room for a pony). From my earliest memories, I’ve always been a bit of a slave to emotions (something I think runs though the family). The ‘emotion volume dial’ is consistently turned right the way up to +1, or down to -11, without much in between. Don’t get me wrong, I love being happy, and the sound of laughter is one of the greatest things known to humankind, but teamed with that I’ve never been able to shake off a certain melancholia that strikes at the most inopportune moments. 

Melancholy is rubbish – also known as being a mardy git. You try and fight it, but you can feel yourself slip into the darkness. In my own case, it feels like a bit of colour drains from the world and everything is a bit monochrome. I’ve got tried and tested strategies to get out if it, mainly involving retreating into my introverted world, listening to my favourite songs which always, eventually, makes thing seem slightly better. Not particularly helpful for those around me, but it works.

One of the reasons that I took to running so readily what that it was one of the few activities that even-ed my head out. The physical act of pounding the pavements was the one time when my brain became quiet and I could approach the world with some sort of clarity. Maybe that’s why I didn’t take to rowing so readily - the melting pot that is the squad environment is hard to take for the emotionally fragile. It was only when I had the stability of a good crew around me that I found I was able to flourish.

Reading various blogs from runners and other sportspeople, it’s clear I’m not along in all this, and I’m sure if you’d ask most they wouldn’t exchange the highs and lows for a general medium for anything. The highs can be so damn good. So, so good that they become addictive, you find that you live for and chase those moments. Is that why people strive for ever bigger distances? I hope not, because what happens when even the longest ultra-race doesn’t give you the ‘kick’ you are after.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. As I get older I get better at finding coping mechanisms. I fight back. I don’t always win, but I try my hardest. If I’m being a bit quiet, it’s nothing personal , just working through ma-shit. Will be with you shortly.