Running fever

A little over a week ago I was lying in bed, wrapped in cold sweats and dull-headed with the flu. Two weeks of antibiotics, cough and fever, accompanied by a resounding "don't go running" from my doctor. And yet, I look at the calendar and realize that in just seven days I have the Barcelona Half Marathon. What do I do? Cancel and stay at home? Or throw myself at the starting line with a body that has not yet fully recovered?

The sensible option would be to get off the train, wouldn't it? A month ago I would have subscribed to that logic without hesitation. But now, here I am, with a lump in my throat - and not just from coughing - and wondering: why is my head pushing me to run even though everything seems to advise against it?

"If you have after-effects from the flu and your body is not 100%, you could relapse," the doctor warns me, his tone stern. He is absolutely right. And, at the same time, I see myself with the bib already paid (well, I haven't paid it, it's an invitation from Brooks), with that little bug of "I don't want to lose the opportunity" and with a previous training that has been hard (before falling ill, I had a very good feeling). In addition, the illusion of stepping on the streets of Barcelona, that atmosphere that gives you goose bumps, tells me that, at least, try to jog it without forcing.

Running is a rare pact between sanity and emotion. At one extreme, we have the "don't mess up, don't be a donkey, listen to the doctor". At the other, my most irrational part, the one that dresses up in my bib and pushes me to the start without wanting to listen to reason. It's not that I feel like a superhero, or that I want to make a spectacular record. Simply, the idea of facing the Mitja seduces me. "It's okay, I'll run it slowly, without pressure," I tell myself. But I know that, in my inner self, I know myself: that competitive bug can arise at km 10 and trigger my breathing to limits that my body may not tolerate.

I've tried to "negotiate" with my mind. I say, "OK, we'll go 5:30 or 5:45 min/km. No stopwatch, no craving for a better time." And my head nods, reluctantly. I've done a couple of light post-cold runs: I haven't even gone 6 km, coughing, heart rate through the roof, feeling my legs heavy. I know I'm going to suffer, I know that for sure. But I also know that, in every race, there is a moment - maybe at km 15 - when the body stops complaining and the head concentrates on the meta. Sometimes, that has helped me to be reborn, even when I had very little strength left.

The dilemma is: do I do it even though I know that logic says "better not", or do I give in and stay home, risking feeling like I've wasted all the previous work? I could postpone "revenge" to another half marathon in March or April, but motivation is a fickle animal. Maybe, if I stay home, I'll regret it later. Or maybe I'll be glad I didn't push myself.

I've seen people sick running marathons (I don't recommend it, by the way), with a sore ankle, with a month of no training due to injury... and they finished the race. Is it really smart? Obviously not. But we run for reasons that are not always logical. We are driven by deep things that the doctor can't diagnose. The marathon or half marathon is not just miles; it's a small personal triumph against comfort, reluctance or insecurity.

"It's not about pushing yourself, but about being realistic with the pace," Raúl Lozano, our coach at RUNNEA, repeats to me. He looks at me with that look that mixes compassion and complicity. He knows that I'm going out for a run and that his role is to minimize the risk. He suggests a plan: warm up well, do3 km gently to see if my chest and breathing can hold out, and if I see that the coughing won't let me, I'll quit without regrets.

I guess, in the end, that's the key: listen to the body and, if it screams "stop", obey. The race bib, the registration money and the illusion should not blind us. We run to feel alive, not to jeopardize our health. I'm going to run the Mitja de Barcelona and I'll see how my legs and, above all, my chest respond. If halfway through I feel my pulse racing, I'll lift my foot or, worst case scenario, I'll quit with no regrets. Does it go against my pride? Yes, but it also reminds me that the real feat is not in crossing the meta at any cost, but in competing intelligently.

So why does our head tell us to run? Because running has become part of our identity. Because after getting over a bump in the road, we feel our confidence returning. Because we don't want to be left with the "what if?" doubt. And because, to be honest, many times running in suboptimal conditions has taught me more about myself than the races I did when I was 100%.

I'll leave the marks for another time. This time, my goal will be to finish with dignity, without compromising health, and with a point of enjoyment. When I cross the meta, if I succeed, I may not be ecstatic but I will have won the mental battle against the laziness that tried to chain me to the couch these two weeks. And sometimes that's what running is all about: winning battles against the mind, rather than against the stopwatch.