Nothing like your 20th marathon to humble
the shit out of you. That thought started running through my mind as early as
mile 10. It didn’t matter how many countless times before I’ve run this
distance. My body wouldn’t cooperate. It was a fight right from the start, and
I knew it. This race was entirely mental, from beginning to end. Completing it
was a testament to how tough I’ve become.
This was my second attempt at my 20th marathon.
I was planning to run Long Island this past May. But the morning of that race I
could barely make it out of my bed, let alone run a single step. I wanted to
will away the severe sciatica shooting down my leg like bolts of lighting. But
I couldn't. I became a slave to narcotics, nerve medication, and muscle
relaxants. I couldn't run, which for me was worse than the pain. A few weeks
into physical therapy I began running again, slowly but surely finding my
footing. Until I felt more like myself. I added back mileage week after week,
mostly pain-free. And ran the Baker Ultra in August, the second of the series.
The weeks between Baker and Cape Cod weren’t easy. My
body was slow. Tired from the havoc I wreaked while running 50 miles. I was
run-down and at the same time trying to build back up to marathon shape. I
didn’t listen to my body. I didn’t give
myself the time to rest. To recover. And the pressure of trying to get enough
data to publish- soon- was equally draining. The stress took a toll on both my
mental well-being as well as my physical health. I came down with a cold that lingered
in my system for weeks. My ears filled with fluid, which I could hear sloshing
around in my head. My chest was tight, asthmatic. I couldn’t sleep. Three weeks
before the marathon I headed out to for a 20 miler on an otherwise extremely
busy weekend with the kids. Just over two miles in, still on Old Country Road, I
broke down. Instead of just cutting it short I completed the run I set out to
do, knowing full well that I shouldn’t have. I badly needed a break but refused
to give it to myself. It was like I wasn’t able to stop pushing.
My taper didn’t feel like a taper. Usually I start to feel
antsy; full of so much energy I barely know what to do with myself. Wanting to
run but forcing myself not to. Not this time. I had no desire to run. I was
tired, worn out. My body was trying to recover from the last few months of
unrelenting abuse. And instead of taking it easy, I used that time to work harder.
My thesis work has become center stage; taking so much mental energy I practically
have nothing left, all the rest is then spent on the kids. I should have known going
into it I wasn’t ready.
Beginning the race I actually felt fine, but my
stomach was bothering me the night before. And as I began running, it
aggravated me more and more. I was cramping so badly at times that even after
the race I couldn’t eat for hours, overcome with nausea. The hills were harder
than I remembered. At mile 10 I had to stop and stretch. I remember thinking, “That’s
it, I’m done”. Not a good feeling so
early in a marathon. I trudged on, my pace continuously slowing. Yet I never
thought about stopping, about quitting. I just kept going. At Mile 15, I remember
telling Serena that I was having a bad race, but would finish, just slower than
anticipated. Which was my feeling
throughout. I’ve felt worse during races, even during training runs. I knew I
could do it. And I knew it would be a struggle.
I don't remember as much of the race as I would like.
I know it was beautiful at points, gorgeous views of the ocean. I couldn’t have
asked for a nicer day, slightly chilly with the sun shining brightly. No wind
to speak of. What I remember most distinctly was how I just kept pushing myself.
Running. Walking. Stretching my cramping legs. But continuously moving forward.
Somehow I found the internal strength to continue. And by the end, I had given
everything. No, it was not my best run, by far. But for four hours and 20
minutes, I fought. I pushed away my demons. I pushed myself. So at 26.2 miles, 16
miles after my race had ended, I was really done. And as I struggled to catch
my breath, the tears flowed. I wasn’t upset; I was just drained- physically and
mentally, and those emotions poured out of me. And despite it all, I was proud of
myself. Twenty marathons in the last 6 years. And every one of them a lesson in
its own right. Each one its own struggle in many different ways. This one
reminding me, once again, how humbling this distance is. How humbling life can
be. I can’t take anything for granted; I will always have to work for it, work
at it. And I always will.
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| Pre-run stretching |
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| My butt :) |
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| Enjoyed spectating |
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| No words necessary |
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| My 20th marathon |
