Popular culture leads me to believe that I'm not alone on this (and in fact provides the origin of the term). Holly Golightly from Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's did battle with "the mean reds," anxieties that came out of nowhere and made her fearful without knowing why. In the Beatles' 1968 animated film Yellow Submarine, the Blue Meanies were an army of music-hating creatures determined to turn the colorful, musical world of Pepperland into a dull and lifeless land of oppression and hardship. (Yellow Submarine is weird, you guys. It's weird.) And Matthew Inman, the genius cartoonist of The Oatmeal, has his Blerch.
|The mean reds, the Blue Meanies, and of course, The Blerch.|
We've all got these battles to fight, and if we're lucky we'll find the ammunition that works for us. Holly Golightly visited Tiffany's to soothe the mean reds. The Beatles drove out the Blue Meanies with music and love. And, like Matthew Inman, I can usually ward off my own meanies with a good long run. But there's a particularly cruel kind of meanie: the kind that wears running shoes, and is able to pace me out there, mile for mile. Running is usually an important tool for managing stress and anxiety, and when it becomes a source of it, it's time for me to slow down, let the mean thoughts catch up with me, and have it out.
I'm at the tail end of week 9 of training for the Ventura Marathon, where I plan to make an earnest attempt to qualify for Boston. It will be a stretch for me, requiring a 3:45 finish, and beating my personal record by 13 minutes. But so far training has gone well and I'm trying hard not to talk myself out of it, like I usually do. The 20-mile training runs get in my head though, and strangely, they intimidate me more than running actual marathons. I ran the first one (of four) three weeks ago, and it was difficult. I was uncomfortably warm, and had to stop toward the end to cool down more than I wanted to. But I didn't let it get me down (for too long), since there were three more 20-mile runs and ten more weeks of training to go. Yesterday I had perfect conditions for my second one, but still struggled through those 20 miles more than I expected to. I ultimately made my goal pace (15 seconds faster per mile than last time), but had to stop around mile 17 and give myself a pep talk at the water fountain, and was utterly drained by the time I finished. Another 6.2? Impossible. All afternoon the thoughts rattled around in my brain: You can barely make your training pace! How do you think you're going to be able to run 8:33 miles in Ventura? You need to put Boston out of your mind, and just accept who you are. I felt myself starting to give in to the meanies, letting them convince me again to give up on this long-time ambition.
But eventually it occurred to me: this is training. That wasn't the race. No, I'm not yet ready to run that 3:45 marathon, but I'm in a process here. I'm not supposed to be able to do it yet. I've come a long way from where I was nine weeks ago, and I am on track. Get behind me, meanies! I've got work to do.