Running a marathon/half marathon has been on my bucket list for several years now. Since I was young, I had always been this awkward fat kid picked second to last on the team (no not last, there was a kid fatter than me, so sorry Piggy. Oink, oink. Im kidding, well half kidding). Ive always had self esteem issues and a nagging self consciousness. Ive struggled with obesity for a good portion of my life and every time I battle issues of being overweight, I think to myself, if I just committed myself to train for a marathon, I mean if I really dedicated a portion of my life to making better lifestyle choices and becoming more physically active, then obesity would not have to rear its ugly head into my life and I could finally move on from it. I overcame a huge obstacle the other day in my goal to be more physically active by completing my first half marathon. While the road to getting there was a marathon in itself, Im proud to say that I crossed that finish line because I struggled, and even though I almost felt the need to succumb to quitting, I didnt, I earned that finish, and thats really what counts in the long run. Now somebody had asked me earlier, What is the point of marathon running, what fulfillment do you get in taxing your body to such an extreme? Now, I can only speak for myself, but for me the whole experience of life is a marathon. Theres never a straight shot to anything, it is a road paved in mystery, in love and happiness, in pain and discomfort, and all we can do is prepare for and weather an inevitable storm. Thats life in a nutshell, which is exactly the reason why I run, to feel alive, like Im living my life one step at a time. When I registered for my half marathon, I was stoked. I had a little over 4 months to train, I was going to eat right, exercise often, I had a weight goal in mind, running schedules to adhere to, I mapped the whole thing out. But something happened. Life happened. I hit all my progress points, coasted my way through training, and weight loss, I was down to be right on track, until I reached the halfway point and I slid into a host of excuses. My birthday came in February, I destroyed a lot of weight loss progress in comfort food, and the solace of overeating. I became overly self confident in my ability to do anything so I went out on dates, I indulged, I drank, I smoked weed, partied, St. Paddy-ed it up, binged, I basically rocked out with it all hanging out. Then when I finally decided to wake up, from this fantasy I was living in, I was tired, I was hung over, I realized that I was desperately running late for an appointment with my own destiny. Fake it until you make it, as the saying goes. I faked the hell out of training. I sobered up real quick when the last three weeks before the race crept in and I just knuckled up, doubled down, went all in. I threw out my running schedule, which I was supposed to abide by to a tee, and I just started putting in miles as much and as fast as I could, it was like writing the hell out of a term paper at midnight thats due in the morning and you just started researching everything the very last minute. Thats how Ive been living my life from the beginning, one procrastination at a time until I make shit happen, why would this half marathon be any different? The night before race day came and I was nervous as hell, I was not at the target goal weight I set for myself at the beginning of the year, I was 14 pounds too heavy, and as far as training, I only mustered up 8 measly miles on my best day. Which, I know sounds like a lot, but compared to training 13.1 miles, thats a 5 mile deficit that I had to pull somewhere out of my ass. And to top it all off, all the anxiety coursing through my body the night before would only let me sleep in 2 hour intervals. So I would sleep at 11pm wake up at 1am, fall asleep again at 2am, then woke up again at 4am, after that I was just f*ck it, Im running this race sleep deprived as well. I met up with my friend at the starting line, it wasnt his first half marathon, he did one in Vegas, he sprinkled 5ks and 10ks into his repertoire, he told me he put in 10 miles two days before the race, and 3 miles the day before, he was corralled with the runners under the 2 hour mark, and I was somewhat intimidated by this. He asked me how many miles I put in this week, and basically I only ran the week before, knowing I didnt want to tax my body the week of, so I focused my effort in light cardio, strengthening my core and doing leg weights. We didnt train together, so I wasnt expecting us to keep the same pace. I told him point blank that I dont want to slow him down, so if he felt the need to break from me, then he should go at his own pace. This was our mutual agreement. Ready or not, the time had come. Even with all the deficits I had going into this race, I was enthusiastic, I was pumped off my own adrenaline, I was going to fake it until I made it. The countdown began and we were given the queue to go, we were off. I haphazardly started off at an aggressive pace to keep up with my friend, and I thought in my head, well, this isnt so bad at all, that first mile was easy peasy, baby steps, I was just warming up. I clocked in the first mile at a pace of 9min 24 seconds, which was a little too fast considering a consistent 10:30 was my race goal, so i had to ease off the gas and further pace myself. Then we hit the first interminable hill and my friend told me to just look straight, never look at the summit, because hills will defeat you only if you let them. I knew hills were going to be the most challenging part about this race, being San Francisco and all, so I came somewhat prepared training on different hills by my house, I was up for the challenge. Something inside me was brewing, I could feel it, I pushed like hell to get through that first hill, it didnt phase me at all, I was gaining ground. I looked behind me and my friend started to waiver, but I had all the energy to keep going, so I pushed ahead. Suddenly 2 then 3 miles go by, and Im harnessing energy up hills, then coasting down them, I had a rhythm going, I was leaving my friend in the dust. The 4th mile before the golden gate bridge was probably the steepest, but I never broke my jogging stride, I pushed and I pushed with confidence, perspiration, and runspiration until I hit the sights of the beautiful Golden Gate bridge on mile 5 and I was straight coasting on an average pace of 10:17. I tore open one of two GU energy gels I purchased the night before trying to replenish lost electrolytes and carbohydrates. Everything was going great, I was feeling great. I thought to myself, if I could just maintain this pace until this race is over, it would be perfect. I jogged one end of the Golden Gate then lapped back, and even caught my friend coming the opposite direction, I high fived him, I was surprisingly ahead of him, we both knew the struggle though. The Golden Gate Bridge consisted of miles 4 through 7 and it was a beautifully scenic jog, it was crazy hectic as well, consisting of a mad dash of trying to maneuver passed runners of all different levels of athleticism, either jogging or walking too slow, or in my way taking an obscene amount of selfies. If I wasnt so concerned about finishing this race on my goal time, then yeah, Id be taking selfies as well, but running was my top priority. When I exited the bridge toward the presidio, I hit mile 8 thats when the shit hit the fan. Up until the 8th mile I was infallible, I had a stretch of flat land on the 8th mile and I was mentally capable of continuing, then I felt sharp pain pulsating up my right thigh. I was starting to cramp. I tried desperately to ignore it, tried changing the angle of my jog, I devoured my last GU gel, but it became worse and worse until it was relentless. I came to a walk because every step felt like tiny daggers stabbing there way into my thighs, twisting and pulling out until I couldnt go on, I grabbed my thigh and cursed at it. I was almost down for the count. I looked ahead of me. There was a cheering squad of girls rooting the runners on. I was compelled to keep going, so I carried on, hobbling until I got to a water station. I fueled up on two cups of Gatorade and two cups of water and they were even giving out more GU gels, I acquired two, and I picked up a second wind. I continued a light jog of mile 9, and as soon as I approached the tenth mile, another hill sprouted up. It made me delirious, I sipped slowly on another GU climbing up the hill, but my cramp returned with a vengeance. I had to walk again, it was infuriating. I wanted to give up, but in the distance I heard the bouncing of basketballs behind me. I looked and I saw a man with a shirt that read Dr. Dribble, he apparently had been jogging this entire half marathon while dribbling two basketballs this whole time. It inspired me to continue, I followed and kept pace with the sound of his dribbling, ignoring everything else and it began to soothe me. I knuckled up, doubled up hydration at all the water stations, but the burning in my legs kept getting worse and worse until I felt pain in both of them. I couldnt even catch up with Dr Dribble any longer. The final hill on the 11th mile physically made me disgusted, I cursed it as the sun shone on me menacingly, and suddenly climbing up these hills became taxingly laborious like the myth of Sisyphus. As I hit the peak, my nose began to bleed, and Murphys Law just became a reality. Every step became more painful than the last and behind my sunglasses my eyes just welled up with tears. I came to an excruciatingly painful hobble, people behind me gave me concerned looks asking if I was okay. I waved them on, I just had to walk it off. I seriously wanted to come down to my knees and give up, I was down to an 11:14 avg mile pace and I thought my goals were shattered. But I kept pushing to the 12th mile until I could see that finish line from the distance, I could hear the crowd, witness the celebration, I forced a final quarter mile jog out of myself and came to that finish line proud, I could have died right there in pain and anguish but overall relief that I finished, thats what matters the most. I literally faked it until I actually made it. Even though I didnt hit my goal time, I still finished in a respectable 2:28:42 and Im still proud of what I had accomplished, and Ill tell you what Im not done yet. Me and marathons arent finished, I will hit a better pace the next time around. This is just the beginning. I will run again, and I know Ill be better prepared to take it head on. Im ready. Come at me.
Posted on: Mon, 07 Apr 2014 18:07:05 +0000