I don’t know many runners who haven’t been scarred by running at some point.
Injuries. Bad races. Poor influences. Mental health & addiction.
Whatever it is, running leaves an impression.
Lifelong runners have seen both sides—the highs that keep you coming back and the lows that make you question everything. They’ll tell you about the good ol’ days, but they’ve got just as many stories about the bad ones.
The truth is, if you run long enough, you’ll hit roadblocks that make you wonder if it’s still worth it. Maybe you’ve even asked yourself whether you should still call yourself a runner. Plenty of people have stepped away from the sport for that very reason—and never returned.
I wish I had all the answers to avoid these moments. But I don’t. I only have my own experiences. What I do know is this: how you handle these rough patches will shape not just your relationship with running, but a lot about who you are.
When Running Becomes Too Much
I’ve had my fair share of setbacks—injuries, bad races, and external pressures—but my biggest battles have been the ones in my head. More than anything else, my own mind has dictated my relationship with running.
For a long time, running was my anchor. When everything else felt unstable, I could at least rely on progress in training. But there’s a problem with that—putting too much weight on one thing. I don’t believe any single activity should define you entirely. When it does, you’re just flipping the hourglass. Eventually, the sand runs out. And when it does, the very thing that once gave you stability starts to crack under the pressure.
I’m no therapist, but I’m sure there’s a technical term for this—something that explains why hinging your identity on a single pursuit is a bad idea.
And yet, we do it. Whether you're a beginner or one of the best in the world, runners have a way of overcommitting emotionally.
The result? The sport that once built you up eventually chews you up and spits you out.
You can't get away with this.
How I Got Out
Recognizing the cycle was one thing. Doing something about it was another. Here’s what helped me regain or perhaps I should say, relinquish control:
I stopped caring about the numbers. It’s easy to obsess over mileage, splits, and weekly totals. I let that go. Instead of holding myself to rigid paces or fixating on graphs, I started paying attention to feel and effort—doing the work but letting the numbers fall where they may. Don't get me wrong, I'm still trying to run fast and accumulate a high sustainable volume, but there is no set number on that or goal that is pass//fail.
I put myself in healthy situations. I joined groups of runners who shared my competitive drive but also kept things fun. The right people make a difference—not just for performance, but for staying sane in the sport. I have to actively put an effort into seeking out other runners because I am very much content to be a solo runner, but I've found that by being too much of a solo runner, I also put too much pressure on myself and my performance.
I stopped caring what other people thought. Nobody is watching your every move. Nobody cares if your Strava graph has a dip or if you didn't run 20 miles that weekend, if you took a rest day, or if you bombed a race. A lot of that pressure is self-imposed. The sooner you realize that the freer you’ll be. For some people "social media" apps like Strava can be more hurtful than helpful - kudos can be killers.
I adjusted my expectations. It’s easy to dream big—to imagine PRs and breakthrough performances—but not every race is going to be a personal best. If you measure success only by how fast you run, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Pressure doesn’t always make you better. In my case, it made things worse. For a while, I simply stopped caring. Simple as that! If I could convince myself I didn't care, well, I actually got more out of myself!
I raced more. So what if you’re not in PR shape? Go race anyway. The idea that you need to be 100% ready is a myth. You never will be. Just get to the line. I've ski races if sick, but I rarely skip races because I was not "ready" enough. Some people take it as a big knock to their ego if they didn't run the fastest they've ever run, but I encourage those people to take a look at most pro runners in the early parts of their seasons. Usually, those aren't PR's but those races are crucial stepping stones that help them improve throughout a season (and gain race experience).
I faced it head-on. I’ve done OCD counseling, specifically Exposure Therapy, which forces you to confront the things you fear instead of running from them. Running works the same way. You don’t get past the rough patches by avoiding them. You have to show up, face the discomfort, and keep moving forward.
A Constant Work in Progress
But here’s the thing—I didn’t just “fix” my relationship with running once and move on. This is something I have to review with myself regularly. The closer I get to a key race, the more invested I become in my training, and the more I have to remind myself of these things.
It’s easy to slip back into old habits, to start measuring my worth by numbers and results, to put too much pressure on myself. Staying balanced takes effort. And just like training, consistency is everything. You also have to be true to yourself and ask yourself the right reasons as to "why" you're doing what you're doing. What end are you trying to get to? Are you doing this for your health and performance,
or are you doing this to fill gaps?
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