What could possibly go wrong?

What could possibly go wrong?

I have always been a sucker for self-help books.

Think yourself rich. Think yourself thin. 

Think yourself able to run 42.2 kms?! Mnnn. . . maybe not 

While I am generally a positive person, I am under no illusions that positive thinking alone will get me over the line for 42.2 kms. So I have been thinking about exploring other mindfully helpful options.

A book I read recently suggests the complete opposite. It’s a book based on Stoic philosophy that recommends a practice called ‘negative visualisation’. The theory is that you will be happy in your life if you practise thinking the worst. As in, if you ‘think negative’ (like worst possible scenario) then you will at least be prepared when bad things happen.

According to this book, before embarking on a marathon, I should be asking myself:

What could possibly go wrong? What obstacle could pop up? And where might I face some difficulties? 

Lately, I have been having dreams about turning up to the marathon in my PJs on the wrong day, so I guess I am already halfway there. 

But what else could possibly go wrong in a 42.2 km race?

Turns out quite a few things, when you look hard enough.

There is the obvious worry about dehydration. Does anyone remember the poor Scottish guy collapsing from lack of water just 2 kms from the finish line at the Brisbane Commonwealth Games. Not pretty!

And then, of course, there are all those websites devoted to stories about people who have pooped their pants at the 38km mark. That still remains a significant possibility.

But there is other scary stuff too.

Like:

Blisters

And black toenails

And chafing

And footwear pains.

And missing  planes.

There is sleeping in.

And catching colds.

And forgetting to register.

And losing safety pins.

There is getting dehydrated

Or over-hydrated (yes! That really is a thing!)

There is running out of food.

Or rolling your ankle.

Or tripping on roadside cones (I’ve done that one already!) 

There is getting run down by a bus.

Or losing your shoes.

Or taking a tumble. (Done that one too!)

There is keeling over for no obvious reason.

Or losing your memory. 

Or tripping over a cat.

Or getting cramp.

There is choking on a jet plane (both real and the lolly kind).

Or completely losing the will to live with just 10 kms to go.

And then there is the weather. . . 

It might start to hail

Or become unimaginably hot.

There could be a tornedo.

Or gale-force winds.

Or a torrential flood.

The organisers could run out of water. (That has definitely happened before).

And what about all the body parts that could get fractured or broken or sprained. 

What about the tendons that rupture, the noses that bleed, the muscles that pull.

What about the faces that plant, the knees that skin, and and the shoulders that dislocate.

Oh yes. . . There are all manner of injuries that could stop you in your tracks.

And when you stop to think about it. . .

The list could just go on. . . and on. . . and on. . . 

But it’s getting late.

And I have my last long run planned for tomorrow. With the daughter. 

And now my head is full of doubt and catastrophe. And negative visualisations too horrific to mention. I am doing well. So I head to bed early to give myself time to think about other possible unforeseen challenges that I should be prepared for.

And in the morning, I awaken, ready to face the worst.

Only, when I look out the bedroom window, I am actually not in the least prepared for what has befallen us. Two inches of Spring snow has snuck quietly in overnight. What a fright! And the temperature is sitting on minus two. Which means the route we had planned to run will not be possible.

Oh well., nothing a few woolly hats and gloves won’t fix. (If only I had packed them!)

I guess these are the obstacles I was reading about. The challenges I should be ready for.

After much deliberation we decide to drive down the hill to Ranfurly where the snow will hopefully be less thick. I don’t mind admitting, this snowfall has really put me off my stride. And now I am humming and haaing over how many jackets I might need and if anyone has some gloves I could borrow. And what will happen if I trip on the ice or get overcome with hyperthermia..

“I think you might need to just chill out a bit, Mum,” says the daughter, pulling on her snugly hat and stuffing her near-blue fingers in her jacket pocket. Then, she gives me a quick wave before trotting off, down the road, at her usual cracking pace.

We have planned to meet back at the car in two hours time.

Ninety minutes later, I am jogging quietly along in the middle of nowhere, when my cell phone goes. 

“MUM!”

This time the daughter is not sounding quite so chilled. 

“I think I’m lost.”

“Lost?”

She is sounding slightly distressed so I don’t want to labour the point. 

“YES! LOST! As in having no idea where I am!” 

“You must have gone down the wrong road,” I say.

“I must have,” she groans.

But there’s not much I can do, except wish her luck and hope she finds her way back to the vehicle before dark.

“Don’t be scared of help from strangers,” I say.

Two long cold hours later we both made it back to the truck, warmed up but weary, with the daughter only slightly worse for wear after her disorientating ordeal, after running about 8kms more than she intended.

The day has certainly not panned out in the way we had expected. In fact, quite a few things went wrong in the end.  There were unexpected challenges, obstacles and unanticipated difficulty. 

“I think you jinxed us, Mum,” says the daughter.

“Maybe I did,” I say.

And you know what? 

I think I’ll stick with positive thinking after all.