I finally did it.
I ran a marathon.
Apparently, I am officially insane.
Yesterday, I ran my first marathon in Philadelphia. For those of you who may not be runners, that is 26.2 miles. That happens to be just about 16.2 miles too much if you ask me.
I ran faster than this statue!
Some people question my sanity when I run everyday, in any kind of weather–rain, sleet, snow, sub zero wind chills, etc. After mile 18, I was questioning my own sanity.
At the half way point, I felt more tired than I usually did after a half-marathon. I have run two half marathons a year for the past four years.
By mile 18, I was thinking I might not be able to finish. I have never hit a wall before. I have hit a few cars, a tree, a light post . . . but never a wall. For the shorter races, I almost never stop to get a drink. I can run 13 miles without water. I’m like a damned camel without the humps.
But everything I’ve read about running a marathon stresses the importance of fueling and hydration. So at about mile 6, I started regularly hitting the gatorade/water stops. And this usually meant at least a stop, if not a walking pace, because I am not one of those people who can run and drink at the same time–not without wearing most of the gatorade and choking. I can barely type and chew gum at the same time.
After mile 18, it became noticeably harder to restart running and regain the previous pace after stopping for gatorade. I started skipping water stations just so I wouldn’t have to restart again.
What do you mean no RUM????
Around mile 20 there was a group offering cups of beer. I am all over that. I would have come to a complete stop for a beer at this point. Had they had some bar stools there, I might not have finished the race.
I started grabbing half bananas and oranges that people offered along the route. I kept looking for donuts or Reese’s Cups, but apparently those items are frowned upon by the racing establishment.
The route of the marathon travels up along the river, does a U-turn in Manayunk, and then heads back down the river to the finish line near the Art Museum.
The U-turn brought me back to the group serving beer, Hallelujah! One of my prayers was answered! I paused to gulp down a second cup. I was praying an awful lot after mile 20. A mile later I was regretting not taking a six pack to go.
And then an interesting thing happened.
Not that. But rather, I found after mile 22 it was starting to get a little easier. I still felt like crap. Every muscle in my legs hurt. But I actually felt a little better overall, and I slowly realized that I just might be able to do this after all. It had to be the beer!
I crossed the finish line after 4 hours, ten minutes and 54 seconds (a 9:34 pace.) After the race, I slowly–painfully–made my way back to the hotel. Just stepping up a curb was a painful ordeal. When I got back to the hotel room, I accidentally dropped one of my gloves on the floor. I bent over to pick it up . . .
Who lowered this floor???!!!
OMG. Running had shortened my arms! I couldn’t reach the glove. My back was stiff, my glutes were in pain, and my hamstrings acted like they had looked upon the head of Medusa and turned to stone. I did manage to pick up the glove, but resolved that anything else I dropped would have to be left behind.
After a long shower, I could hardly put my socks on.
Why do we runners do this to ourselves?
I’m going to stick with the insanity defense for now.
theeyelife 