Fear of getting lost on the trail

Fear of Getting Lost on the Trail.

During our preparation, many of us want to control the smallest details. We are vigilant about our diet, our sleep, and, of course, our physical preparation. We strive to complete our split sessions and long outings to the end, even if it means gritting our teeth. Regarding our equipment, we try to be as light as possible. Like most perfectionists, this extends to cutting out each label and any superfluous elements from our equipment.

Does this meticulousness really make sense?

Yes and no. Indeed, cutting the straps from your bag to shave off a few grams will have no impact on your performance. However, being precise and rigorous about details, from dietetics to training, including equipment, will certainly save you precious minutes or more. However, we must be aware that there are always elements that we cannot control. How do we react when we stupidly lose our way on the trail?

Fear of getting lost on the trail...

Getting lost is an unforeseeable incident that unfortunately cannot be prevented. In a race, we inevitably experience it as an injustice, especially when we aim for performance, and our detour benefits our competitors.

But getting lost is also an opportunity to work on oneself.

On Sunday, April 7th, we were 250 runners about to set off in the heart of the Faulcon Valley in the US for a 100-mile race with a positive elevation of 5,000 feet. The temperature was still cool, but the sky was clear, the perfect time to indulge in the joy of running. At 8 AM, we departed. I positioned myself at the head. Four runners followed me, 100 feet behind. We made good progress and started tackling a few series of stairs, technical descents, and challenging mounds. I felt good, very relaxed, almost imperturbable.

After 40 minutes, we arrived at a crossroads where two people told us to take a left. They were volunteers who took their time to help us, standing still in the cold. In this case, the volunteers in question chatted and paid little attention to our passage. We then walked along a long road. We no longer saw any markers, but we couldn't go astray since there was no other path we could have taken since the crossroads. So, we continued on our way.

After a few minutes, I still didn’t see any markers. It was strange. Then I turned around and was reassured to see four runners about 30 seconds behind me. A little later, I arrived at another crossroads, where there were no signs. I stopped running and went back to my companions. We discussed, trying to understand where we could have gone wrong. I insisted that we persist in this direction; the volunteers couldn't have been wrong. It would be absurd to turn around! However, one fact drew our attention: We had been watching each other for a few moments, and there were no other runners behind us.

We decided to turn back and return to the volunteers, who must have been about one and a half miles ahead. Obviously, the minutes passed, and our goals slipped away...

What was going on in our minds?

Resignation for some, anger for others—in any case, nothing very positive. Arriving at the crossroads, we discovered that we should not have taken a left. There were markers in a straight line a few meters behind the volunteers.

The two people who misdirected us still didn't pay us any attention. Without them, we would have taken the right path. In addition, we encountered many cyclists when we were on the wrong path. It would have been enough for these volunteers, once they became aware of their error, to ask a cyclist to alert us. A few words escaped us. I insulted both people. One of them responded, and things escalated. I lost my temper. It was a significant blow to my mental state. More than getting lost, I had a hard time accepting the fact that I had been treated with such nonchalance. It was difficult to see all the careful preparation being disrupted in such a short time.

Feelings of injustice and other states of mind overwhelmed me. I was also angry with myself for my reaction to the volunteers and for losing control. I started feeling ashamed of my poor attitude and behavior.

Shortly after, we were informed that the leader was 10 minutes ahead. We were around 40th place. I tried to ignore the incident and focus on the race itself. We would have to make a big effort to catch up. I wasn't worried, but I was still deeply affected. It was challenging to smile and remain as positive as usual. We knew we had to stay calm and gradually regain our momentum.

I learned important lessons from that day.

There is still much to learn about ourselves. My management of emotions seems to have room for improvement at times. It's crucial to remain in control, let go of resentment, not let external factors affect us, put into perspective what we immediately perceive as unjust, and create a sense of inner strength. Injustice, whether in sports like a wrong call in football or a collective fall in cycling, is part of the game. In a matter of moments, these incidents can wipe away all our hard work and effort.

Injustice is inherent in any sport and in life itself. It serves as a metaphor for life, teaching us to develop qualities that will benefit us in other aspects.

Sport is far from being an end in itself. It has taught me that there is no point in dwelling on our fate, complaining, or wallowing in our circumstances. Sport is meant, among other things, to develop our ability to bounce back after failure or setbacks. An unfavorable game situation doesn't erase our efforts; it only invites us to regroup, overcome disappointment, and keep moving forward.

Regardless of the outcome, whether finishing first or last, what truly matters is what we learn about ourselves as we traverse the path and maintain composure in all circumstances. We shape ourselves through life's challenges. Sport teaches us to master our emotions, confront obstacles and uncertainties, rise after every failure, and enhance our adaptability. When a race goes smoothly without any hiccups, we don't truly gain much. It's the experiences that test us that foster our growth and adaptive intelligence.

To learn more, visit: www.maximumcomposure.com