Making my Self (a) Machine

Reflections on a Struggle, running the Great Scottish Run 2024.

This is a slog. A hard, painful, boring, slog. At times, it feels endless. Places feel endless. Will Paisley Road West never end? I see it before me, stretched out, as straight as a rule, until it disappears into the horizon.

Why are we doing this to ourselves? Why do we keep on going, minute after minute, step after step, mile after mile. My whole body, my whole being, is telling me, warning me, that this isn't good for us. This is damaging us. You can just stop. You can just stop at any time - no one is making you do this. You won't get into trouble if you stop doing this. Imagine how incredible it would be just to stop, right now, and to walk.

What is the hidden force that drives me forwards? Is it the shame of stopping, the shame of walking? The shame of failure? Is my ego that delicate, my sense of pride so fragile that to stop would - what? Mean that I was a failure? Is it sheer stubbornness, or pride, that drives me on? And is that healthy? Who am I doing this for? I tell myself that it's for me, for my own sense of self worth and achievement, but is not a part (even a small part) to show the world, I am strong, I am impressive, I can achieve things. You were wrong about me.

It requires my entire being, body and mind, working in unison to get me through this. I need my body to just keep on, putting one foot in front of the other in an endless, non-stop cycle, 15,000 repetitions. For even the slightest, most imperceptible inclines, I force my body to make micro adjustments - a raising of the shoulders, a tightening of my thighs, to make each intake of breath a tiny bit deeper, each exhale a tiny bit longer. I use each descent, no matter how minor, to loosen my legs, relax my muscles and allow the weight of my own body to propel me down the slope. I keep focus on my breathing, never allowing myself gulps or shuddering breathes, but limiting myself to controlled, regular, metronomic inhales and exhales.

My brain, I need to keep distracted. Focussing on the breathing helps, but it isn't enough. Like a person in distress, its attention keeps getting diverted to the pain and the suffering of the body. The ache in my legs, my shoulders, my thighs. The blister I can feel forming on the base of my big toe. The dryness in the back of my throat, that is slowly becoming a soreness. The sandpaper-chafing of damp clothing against armpit and groin. My mind keeps getting dragged into the negative, as it indulges in these pains. You're not going to win this race, so what's the point? There's no prize money for finishing. You're 1 person, out of thousands, tens of thousands. It makes absolutely no fucking difference if you finish this, or not.

I use that pain, the hurt. I use it as my fuel. I convert that toxic sludge into a cleaner fuel, a useful power, that my body can use. I make myself machine. I convert my distress, my pain, my fear, I convert it all, every last drop, to power me forwards, power me onwards.