As of two weeks ago, I am officially a marathoner! There’s something about this word that I love so much. It makes me think of someone strong, someone who is determined, someone who works hard for something, someone who can do anything they put their mind to. And I never thought it would be me, but I’m proud to say that it is me. I am a marathoner.
My running journey started 7 months ago. Back then, I thought about the marathon, but I couldn’t wrap my head around 26.2 miles. The most I could wrap my head around was 13.1, and it felt doable, both in terms of running for that distance and the time commitment to training for it.
At some point on my half marathon journey though, I realized that it wasn’t the end. Maybe I would only be motivated enough to run this once, and if I was already training, what was another half?
I signed up for a local training program, and every Saturday I met up for our long run. The night before our first practice was so nerve-wracking. I was honestly more anxious about the training than my actual half marathon. I had so many questions and so many doubts, but the first day I found my pace group and ran with them. We started slow, and it went well. Over the next few practices, I found my running buddies, and every week I started to look forward to the runs. I enjoyed pushing myself, seeing how far I could go, and running with a group was so much better than running alone. I still struggled, but suddenly it wasn’t just me. I had other people there struggling with me and encouraging me, and without them I wouldn’t have made it.
The big day was two weeks ago, and as I lined up in the starting waves, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew I could do it. I knew I would do it. But I didn’t know what it was going to be like.
The event was a half marathon and marathon, so the half marathon shared the same course. For the first 13.1 miles, there were always people around me. I was running in a group, and it was like the other races I had participated in. At the halfway point, however, most of the people turned off to finish their race, and I kept going, only halfway through with my race.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been that surprised, but after the halfway point, there weren’t a lot of people. The gap between me and the next person, both in front and behind, was rather large. I could always see someone – and I did pass people and have others pass me – but it was so spread out, and the course was quiet. There weren’t a lot of spectators, and it was odd being the only person they were cheering on at times.
Mile 23 was where things got difficult, and I had to force myself to keep going, to keep running. As I got closer and closer to the finish line, I wanted to speed up, but my body resisted. It wasn’t until mile 25.8 until things got a little bit easier, because the end was finally in sight. I didn’t quite run any faster, but I did keep running, and in the final stretch I saw my parents and other spectators cheering me on. I crossed the finish line, and I was so proud of myself. It was seven months of hard work realized, and it was great to finish it and conquer the marathon.
The next day, my body was in agony, sore from running so far, so long. I thought to myself – how could anybody run another one? But the next day I felt a little better, and as each day passes, I’ve felt it more. I’m not quite done with running yet. I haven’t signed up for another marathon yet – I’m planning to take a well-deserved break – but I plan to tackle another one in the future!
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