Three Hours and Thirty Seven Minutes

A recollection of the first marathon I ran when I was 18 years old

 

              I truly believe that in times of vulnerability out true character is shown. You may have a hard time believing this if you’ve never done endurance races before. No matter the distance or weather, how you react under the extreme physical and mental stress reveals a lot about your character. I’ll start by telling the story of my marathon.

              Track and cross country in high school ended and I was on top of the world. I had qualified for state in both seasons, yet I felt a void in my life after I was done with running. So I decided to run a marathon because, well, why not? Training was brutal because I had no teammates, a new demanding college schedule to learn, and I had no coach or motivation. I wanted to give up almost every day that I had to run. I would find so many excuses not to lace up my shoes and hit the pavement for the loneliest hour of the day. It used to be a stress reliever for me, but it was slowly becoming the cause of my stress. I got sick the week of the race. My training runs suffered for up to 3 weeks before the race. I was on the verge of giving up on my running abilities. I decided to run on the sole fact that I had invested so much money in this race.

              The morning of the race I woke up at 4:30 am. The race was at 7:30 am. The house is dark as I search around. The house feels foreign to me despite the fact that I’ve only been away for a month. Anxiety fills my head. My body physically shakes as I shower. I have no idea what I am getting myself into. I don’t want to eat, I just want to go back to bed and forget that this day ever started. I force myself to eat, and remember that I have to run this race or everyone that I know will think that I am weak. That is motivation in itself. My parents ask me questions about what I am supposed to eat before the race and grill me on how prepared (or how ill-prepared) I actually am. They just make me doubt myself more. We leave the house and as we set off for the starting line, it is pitch black outside. I put on my headphones and slowly fade into the background. There is irony in the fact that the high school that the race starts at is exactly 26 miles from my house. This drive will take approximately 30 minutes with traffic. I have no idea if I can even run that distance.

              It starts to rain as my parents drop me off. It is still dark outside. The only illumination is from car headlights and the faint glow of the sun behind trees in the distance. It is an intimate moment when my parents drop me off. None of us have any idea what to expect. There is no expectations for me, but they are worried for me. We say goodbye as if this could be the last time. For all we know, this could be the last time. Lots of people die because of running marathons every year. Humans were not built to run like this. I say goodbye and peel off to join the solemn mass of neon-clad runners making their way towards the high school. Not having any idea where to go I head inside to find a bathroom. I panic when I notice that the line is out the door. I try to find another, but they are all full. I have 30 minutes until the race and I wait in line to go to the bathroom for almost all of it. I start getting really anxious when I find out I have to drop all of my gear before I even warm up. It is raining outside and I am cold.

              I make my way to the starting line. I find the pace team that I am supposed to run with. I do a quick warmup of stretching and jumping up and down because I really have no idea what I am doing and I don’t know what else to do. I start to talk to other runners to ease my nerves. They all tell me my goals are really high, and “good luck”.  Typical, just like everyone else who doubted me in this quest. I find myself in the 2^nd row of the start at the time of the race. There were over three thousand runners in this race. I have no idea if I’m supposed to be here. As we get set for the start, I quickly try to remember all of my training. None of it inspires me, it only dampens my confidence. The gun goes off and my head drains of all thoughts.

              Mile 1: We tear off down the main driveway. I look around to take mental observations. Some people fly out of the gates, others go right to a specific pace. I will not be a slave to the watch, I tell myself. But I know that I have to be conscientious of my pacing early in the race. My goal pace is 6:52 per mile, to get 3:00 hours or less. The first mile I run up along some other runners and start to talk to them. This is early enough where most runners will still talk. We have conversations about pacing, goal times, and I soak it in as knowledge that I can gain. The main drive is flooded with people. The crowd gives me energy, but I make sure to listen to my body. I come through mile 1 in 6:21, my fastest mile of the race by 4 seconds.

              Mile 2: I start to settle into a main pace that I want to keep. Some of the friends that I have made either die down or pick up the pace. I decide to stick to what I feel good at. It is still early in the race. There is music along the side of the road. I make sure to say thank you to all of the volunteers. There are thousands of volunteers at the race that give up almost their entire day. I wave and give thumbs up to the thousands more people who came out to support us. Many of them have no idea what we are going through, but they come out to show us all support and I cannot express how much I appreciate that. Lots of people pass me through this mile, but I discipline myself and don’t chase after them.

              Mile 3: I come through the 5k and I don’t check my time. I will not be a slave to my watch. I am sticking around 6:25 pace. The crowd support continues to put a smile on my face.

              Mile 4: I make a comment to another runner about his bandana he is wearing. He is a bigger runner, but nonetheless he is at the same pace as me. I find my pace wavering between 6:30-6:50. I find out that his name is Patrick. He tells me that he is running consistent 6:35-6:40 pace so I decide that I will run with him. He also tells me that he is dropping out at mile 20 because he is training for the New York Marathon and wanted a long run with other people. We get through our first water station. I spilled most of the Gatorade all over my face or on the ground.

              Mile 5: Patrick and I are still running strong. We pass the miles by talking about various subjects that I can’t recall. It was more like time filling conversation to get my mind off the running. I feel fantastic.

              Mile 6: I pass through the 10k on the same pace. We picked up another runner to our group, his name was Todd. We talked to him about the same things. Another water station means another shot at redemption. This time I grabbed a water. I spilled about half of the water but managed to drink enough to hold me over.

              Mile 7: I’m still feeling really good. My legs feel no pain, and my breathing is fantastic despite my asthma. The rain is still cold, and even though it stopped before the race started, it has now picked back up again. My jersey is stuck to my chest and I’m colder than I imagined. The issue that most worries me is my shoes. My shoes are thin and white, and they are filling with water quickly. On my training runs I wore thin socks and I got blisters. On this day I learned from my past mistakes and I wore thicker socks.

              Mile 8: We pass through the Concordia University campus. The students are very supportive and they boost my morale. I see a water station up ahead. I see that they are handing out GU packets, which are instant energy. I know that it is important to consume this liquid energy every 8 miles, but I have never taken it before in my life. Another piece of knowledge that I had been given was to never try anything new during the marathon. Yet I found myself approaching this water station falling in behind the two veterans that I was running with. They each grabbed a packet. I listened to the flavors, and grabbed orange because I figured it would be the best taste to digest. I wasn’t trying to throw it up right away. I watched to see how they consumed it, and then I struggled to get my packet opened. My hands were wet, and as I squeezed it out into my mouth I gagged. I forced it down with water quickly. That’s when I discovered that I had wasted too much time and there were no more garbage cans. Not wanting to throw it on the ground and litter, I had to carry it in my hands.

              Mile 9: I wasted a little bit of energy, but I managed to catch back up to Patrick and Todd. The crowd was deafening here. People shouting and holding up signs lined both sides of the street. I was ecstatic. I still had the cup and GU wrapper in my hand. I had a sudden realization that my arms were wet from the rain and they would be my best option to clean my hands from the GU. So I wiped my hands on my arms. My hands still smelled of oranges.

              Mile 10: There was another water stop at the mile marker. I happily grabbed a cup of water and threw it on my face and hands to the surprise of everyone. They had no idea that I was cleaning myself off. I also took advantage of the garbage cans to throw away the excess weight of the GU wrapper and the cup I had been holding. We started to enter the countryside roads. The smell of manure was more prevalent than I imagined. I remember asking myself why this was called the Lakefront marathon because I hadn’t been anywhere close to the lake. We had to go single file through a time pad. I remembered that we had electronic time chips on the inside of our bibs. I wondered if my family was seeing my results live online. I was still on the same pace, but I was starting to feel a little weak mentally. I was questioning if I was going to burn out and hit the wall later in the race. I talked to Patrick and Todd, said goodbye to them, and let them go on without me. I had instant regrets.

              Mile 11: I kept looking over my shoulder to see where the lead pace pack was. They were an intimidating group of runners. Probably over 100 runners strong, with a man in a yellow vest in the middle of them. He had them on EXACTLY 6:52 pace to get them to run 3:00. It made me nervous that I could still see them. The road was very long, and they were a faint blur on the horizon. I decided that even though I let my Patrick and Todd go, I would stay equidistant from them.

              Mile 12: I hadn’t been passed by a runner in a very long time. I was definitely in no man’s land. I could still see the two guys up ahead of me, and they were reeling in other runners. By now they had a pack about 5 or 6 strong. I should have been with them. I was still going at the same pace as them, but I was all alone. The rain continued to pour down, and there was nobody on the streets to cheer me on anymore. Every time I came upon a crowd I wondered if my parents would be there. I would put on a face that made me look good just in case. In truth, I was still feeling fantastic, but I did not want them to worry at all.

              Mile 13: I had to go to the bathroom, and I was wondering when the next stop would be. At the half-way mark I found the port-o-potties that I was longing for. There was no one around me for about 30 seconds in front and behind, so I decided now was my best option. I tried to go as quickly as I could, but the toilet paper would not rip. I heard the water station erupt with noise, so I figured that the runners were passing me. They had no idea that I had stopped. I finally hurried out of the bathroom and was able to salvage my mile time by about 40 seconds off. I crossed the half-way mark in 1:26, which should have been 1:25.  Cool. A new lifetime PR in a half-marathon.

              Mile 14: I spent this mile doing the math for the rest of the race. I was well under pace. I was on 2:52 pace and feeling great. I did all of the math and envisioned all of the scenarios and how I could still possibly reach the coveted 3-hour mark. In hindsight, doing all of the math was bad for my mental state.

              Mile 15: I started to chase after the runners who had passed me during my bathroom break. I tried not to waste too much energy in chasing them down, but I knew that I had to pass them to feel like I was doing well in the race. I passed all of them except for one runner. That runner was very far ahead of this group of runners, so I decided to be more patient.

              Mile 16: I started to think about Patrick and Todd. I wondered how they were doing. I wondered if they were still talking, or even if they were running together anymore. I was still at about 6:35 pace at this point of the race. The guy was still in front of me, and I wasn’t gaining any ground. He started to increase his gap on me. I weaved through subdivisions alone. No one was in sight behind me. As I went through the crowds’ people cheered for me, and it was truly just for me because I was alone. It felt weird to be completely alone. I almost convinced myself that I was winning at that point in the race.

              Mile 17: Every step that I took brought me deeper into no-man’s land. I began to talk to the spectators because I was so bored. I continued to wave and thank everyone who came out to support us runners. I felt so alone. I wondered how my parents were doing. They were probably worried sick as each minute ticked away. The weirdest part of this race is that you have no idea how hard to push yourself because the harsh reality is always in the back of your mind: you could die.

              Mile 18: Another GU station was up ahead. I didn’t even see it until after I was in the middle of it. I took some Gatorade, and missed the GU. I remember hearing one of the volunteers shouting “instant energy that you will need at mile 23”. I thought to myself that it was okay and I would be fine without it. Doubt started to creep into my mind, but I trudged onwards.

              Mile 19: I was starting to become numb. My legs still felt great, as did my breathing. This marathon was not as hard as people told me it was. But I had reserves about the dreaded mile 23. The crowds started to become farther and few between.

              Mile 20: I crossed another time check at mile 20, still on pace at about 6:35ish. I was entering new territory. I had never run father than 20 miles in my life before. In training I had ran my 20 mile run only once, but I ran it in 2:20:00. I crossed 20 miles here at a time of 2:13:00. I did some quick math in my head and realized that I had to run the last 6 miles (or 10 kilometers) in 47 minutes, which was rather slow. I felt good about knowing that. I was starting to feel lucid. My head wasn’t listening to the rest of my body. I was having lots of trouble focusing on one thing. It was like an out of body experience that I can’t describe.

              Mile 21: I was wondering if this was what the wall felt like. My pace was falling drastically. I couldn’t get it below 7 minutes without throwing down a surge. A pain was starting to burn on my right shin. I would shake it out and it would feel fine. I could feel my form detiorating with every step. People along the side of the road were asking how I was feeling. I felt a rush of paranoia. I started checking my watch more and more. It was of no use, I knew that my pace was slipping badly. I kept checking over my shoulder, and I actually saw people on the horizon approaching me.

              Mile 22: There was a water station at the mile marker, so I decided to stop and find out what was wrong with my shin. I massaged it a little bit and stretched it. It didn’t feel good but I knew that I had to keep moving. I took one step…and BAM! I fell straight to the ground. My legs would not support my body. Matter of fact, they wouldn’t even listen to my brain. They were tightening up, and they felt like a thousand pounds. I picked myself back up and tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. Even worse, I discovered that I couldn’t put any weight on my right foot. I panicked again. I could feel the other runner’s feet sloshing through puddles getting louder. I made an executive decision that I would walk it off and try to run again soon. My legs would hardly move me forward to walk. I knew that I had hit the wall �" and I had hit it hard.

              Mile 23: I had to walk the entire mile 22, and I was still walking. I was actually limping. People on the side of the road stared at me and didn’t say a word. No more waving and cheering. Kids looked at me and whispered to their parents. I knew that I was the youngest person this far ahead. I was actually the only person under 22 years old this far ahead. I was getting passed left and right, and each runner that passed was like a jab to my stomach and head. I thought about giving up and dropping out. Runners would pass me and try to give me encouragement by saying “keep moving” and “come on only 3 miles left you got this” but they had no idea how much my right shin hurt. I walked this mile too.

              Mile 24: I passed the last water station. I didn’t take any water. I felt like I didn’t even deserve it. I could only imagine how much I resembled a zombie. Everyone looked confused, because people this far up in a race don’t walk usually. An official told me that I was in 55^th place at the 22-mile mark. I was probably somewhere around 200^th at this point, and it was getting worse. People would ask me if I was okay, and I would say yes and try to feign a smile, but they knew. The ultimate struggle was that they knew I needed help, but they saw that I had to accomplish this. Medical personnel didn’t even ask me if I needed assistance. So I trudged on through the puddles. Actually the rain had almost stopped at this point. I was seeing the lake for the first time now. At some point during this mile I checked my watch and saw it pass 3 hours. My heart dropped and I wanted to drop out. It was all for naught, I thought. But some part of me knew that I had to finish no matter what.

              Mile 25: I was getting passed by so many people. Left and right. Big and small. They all passed me. They all told me I was doing good and to keep running. I resented them because I thought they were mocking me, but my heart softened and I realized that they actually meant it. I was proud of them for running also. I felt like the young stallion that ran wild early in the race and burned himself out at the end. Typical rookie mistake, I assumed they were thinking when they saw me hurting. I thought about my family, and how they were expecting me to finish around 3 hours. I wondered how worried they were about me. I felt bad. I decided that I had to try one last time to run, and I would not stop. I slowly started shuffling (call it the convict shuffle) moving not much faster than walking pace. I just had to get it over with.

              Mile 26: I entered the frenzied homestretch of fans shuffling my feet. Some people looked at me bewildered. My hallmark is my foot speed and my finishing kick. There would be none of that in this race. My shin was burning so bad that I couldn’t break 9-minute pace. I favored my left foot considerably. It was probably a funny sight to watch. A tunnel of people was up ahead of me. The deafening roar of the crowd shook my body. I had lost about 5,000 calories during the race, about 7 pounds. My arms were numb from the cold, my jersey still soaking wet. My face would not move out of the fixated expression I wore when I run. I limped down the tunnel. I tried to keep my focus on the finish line ahead of me. I ran the majority of the race alone, but now I was surrounded by runners.

              The last 0.2: I looked over my shoulder to see where the next runner was. I do this a lot to check my positioning. It really does help me, and it doesn’t affect my stride, especially now. I was the only one within range of the finish line. No finishing kick needed today luckily. I thought about my family and how I couldn’t find them, but then I heard my mom yell out from the crowd. I have no idea how I heard her over the concert level decibels of noise. I felt the crowd pulsate and get louder, and I assumed another runner was coming in hot down the stretch. I mustered everything that I had left in my left leg and pulled myself across the finish line. I planned to hold my arms up and pose for the finish line camera, but this humbling experience made me think twice about that. I beat the guy to the line. I guess I won at least one battle today.

              Directly after the race I headed to the medical tent. I got treatment for my shin (and by treatment I mean one damn ice bag) and went to the post-race party. No, I did not feel like partying but I did go grab all of the food that I could carry. I wasn’t anticipating being hungry after the race due to all of my exertion, but I felt like I hadn’t even run a marathon. People said that my face looked calm and collected. I grabbed a mountain dew because my season was finally over. After so many miles of training I had one race to show for it. One very lousy race. They gave me a space blanket to help me warm up. The runners were fenced into this area and spectators sat on the outside looking in to find their loved ones. I found a chair, sat down, and stared off into space. My brand new white shoes were covered in mud, and for some reason that pissed me off a lot. I knew that I had to face my family at some point, so I headed over to find them.

              I won’t go over the details of the rest of the day. As they gave me my medal, it was the first time in my life that I was actually receiving a participation trophy. The announcer said over the loudspeaker that I was the 2^nd youngest person to cross the finish line during the race and the crowd erupted. I felt like I let them all down. So many of my friends and family had followed the results of my bib number online. The comment section on Facebook went from mass chaos and nervous excitement to…well nothing at all. They were just as confused as anyone else as what happened to me. I heard so many people say “well at least you finished” or “hey you ran a marathon that’s an accomplishment in itself!” And at first I resented those people for saying things like that. It felt like a back handed compliment. It took me about a week to actually sit down and realize something. How easy the marathon was. How quickly I recovered. How I had trained myself with no prior marathon knowledge. I had gotten so close. I wanted to grab the bull by the horns on my first attempt. I am 18 years old. I wanted to achieve something that not many 18-year old’s have achieved. In a way, I did. I will be back for another attempt. I will be smarter. People told me that I can’t be upset because an injury is something that you can’t control. I understand that. Next time I will get the job done. I will earn the finishers medal.