Hardwired for the marathon

There are a million and seven different reasons to run a marathon. Some people want to run a marathon just to say they did, or prove they could, much like the brave souls who challenge themselves to consume ridiculous quantities of food at local eateries for a free t-shirt. I have respect for those marathoners because they pour in such a massive amount of time and energy and chafing just to prove a point. Gotta respect that. That’s kind of the way I feel about ultras. They don’t sound like fun to me, I don’t think I’d enjoy the training all that much, but I will probably end up doing one someday just to say I did. You know, to prove a point to… Someone…

But that’s not how I feel about the marathon. I’m hardwired for that race. I was okay at the 5K in high school, I loved my team and training and the way the sport consistently fed my competitive drive. But the races were rough. I never felt in my element during a 5K race. I liked training for a half marathon, but I wasn’t crazy about it only being “half” of something. That wasn’t really my personality. And when I finished my first half, I knew I had given myself no choice but to train for a full.

Marathon training was all I ever wanted out of running. The longer I ran, the more I felt like this was the distance that belonged to me. I flew through my first marathon and knew as soon as I crossed the finish line there was no going back. This was my race whether I liked it or not.

And there have been some times where I really, really don’t like it. For instance, last Sunday. I had such high hopes for the marathon I had been training five months for, only to start to feel like crap around mile three. Mile THREE. I am not proud of this, but there were several instances I was incredibly close to quitting. Luckily Jackson was by my side for 10 miles, which gave me the courage to tell myself firmly (and out loud) that no matter what, I was going to finish this thing.

I think I was praying for the finish line… at mile three.

All that training, just to have a crappy day. But that’s what we marathoners sign up for. It’s the risk we willingly take time and time again. And during the race, I hated myself for being so gullible. For believing this race was going to be amazing because I wanted it to be and because I trained so freaking hard for it. But a few hours after the race, I was struggling trying to balance disappointment and unexpected pride. Because even though the results you want aren’t guaranteed, the pride that comes with training and running a marathon is. I gave everything I had to that race, and it both humbled me and built me up. Marathons are weird like that.

I’m thinking of running another marathon in six or so weeks to see if my training can carry over and I can qualify for Boston with a better time. In my mind, it’s worth a shot and would be foolish not to try. It’s like I’d be holding back, not giving my shot at another Boston Marathon my all. And we marathoners, we aren’t hardwired to hold anything back.