The Snicker's Bar Marathon in Albany, GA humbled this athlete as it painfully brought me to my knees. I now know why that at most marathons every finisher gets a medal, it is so well deserved. I respect every mile of the 26.2 course as it can chew up and spit out the best of athletes on any given day.
My first goal was to get to the start line healthy, which I did, but at the sacrifice of not hitting some of the longer runs. Better to be 10% undertrained than 1% overtrained at the start line I was once told. Well, no problems there I thought! Cross training with swimming and cycling in no way replaces the impact and use of those much needed running muscles. But, I was there, at the start, mentally and physically ready to race.
My second goal was to finish the race, and my third, to Boston Qualify.
The cannon fired, and we were off, about 800 marathoners prowling the streets of Albany accompanied by on and off rain showers. I felt great as I moderated my pace, took the most direct lines around corners, and pretended to draft off of tall lanky fit dudes. I knew about "the wall" at mile 20 that most marathoners hit and I had practiced and visualized prior to the race literally stepping over the wall or crashing thru the wall. Mile 20 came and went and I still felt great, right on Boston pace. However, I didn't realize, that a new construction project had been started without any notice, and at mile 23, I ran smack into the Great Wall of Albany.
My body literally shut down after holding an 8:22 pace for 23 miles. I reeled as my quads, calfs, and feet went into full lockdown cramp mode. Things were cramping that I didn't know could cramp. I hobbled to the side of the road attempting to entertain the idea of 'stretching it out'. Ha! It was far too late. I cursed the marathon! I prayed to God to carry me to the finish line! I swore up and down I would never do this again, how stupid of me! My last 3 miles were roughly 14min, 17min, and 14min. pace as my body went into shock and I could not run without cramping severely. I was forced to walk, a very cold, wet walk of shame as runners trudged by my broken body. They may as well have been trampling on my very inner soul. I was disheartened. So close, yet so far away. I could physically not go any faster! I was in a very foul mood as the miles slowly trickled down. Eventually, I could see the finish line, and in a meager attempt, trotted across. I could have cried. I had visualized myself crossing the line, throwing my arms up victoriously, blowing kisses to the crowd and looking up and smiling at the finishing clock time of 3:40. But, not now. My teeth were gritted in pain as I crossed, humbled to 4 hours, 1 minute.
I was mentally and physically drained after the race. I gave absolutely 120% and left everything on the course. I fell to my knees in a true dramatic fashion and thought I was going to pass out. After closing my eyes and regaining some composure a gentleman helped me to the side and gave me some cool yellow gatorade to drink. I sat there waiting for my friend to finish, watching all the runners come through the chute, vowing I would never do THIS again. THIS was too hard, too much!
The silver finishing towel that a volunteer hugged
around me shimmered in the rain. The green finishers medal dangling around my neck felt cold pressed to my chest. I could not move, frozen with cramped muscles and fixated on that finish line. 18 weeks of training and THIS is the result?
I wouldn't trade THIS for the world. I left every drop of me on the course, no regrets.......for I am now a marathoner which I think is pretty damn cool.
