On a frosty and cold fall morning in November of 2020, I started to “n”deavour towards one of my bucket list goals: To run a marathon.
When I started, my only goal was to start running again after almost half a decade of being away from it. Those first runs, and many after, were hard. On most runs, I remember the cold air filled my lungs and stopped them from breathing deeply. I remember my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest. I remember that first run where my limbs felt stiff and uncoordinated and running 500m felt like I was climbing an elevation comparable to Mt. Everest.
Then an opportunity presented itself. I wasn’t planning on signing up for any races, but I decided, why not, carpe diem. And so I signed up for my first marathon, a virtual one, but a marathon nonetheless.
Lesson 1: Never be embarrassed by your achievements no matter how small they seem.
I commend everyone out there that makes the commitment to run. And not just a marathon distance either. One kilometre can feel like a marathon as much as 42.2km and can involve the same mental and physical commitment needed in training.
Give kudos to yourself regardless of the challenging situations life likes to throw your way especially when you’ve JUST recovered from the last disparaging roadbump. When I started training in the spring, I was adjusting not only to going back to work after maternity leave but also a third wave (and lockdown) of COVID in the city, a job as a frontline worker and a little potato who did not want to ever sleep at night. Throw in some oppressive heat in the summertime, a little bit of iron deficiency, and long work hours, and my running goal seemed almost impossible.
I often questioned if I would even be prepared for race day.
In true obstinate nature, the notion of spending money on a race and not even attempting the race was my most motivating factor. I decided that if I had to crawl (not ideal) to 42.2km, I would.
Training is not all roses and that’s OK. Some weeks I ended up skipping training runs and only running my long run. Other weeks, there was no long run but a couple of training runs. Was this ideal? No. Would I recommend it to anyone as a safe and appropriate way to train. Probably not. But I did what was right for me to keep the goal of running in the forefront and also to keep running enjoyable and as a means to relieve stress rather than induce it.
After about 20 weeks, I made it to race day.
Lesson 2: A good plan leaves room for the unplanned.
I like to think of myself as good planner. The hard-working ant in contrast to the lazy cricket in the fable, postulating all probabilities and being prepared fo each. In my mind I would wake up early and complete the distance in a self-imposed 6.5 hour time limit so I could move onto my next commitment (pre-wedding events for a family member). I was ready with the right clothing, extra fuel and hydration in my vest, and a support person who I envisioned would ride along beside me in the latter half to provide fuel/hydration and encouragement. In my mind, I pictured the gradual downhill route I had done many times before and crisp fall weather with a faint cool morning breeze cooling me off when needed.
But every runner knows to be prepared for a derailment. And mine was huge. My kids got sick. I didn’t quite break in the new pair of shoes to the point I wanted. It was unseasonably warm (18C/65F at 4AM to be exact). My support person got sick too but was kind enough to drag themselves into a car and follow a different course near the road instead of on a bike to keep me hydrated.
And so I went to sleep the night before calm but worried, knowing there was not much more I could do.
Lesson 3. Never underestimate the power of an uninterrupted sleep. Or empty pre-race bladder and bowels
I slept well the night before the marathon. I had planned for an empty house free of potential sleep regressions, night time pee accidents, or small humans waking me up for any other reason.
And I had no interruptions in my morning routine which left me feeling good and not only physically but mentally ready that there wouldn’t be any unforeseen stops in the woods or to the nearest gas station.
I felt ready.
With my playlist queued and my headlamp on, I set out to run 26.2miles.
For the first 9 miles, my body was on auto-pilot. With each step in sync with the rhythm of each song and attuned to the familiar scenery of the route, my confidence kept building. I felt strong in the quiet hours of the morning as my tracker continued to announce each passing mile. I was aware of each step and the steadiness of my breath as I watch myself pass house after house, street after street. Aside from a few hopping bunnies and one questionable skunk who was set on pointing its rear end at me while I quietly tried to pass it (luckily no spray), the first 9 miles were comfortable. They were almost second nature, an old predictable friend who left me feeling energized in our interaction.
I felt good running into mile 9. But mile 9 is where the unknown started.
Lesson 4: Dig deep when you have the mental fortitude to do so.
With the streetlamps starting to paint the dark sky a sepia tone, I embarked on an uncertain route at mile 9. It didn’t help that there was an extremely steep hill to climb and that I was starting to run out of water because of the abnormally warm weather. I slowed it down, and walked a little longer after my refueling break until I found myself on a downhill again. I called up my support person to meet me a little earlier around mile 11 instead of mile 13. With a good refueling break, I was ready to tackle the next few miles. And so, the course from mile 11 to mile 16 was fairly uneventful.
The sun came up behind the overcast clouds as I rounded through mile 17 and 18. I even encountered We Run North York 5k group on their weekend morning run.
And I dug deep and readjusted around mile 19 to keep going despite the rain starting and things starting to fall off the rails…
Lesson 5: Tears are not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength.
When I was a teen, I never understood why people felt the need to scream on a roller coaster. To me, it felt forced as if it was something mandatory to do when you got on one. But one day, I went to an amusement park and as I rode up to the apex and came barreling down, I let out the most primal scream that came from the depth of my being. I never meant to scream, it was a manifestation of pure emotion overriding any reason or logic.
And just like the primal scream of the roller coaster, during my marathon, the tears that came out around mile 22 were no different.
As the rain started around mile 19, I started to feel a familiar stiffness in my knee and a slight rubbing on my foot. In an attempt to preserve movement and avoid blister formation, I slowed myself down to a run/walk for the subsequent 2 miles.
By mile 21, I was walking.
By mile 22, it was an impossibility to get my body to lift my legs and move faster than a walk.
It’s a surreal feeling when you are trying to make your body do something that it has decided to rebel against. I wanted to move faster but my knees declined to bend and lift my feet. I was hydrated and fueled but just couldn’t push past a slow shuffle. I felt the physical impossilibty of moving faster yet wanting to move faster.
I couldn’t even stop and rest or stretch as the clock was against me.
That’s when the tears just started. Alone on my route (my support person at this point, barely alive themselves, had driven ahead to park somewhere and rest until I needed them again), I felt a feeling of pure hopelessness. A feeling so strong, I was ready to just give up with just a little more than 4 miles left. I became my own worst enemy with my thoughts telling me to quit, to give up, that I would never be able to move myself to that 26.2 mile marker. That it was not worth the pain, the struggle, and that someone should just come pick me up and take me home.
I’m not usually this negative but just like the rollercoaster, my mind when to a visceral place devoid of logic and reason and released itself.
The streets were empty and there were no words of encouragement, no cheering, no physical presence to help me dig deep. The thought of all the hard work I had put into this over the spring and summer fueled the wrong non-motivating emotions.
So I cried. A deep sobbing cry with warm tears rolling down my face. A cry that didn’t make sense to how I felt and what I knew I could do. A cry that on the surface looked like weakness but was in fact, a release of all the emotions I couldn’t truly emote. A cry that came from a place of rock bottom.
I felt depleted and dysfunctional and alone.
But I wasn’t alone.
As the rain came down and my stiff joints and muscle rebelled, I picked up my phone and called my support person to tell them how I was feeling. And within a few minutes, they were driving beside me and stopping every few hundred meters.
As the rain came down and my hot tears landed on my screen, I saw the numerous words of encouragement and friends who were cheering me on.
As the rain came down, I dug deep, and found not tears of weakness but tears of strength realizing that in the flames of utter despondency, there is a spark that ignites hope instead.
As the rain came down, my tracker told me that I had two miles left…
Lesson 6: You are amazing and awesome and doing a great job!
With two miles left, I mustered whatever strength I had to shuffle myself to the finish. I wish I could say I had a valiant story where I pushed through the pain to spring to the finish line for a glorious victory and photo finish.
In fact, it was pretty anti-climactic.
I walked myself as fast as I could and finished in the middle of a down hill portion.
I miscalculated the distance of 26.2 mile in changing my route and so I was still 800m from home when my tracker told me I was finished.
And so I continued on, bladder full, sweaty and tired, feet damp and full of blisters feeling a little defeated.
I had finished 26.2 miles but didn’t feel like I had accomplished anything.
That is until I saw a couple of potato heads over the hill with a sign cheering me on.
While it wasn’t motivational or inspirational (The sign said “stop momma” as if there was a fear I would just run past them!) It gave my 20m hobble a little bit more fuel to finish.
Tears started again but for different reasons. The realization that I had completed a marathon set in. That I was more capable than I thought. That I was a role model for my kids and for future me in times of uncertainty. That I DID do it.
I ran (and walked) a marathon.
I completed it within the 6.5 hours I gave myself.
I am a marathoner.
The Last Lesson
I think that my Instafriend @duck_trails said it best. I’m paraphrasing (especially as she said it eloquently), but the marathon distance is a labour of love. it is intentional and deliberate. It is a journey of self discovery. It is a feat of dedication and strength in the face of uncertainty and possibility of minimal return. It is truly a privilege.
And I agree with everything she said. While I will likely take a break from long distance running, the last year has taught me a lot about my relationship not only with running but with myself.
I have learned about what I’m capable of.
I have learned what brings me joy and what is important to me.
I have connected with other in the running community and have enjoyed seeing each person reach their potential and passion.
I have discovered more about not just who I am as a runner but who I am as a person.
And so my last lesson to you is that you can do it, you are a runner and you are more prepared for any running endeavour than you think. Reach high despite what you think your capacity is because you’ll surprise yourself and find more than ample support on the way.
And remember, you are amazing, and awesome and doing a great job!
N
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