Some might say that I matured as an athlete today. Part of the distance runner’s natural evolution is inherently to run a marathon. Not all runners follow the flock and make it to this distance, but many of us are lured by the unknown lurking beyond the 20 mile marker, or as in my own case, are simply peer pressured into doing it.Alright, it wasn’t so much peer pressure as peer influence. When you’re surrounded by veteran super-athletes and motivated iron-people, running a marathon begins to seem like the kids fun run. And I was a bit curious about the so-called ‘wall’ at 20 miles that people go on about.
I lined up at the start, slapping my legs down like a sprinter, which is silly, but ritual…
At 10:05 the Sheriff of Nottingham fired the start pistol.
And we’re off. Here I was, amidst thousands of runners, all different but alike in that certain quirkiness that defines the endurance athlete. At the very least we were all sweating it out under the same sun to cross the same finish line by the end of the day. I was stoked!
I soon settled comfortably into a pace just above my typical easy run and simply took in the scenery. The first half of the race was incredible, taking us through the Nottingham University Campus, off-road through undulating park trails, cross-country through pastures and past grazing horses, along the canal where rowers were coasting, and always under the shaded canopy of browning trees.
At the half-marathon marker, I had run a solid 1:37 or so, lining me up for a decent time in the full, even if I slowed substantially. And this I did.
What went first?
It wasn’t my legs.
Thanks to the power-goos I was slurping ever 5 miles or so, I was feeling strong.
It wasn’t my head.
At the pace I was comfortably holding, I was still thinking positively.
But at about 19 miles a severe pain in my right foot took me out.
It was as though I had tried to kick down the “20-mile wall” with the ball of my right foot.
Shit. Now what do I do?
I decided to walk it off for a mile or so, then hobbled in the remaining few miles, managing a decent time in the end. Still it was rather frustrating, crossing the finish line at 3:33. My half-mar split was 1:37. You do the math. Ouch. Yeah.
But in a way, I am glad I got my ass kicked. It’s sort of part of the right of passage. It was this point in the race that was most transforming, when my stamina and courage were truly challenged, and when I was attuned to other hurting athletes, just trying to make it to the end. It was here that I thought and grew and learned.
I feel a bit defeated, but this is alright.
For consolation, I dragged my insulating tin foil blanket behind me all day like Linus from Charlie Brown.
I also lined up for a leg massage from one particularly good-looking physiotherapist.
Shit. Now what do I do?
I decided to walk it off for a mile or so, then hobbled in the remaining few miles, managing a decent time in the end. Still it was rather frustrating, crossing the finish line at 3:33. My half-mar split was 1:37. You do the math. Ouch. Yeah.
But in a way, I am glad I got my ass kicked. It’s sort of part of the right of passage. It was this point in the race that was most transforming, when my stamina and courage were truly challenged, and when I was attuned to other hurting athletes, just trying to make it to the end. It was here that I thought and grew and learned.
I feel a bit defeated, but this is alright.
For consolation, I dragged my insulating tin foil blanket behind me all day like Linus from Charlie Brown.
I also lined up for a leg massage from one particularly good-looking physiotherapist.
This helped too.
I also got a boost from a veteran runner I met from Liverpool, who today completed his 56th marathon. Next month he’s heading to Spain for number 57. He’s run as fast as 3:06 and as slow as 4:15. He is nearly 60 years old. He offered some consolation and was eager to encourage me, a marathon rookie to keep at it.
I marvelled at this. How inspiring! Here, a man twice my age! Even still, I found the marathon distance and the training leading up to it excruciating and have no plan to redeem myself by entering a second full marathon anytime soon. Not even during my post-race delirium, when the endorphins were high, before the legs were giving out and the chills were coming on, was my reason distorted enough to consider giving it another go.
But really deep down, I’m sure there’s another one in me.
I haven't thought about it any longer though.
First I need to recover from this one.
After the massage, I made my way home.
Ate a heaping plate of food and half a chocolate bar.
Dragged my body up thirty-one torturous stairs to my bedroom.
Had a nap.
Woke up and vomited.
Replaced the lost nutrients with a second meal and the remaining half of my chocolate bar.
Fell back asleep.
I also got a boost from a veteran runner I met from Liverpool, who today completed his 56th marathon. Next month he’s heading to Spain for number 57. He’s run as fast as 3:06 and as slow as 4:15. He is nearly 60 years old. He offered some consolation and was eager to encourage me, a marathon rookie to keep at it.
I marvelled at this. How inspiring! Here, a man twice my age! Even still, I found the marathon distance and the training leading up to it excruciating and have no plan to redeem myself by entering a second full marathon anytime soon. Not even during my post-race delirium, when the endorphins were high, before the legs were giving out and the chills were coming on, was my reason distorted enough to consider giving it another go.
But really deep down, I’m sure there’s another one in me.
I haven't thought about it any longer though.
First I need to recover from this one.
After the massage, I made my way home.
Ate a heaping plate of food and half a chocolate bar.
Dragged my body up thirty-one torturous stairs to my bedroom.
Had a nap.
Woke up and vomited.
Replaced the lost nutrients with a second meal and the remaining half of my chocolate bar.
Fell back asleep.
Woke up. Ate a third dinner. Wished I had saved a piece of that chocolate bar.
Admired the archer on my fancy medal.
Admired the archer on my fancy medal.
Took a picture of it.
Thought to myself, “Holy shit, I ran a marathon.”
Hung up my runners and called it a day. A long day.
Thought to myself, “Holy shit, I ran a marathon.”
Hung up my runners and called it a day. A long day.
