Just One Marathon

Race Day

If you had asked me a few weeks ago how my marathon would go, here’s what I would have predicted: I’ll eke out the first three quarters of the race with gradually deteriorating speed and energy, just as in both my 32K (20 mile) training runs. Then, I’ll limp through the final 10K, running at a pace that’s barely distinguishable from a walk.

 

But that was a few weeks ago.

 

A funny thing happened after my last long (32K) training run. I began to feel stronger. For the rest of my pre-race runs, I felt swift of foot and full of energy. I began to experience a sense of mental flow where time and the miles seemed to slip by. I was no longer counting the steps but relishing them. My body began to whisper, “I’m ready”.

 

When I wasn’t running, it was another story. I felt nervous and jittery. I obsessed over everything I needed to prepare for race day and scanned my body for signs of injury or tension. When I wasn’t running, I wasn’t enjoying myself.

 

But when I woke up at 5 a.m. on race day, all that tension miraculously evaporated. Refreshed and ready to go, I tossed on my race gear (Pearl Izumi short-sleeve tee, shorts, and trusty but very uncool hair band, and of course, my new slightly-larger sized-to-avoid-blisters Aasics). Had my pre-race breakfast of champions – oatmeal and canned peaches. Packed my water bottle and fuel belt (one gel, a bag of cran-raspberry Clif Shot Bloks, four e-Load capsules, and a couple of emergency painkillers). Headed out the door.

 

At the race site, I lined up to use the washrooms and then lined up to use them again. Before I knew it, it was time to join the other marathon hopefuls at the start line. It was sunny but cool (around 8 degrees C) to start, with very little wind. My husband, father and dear friend Lisa were there to see me off. Lisa had custom-made a special sign, screened onto a big pillow case, including my photo and a reference to my blog. I felt like a rock star.

 

I wish I could give a kilometre-by-kilometre description of the first half of the race, but I can’t because it just flew by. I felt borne along by a wave of support coming from the thousands and thousands of people who came out to cheer on the marathoners: little kids holding out their hands for high fives; people sitting at the end of their driveways in pyjamas; teams at designated “cheering stations” in costumes and make-up.  

 

Some moments stood out. At the 11K, Lisa appeared again, cheering and waving my sign. At 12K, we watched the elite marathoners pass by on the other side of the road, looking awesomely strong at the halfway point of their race. At 16K, I attempted my very first mid-run bush pee and wished I’d had the foresight to pack a couple of tissues. Except … what would I do with them afterwards?

 

In terms of strategy, I stuck close to the 4:30 pace bunny, Mark, who earned my undying respect for running the entire race carrying a sign and wearing rabbit ears. The pace bunny followed the Running Room method of “10 and 1s” for the entire race. I decided not to walk every 10 minutes for the first half of the race, stopping instead at the water stations spaced 3 kilometres apart across the entire route. I wasn’t totally convinced I could keep up with him, but wanted to at least attempt my fantasy finish time.

 

I expected to feel fatigued at the halfway mark, but I felt energized. At about 22K, a group of belly-dancers entertained the crowd and provided a fun distraction. And beside the belly-dancers – my friend Lisa, this time with her family! The route from 23K to 30K runs along the Ottawa canal. When race routes are described as “fast and flat”, this is the kind of course they have in mind. I felt wonderful and even considered asking the pace bunny to let me hold the 4:30 sign (he was passing it around to anyone who wanted to do the honours). I thought it would be cool to be carrying it when I passed my family, who planned to see me somewhere around 34K. But some inner wisdom held me back – I suspected I might be running at a pace I couldn’t sustain.

 

Sure enough, at 32K, when the race course started to climb upward, I began to lose the 4:30 group. There’s a hill at this point in the run, which for many is topped by a big, looming, imaginary wall, but in reality is actually marked by a big, orange sign that reads 33K. I ran most of the hill, and walked a little, choosing to marshal my energy for the final 10K stretch. Unfortunately, that meant I had to watch the 4:30 pace sign get smaller and smaller, and eventually disappear. Now, I had a new goal: don’t let the 4:45 pace bunny catch up with me!

 

Can I be honest? The last 10K was easy. Sure, I slowed down a bit. Yes, it hurt. And part of me (especially the part from the waist down) just wanted it to end. But another part of me (from the neck up) was elated. People I knew appeared all along that critical last stretch. A co-worker and fellow runner waited for me at the 34K mark with Hershey Kisses. At 35K, my mom, husband and kids cheered, took photos, then sprinted to the car in a mad dash to the finish (they made it). My dad stood at 40K, bellowing encouragement with such enthusiasm that he got people around him cheering. And Lisa was there, of course, with my own personalized sign at the 250 metre mark. At the very end, I saw my ordinarily quiet and collected mom, waving her arms and yelling at the top of her lungs: “Way to go, Theresa!” I gathered up their love and support in that final stretch and wore it near my heart like the very best kind of finisher’s medal.

 

Then, all of a sudden, I was a marathoner. I crossed the finish line at 4:36:42 and realized that I had been stronger and more ready than I knew. And that was the big surprise waiting for me at the end of 42.2 – that my ability to complete a marathon was actually no surprise at all.

 

I had it in me all the time.

...And Then What?

"Beginning Monday 19 May, you will enter the final phase of your pre-race taper. Some of you will feel very heavy, and your usual sunny disposition won’t be quite so sunny. Warn those close to you and be aware that your mood may be off. This is a normal reaction to the reduction in your training mileage.” – Words of wisdom from Tom, our marathon clinic leader

Why wait until Monday? Despite being early into a gradual two-week reduction of miles, I’m already feeling a bit blue. The reason – and I feel stupid admitting this – is that this marathon training roller coaster will soon be over. Yes, there have been cold mornings, sore muscles and bloody toes. But there’s also been the excitement of preparing to do something I never thought I’d do. What will I do without the constant planning, worry and underlying excitement of preparing for race day? What’s next? 

My post-marathon plan-of-record is to quit and never run again. But who am I kidding? I’ve gotten used to this fit new body I’ve been building. I like feeling strong and powerful. And I love having a goal that excites me.

Nonetheless, another marathon is out of the question right now. I have already put too many other things on hold to do this. Plus, I am really, really, really starting to bore my friends and family, who have endured (with remarkable patience) endless one-sided conversations that must sound something like this: “Blah, blah, blah MARATHON, blah, blah, blah, BLISTERS, blah, blah, blah, GROIN PULL.” Um, sorry guys. And thanks.

So now I feel downright panicky about not having another motivating running goal on the horizon – something that will get my butt out the door on hot (and eventually) cold days. Something to visualize while I’m out there on the 10th kilometre of a 20+K run.

It feels like there’s a big, empty void, looming just beyond race day. Is this normal? And how do I make the feeling go away?

One Race Day, Twelve Stories

This weekend is Thanksgiving in Canada. Each year, my family (my parents, two sisters, their husbands, children and Nash, the chocolate lab) comes from Toronto to visit for the weekend. We eat, take walks, do fun things with the kids (last year, we all went to a Sens hockey game), and just generally get caught up. And did I mention we eat?

This year, I suggested that we take part in the local “Fall Colours” race events on Thanksgiving Sunday. Many of my family members and a few friends took up the challenge and there are now twelve of us participating. We each have our own story going into this race. Here are some:

My dad is walking the 10k. He has always been a great walker – my husband, who is a pretty fast guy himself and plans on running the 10k on Sunday, says he can barely keep up when he walks with my dad. But dad’s been having some knee problems, so it’s probably going to take some grit for him to finish the event happy. Nevertheless, I have complete confidence that he will do it. Last weekend, he walked a little over 9K and his knee probably hurt most of the way. The guy is amazing.

My ten-year-old son has been earnestly training to run his first 5k. On Wednesday night, he ran a 6.5k training run without stopping. (He was quite proud, and I promised I’d mention this in my blog). My thirteen-year-old son will join him on the run. He ran his first 5k race last spring and, with very little training, beat my 5k time by about 3 minutes. So I grounded him – or wished I could. My eight-year-old nephew and my friend’s thirteen-year-old son will also be running their first 5k. That’s four under-fourteen runners, in case your keeping track.

My sister has promised to pace the little guys in the 5k and I have basically been lying to her and telling her it will be a breeze to keep up. But she hasn’t visited my blog yet, so it’s her own fault if she’s surprised.

My mom and my niece will walk the 5k. My niece recently broke her wrist and is wearing a cast from her shoulder to her thumb. I’m not sure how that will affect her walk. However, the day she broke her wrist, she finished gym class, completed her school day, delivered newspapers, and never cried once all day. So walking 5k? Piece of cake.

My friend and her husband just started running in the summer. This is their first 5k. I love that they train as a couple and can’t wait to hear about their experiences when they cross the finish line. My friend's husband told me today that his wife has made him promise not to run ahead of her. Will he do it?

My other sister and her husband will be arriving in Ottawa after the run, but that’s okay because we will probably all need a fresh audience for our running stories.

And me? Well, if you’ve been following this blog at all, you know my story. Sunday, I’ll run the 10K, in January, I’ll do a half-marathon, and next May, the marathon. Then I’m quitting and never running again. Probably.

Amidst the hubbub, I am resolved to take time this weekend to be grateful for my family and friends. I’ll post a race report afterwards -- maybe a guest blog. I’ll see who I can recruit.

Just Because I Hate Exercise Doesn't Mean I Can't Run A Marathon

August 15, 2007 --- This has always been my position on exercise: it should be avoided. Oh sure, I’ve worked out in the past, mainly in an attempt to avoid becoming overly squishy. But whatever exercise I’ve pursued – aerobics, swimming, biking, circuit training – I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Exercise is boring and it hurts.

And yet, here I am, planning to run a marathon. How did this happen?!

It all started about 3 years ago. My husband is a runner, loves it, is compelled to do it. And he’s good, too. He’s disciplined and naturally pretty fast. He always ran just to keep fit, but a few years ago, in an effort to provide more structure and motivation to his workout, he decided to run a few races. I watched him cross the finish line in the National Capital Race Weekend 10K and 21K races in Ottawa.

And if you’ve ever stood at the finish line of a big race, you know how it is: pretty bloody motivating. Elated runners crossing the finish line, arms raised in victory. Cheering crowds. Finishers’ names being announced over the PA system. Medals. Exclusive entry to a big mysterious-looking tent labeled “Athletes Only”. Watching him, I got caught up and when I saw him afterwards told him, “I think I’ll run the 10K next year”.

At that point, I had only run enough in my life to realize that all possible ways to exercise, I disliked running the most. But as I watched those runners cross the finish line, I realized that just for once, I wanted to walk through the gate marked “Athletes Only”.

So, at age 41, I started to train. I attended a “Learn to Run” class, then a 5K clinic, then a 10K clinic. I told people that I was going to run a 10k, then quit and never run again. I did it – ran the 10K one year later in the National Capital Race Weekend in May of 2006. And I could have quit. I started to slack off through the summer but when the fall arrived, a little voice in the back of my head began to say, “Wouldn’t it be cool to run a half marathon? Just one, then you can quit and never run again.”

That's why I found myself back at the National Capital Race Weekend one year later – this time, at the start line for the 21k half-marathon. And damned if I didn’t enjoy it. It was just an all-around great experience. Which hasn’t stopped me from slacking right off again. Because when it comes right down to it, I am naturally lazy. I love running and all it does for me, but the truth is, I love sitting around doing nothing more. So right now, I can barely stagger through 10k.

Still, here I am, with the fall approaching and that little voice in my head is piping up again: “Wouldn’t it be the ultimate cool to run a full marathon?” And (say it with me): “After it’s done, I can quit and never run again.” Plainly, the little voice must be obeyed.

So, I’m doing it – training for the marathon in next year’s National Capital Race Weekend. This time, though, I’m going to blog the experience. Because slow, lazy and barely-motivated runners need a voice, too, and I am willing to be that voice.