When I discovered that I had tested positive for COVID-19, I was preparing for my first competition for the Harvard Cross Country Team in Princeton, New Jersey. Fortunately, I was alone when I opened up the test results immediately after receiving them, as I had made a habit of doing. Minus the few hours spent in private transportation between Princeton and Cambridge, I would spend the next 9 days alone. Upon learning that I had COVID-19, I had merely a runny nose and was no more tired than I am on most days. Just two days before I had run in an intense aerobic workout of almost 5 miles at approximately 5 minutes per mile. By my second day in the Harvard Square Hotel, I barely had the energy to get out of bed.
During the back half of my isolation period my only remnants of the virus were some congestion and mild fatigue. Upon my release, I had been completely clear of any symptoms for days, and so the first activity I did after discharge was run. By the end of that run, I had to grapple with a reality with which I quite honestly have not come to terms: COVID-free as I am, this virus still has a hold over me.
Day one was alarming; I could barely breathe by the end of a run shorter and much slower than I had done at any point since arriving on campus. I could chalk that up to a lack of movement for 10 days though. But now ten days later I still am a shell of the runner I was just weeks ago. I felt like I was in the best shape of my life at the end of August. 18 miles at 6 minutes per mile was a breeze. 40 minutes at 5:10 per mile a difficult but repeatable effort. These days 40 minutes at any pace is a struggle.
At this moment my mind rotates between reflecting on a past of dedication and sometime-achievement, gritting through a harsh present, and wondering about an uncertain future. Proud as I am of the accomplishments I’ve made in this sport, I get sad knowing that my best days might be behind me regardless of how much I might put my head down and run through the pain, something I had become quite used to doing over so many years in the sport.
I thought back on all the times I had pushed through the pain, the tiredness, and the muck during the many races of my career, but also in just getting out there some days. I recalled the day this August when I ran at 5AM to ensure that I could make it on time for a childhood friend’s funeral. I recalled the week later that month where I slept for a total of 8 hours but still managed to get out every day. And I recalled the day last week when I knew that I just might not have it anymore.
In the midst of this recollection I had been asked by a friend at Harvard to speak to his little brother, a sophomore in high school, about what it takes to run in college. I was happy to do so, especially because I had been lucky enough to have that same talk with a now-graduate of Harvard who over his time at the College evolved into one of the best runners in the world.
In addition to asking me a series of questions on the recruiting process, the young man asked me when things had started to click for me in running. I gave him an answer that was probably more simple and less helpful than he wanted: things clicked for me when I came to understand that there are some things in running that you can control and some things you cannot. It was advice he has probably heard and I have definitely given time and time again.
Now at the mercy of the after-effects of a virus that has stunted – in many cases temporarily – the ability of professional athletes to perform in their sport, if I want to have any shot of returning to the level at which I was so recently, I have to turn back to the advice that my high school coach gave me years ago about controlling things I can control. I always saw that as a mantra to sleep the right amount, eat the right foods, and take care of my body overall. All of that still stands.
Though what I’m now realizing is that I have to relinquish control of my mind. If I’m going to have any shot of returning to my former heights, I have to stop looking to do it with mental fortitude. Some days are going to be tougher than others on the road to recovery. That’s a given. What I need now is to toss away the grit and the toughness. I don’t have it physically, I won’t find it mentally, but I can recover it emotionally.
After all, I am extremely grateful that I can get out there. And maybe thinking about what happened in the past is not such a bad thing. Extracting the feelings after hard work, progress, and achievement will ultimately prove essential for keeping me going when my lungs are burning and my heart is jumping. I must find the joy and the love for a sport with which I have traded so much. That right there could be the core of it all; though my heart is the problem, it just might be the solution.
The future remains unclear, and finding the love in the midst of pain and disappointment will not be easy. Yet, I will carry with me what a great man once said: “If destruction be our lot, we ourselves must be its author and finisher.” If I’m going out, you better believe I’m going out when I realize my heart doesn’t have it anymore. That’s not today.
Oliver Adler ’24 (oliveradler@college.harvard.edu) is going to get there someday.