Training From a Distorted Reality

When I close my eyes and think about the runner I am, I see a certain picture.

I see the highlights. The memorable runs with friends. The big weeks. The epic long runs. The version of me who could stack hours, climbs, and effort, and come out of it feeling strong and empowered.

But when I look at my training log from the past two years, the picture is different.

There are phases where I was only on the bike. Breaks from running because of two and a half broken wrists — half, because one turned out to be “just” a sprain in the end. There are overuse injuries. Cancelled adventures. More missed plans than completed ones.

Yesterday, while I was lying in bed just before falling asleep — or maybe I was already asleep — I had a thought:

I’m training from a distorted reality.

I remember those weeks. I remember how they felt. I remember being able to handle 10+ hours of running, with intensity sprinkled in, and still feel like my body could absorb it.

What I forgot is what it took to get there.

The consistent months and years before. No long breaks. Small niggles, sure, but manageable ones. Disciplined volume increases. Strength work. Mobility. The boring things that made the exciting things possible.

I was strong and resilient back then.

But I was strong and resilient for a reason.

Hidden Comparison

Most of us know that comparison can be a real problem in today’s connected world.

If you want to induce a feeling of inadequacy, you just have to scroll Strava, Instagram, or whatever social platform you prefer. There will always be someone, somewhere, who is faster, stronger, leaner, more consistent, more adventurous, or seemingly better at holding it all together.

Even if we know, rationally, that everyone faces their own unique challenges.

To escape that comparison game, you can reduce your time on social media. You can delete the apps altogether. Or you can learn to handle the triggers through reframing, awareness, and other mental techniques.

But the trickiest anchor for comparison might not be other people.

It might be our own memory.

Like the story I told above: my identity — or maybe more accurately, my self-image — still belongs to a different runner than the one I currently am.

And I can imagine this applies to many people.

• Coming back after an injury.

• Reaching an age where it is no longer about chasing new PRs.

• A professional athlete on the back end of their career.

• A couple welcoming their first child.

There can be a real discrepancy between who you tell yourself you are and who you actually are right now.

And without awareness of that gap, it can lead to real problems.

For me, I’m pretty sure some of my recent injuries were a byproduct of living in my old reality. I expected to jump from injury back into solid volume fairly quickly. But that is not how it works.

I need to start from where I actually am.

Of course, training history matters. It probably means I can increase volume a bit faster than someone who is completely new to the sport. But I cannot anchor my current training in the felt reality of two years ago, when I had spent more than a year carefully building up to that volume.

I stayed healthy at that level for long enough that I somehow started taking it for granted.

I forgot that I had earned it.

The Honest Check-In

Being honest with yourself about where you actually are is not weakness.

There is nothing to “tough out” here.

It takes real strength to look clearly at your current state: what you can still do, what needs rebuilding, and what might not be available in the same way right now.

I’m pretty sure my best years are in front of me.

But I also know they might not be if I refuse to take a step back and look at my current reality honestly.

Would I love to run 10+ hour weeks again in a month or two?

Of course.

Is that realistic from where I am right now?

No.

But if I do the essentials consistently, I’m confident it can become realistic again. Maybe in a year. Maybe sooner. Maybe later. The exact timeline matters less than the direction.

What leads us astray is clinging to a reality that hurts us more than it helps us.

Each of us has our own unique reality, shaped by experiences, beliefs, memories, injuries, successes, failures, and all the inputs we have collected throughout our lives.

I don’t think we need to question that reality every week.

But when something keeps going wrong, when the same patterns repeat, or when you feel like you are not moving in the direction you want, it might be worth asking:

Am I training from where I actually am?

Or from where I remember being?

Until next week.