I recently ran a marathon. And it was terrible. It was the
worst run I’ve ever had, and it was the slowest marathon I’ve ever run, second
only to the marathon that I stubbornly ran despite my torn calf muscle.
A marathon is 26.2 miles, and a lot can happen in those
miles. Runners twist ankles, fall, bleed, and acquire new and mysterious
injuries. Professional runners die
running that distance. Marathoning has become increasingly mainstream in the
last few decades, but it is not for the faint of heart.
My running partners and I set a goal of running a sub-4 hour
marathon. A sub-4 hour marathon is a 9:09 pace. It’s a good clip, but not
impossibly fast. This was to be my fifth marathon, and I felt confident it
would be my best. I knew my weaknesses, I knew how to train, I knew what it
felt like to push myself, and I knew how long those last 1.2 miles were after
already having run 25 of them.
I created a training plan, and bolstered by my enthusiasm
and the promise of blueberry pancakes, my friends and I proceeded to knock off
mile after mile. We ran up and down hills. We ran in the fog. We ran in the
sun. We ran past beach volleyball players with hateable bodies. You know—those
tan women with sun-bleached hair who make wearing a paper bag look like
couture. Yes, even distance runners hate
those people. To be fair, the lone male among us loved running past the
volleyball girls.
At mile 14 of the race, my last running partner dropped
behind me. I thought as long as she could see me, she’d keep up, but after the
race was over she told me she developed severe thigh cramping—something that’s
never happened before. At mile 14 I was about two minutes ahead of where I
needed to be based on the meticulously plotted racing strategy developed by my
sister, who is a 2:55 marathoner. (That’s the insane pace of 6:40 per mile. I
sort of hate her, too.)
Two minutes was a nice lead, but not enough that I could sit
back and relax. I wasn't worried that I had gone out too hard—my sister and I anticipated
this and figured any lead I had was padding for when something unexpected
happened up ahead. I just didn't expect it to happen in the next three miles.
By mile 17, I was behind schedule. By mile 20 I was running
12-minute miles. And by the time I saw the finish line, I was just glad to stop
running.
My husband and I have a code: he watches me race, and when
he sees me, he says “You’re doing great! See you at the finish line!” and I
answer “Yes!” This exchange informs him that I’m fine and planning on finishing
this run, no matter what. As he says, “You better show up.” Not finishing this
race didn’t even cross my mind.
When I look back on this race, all I can say is that it got
very hot and very humid very fast. My training was great and I didn’t suffer
any unexpected injuries. You can only do so much planning for the weather. The
week before the race, my friends and I knew it was going to be hot. We drank
extra water every day to stay hydrated. But you can’t train for a marathon the
week before the race. By that point, if you haven’t done the necessary work, it
is already too late.
It is disappointing to set a goal and not achieve it, but this
marathon wasn't a failure. I finished the damned thing, and I did so with the
support of my husband, my sister, and some good friends. It was okay that I
didn't meet my goal, because my family and friends were still proud of me, and
I was, too.
Virginia, you are amazing in every way. You handled what turned out to be one frustrating run out of how many you have done with style and grace. Not to be cliche, but you ran that marathon. It could have "ran" you, you know? You have true inner strength, and the marathon is just one of the ways you express that strength. We are all so proud you, running or not, running fast or not, walking or not, injured or not.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Amber! Great work!
ReplyDelete