SELF-WORTH
CELEBRATE YOUR OWN success
It’s time we reframed our perceptions of what it means to be successful and brought our inner dialogues in line with our external achievements, writes Anna Bartter
writes Anna Bartter
It’s fair to say I am not a natural athlete. The only thing my PE teacher ever asked me to do was babysit for her children, so when I started running as an adult, it was a big deal. After five years of jogging around the park, I began to dream of running a marathon. For years I had watched, breathless with admiration and vicarious nervous energy, as thousands of runners pounded the streets of London each spring. So, as I entered my 40th year, I decided I would start to say yes to things I had previously considered beyond my reach, and entered myself for the Brighton Marathon.
I’d been lucky enough to make some great friends through running and one of them, a seasoned marathon-runner, drew up my training schedule. It was realistic but demanding. He forced me out on cold, dark mornings to run 20 miles in the biting wind along the seafront, and pushed me to carry on when I felt I couldn’t take another step. The training was gruelling, but I felt proud each time I laced up my trainers. I was so excited for the day itself, and for months beforehand I had an image of myself triumphantly crossing the finish line.
When the day came, it was tough, but I was prepared for that. What I hadn’t prepared myself for was how I would feel as I finished. Rather than the tearful elation I had pictured as I crossed the line, I felt an immediate, crushing sense of failure. I’d missed my target time by seven minutes, and felt I had failed. Tired and alone, I just couldn’t see past missing my time. What should have felt like an enormous achievement left me feeling flat, listless and depressed. And it wasn’t a fleeting feeling that passed as I recovered my breath – it stayed with me. Friends visited and congratulated me, my parents, husband and children were proud, yet I felt utterly demoralised. More than that, I was angry with myself. Why wasn’t it enough?