Last Sunday I participated in my fourth full marathon.
I felt very apprehensive of this event. The weeks leading up to the marathon my emotions kept flip flopping between being excited to at least be able to participate having overcome my injury and feeling anxiety because I would be so disappointed if I had to struggle for 42.2 kms and finish with a dismal time.
Race day ultimately left me somewhere in the middle.
It was a record breaking day for most of British Columbia. The sun was shining and temperatures were to reach 30 degrees. I don’t fare so well running in the heat, but I was thankful most of the course was in the shade or along the breezy waterfront. So I am proud of myself for being able to accomplish a marathon in the heat, and I was genuinely enjoying myself for the first 35km. I chose not to wear my Garmin on race day, thinking I would have more fun if I really was running just for fun instead of scrutinizing my pace.
Like every marathon before this one, the last stretch was a challenge. My legs were feeling tired and my hips seizing. I was shuffling along so slowly I probably could have been walking. What I am about to say sounds disrespectful, but during the race these thoughts were occurring to me. There were people that were old and/or overweight flying past me beyond the 35k mark and I was very disappointed at this point. At the 39k mark, I was actually fighting back tears which left me gasping to catch my breath. There were lots of people along the sides of the street because the runners were approaching the finish line so everyone was clapping and cheering but I didn’t want anyone to clap or cheer for me since I was so disappointed in myself. I managed to shut everything out and keep running until crossing the finish line. I spotted one of my friends that had been a pace bunny for a faster group but I was so emotional I couldn’t even talk to him I was just trying not to cry. I wandered away to where I was supposed to meet my parents and they told me they were proud of me and not to beat myself up over it. We stopped at Starbucks and then had lunch in Yaletown I had to order deep fried pickles and a burger and fries even though after a long run my guts feel so messed up I can’t stomach anything.
A week later as I look back on the race, I’m not sure how I feel but it is conflicted. I don’t know if I am supposed to accept my limitations that maybe distance running is not ever going to be my strong point and I will never get faster, or if I really am capable I just have to find a way to work harder.
