My first marathon by Joe Ward
It was May 2006 in sunny Essex in the UK …
I got up early and put my tight black football shorts on and a skin tight black, long sleeved nike top. Black is of course the PERFECT colour to wear on a warm sunny day when you’re about to run a marathon (sarcasm!!!!).
There was no time for brekkie so I jumped in the car and drove straight to the start line of my first marathon with an empty stomach. I thought “No breakfast means I’ll be a little bit lighter on my feet today. This will definitely help me during the run.”
What was my longest run in training you ask? Not far, around 20kms max, just under half the distance of a marathon. “That’s plenty” I thought.
Did I have a coach or running mentor? Nope ! Who needs a coach for running?! Anyone can run right?! Why do I need someone to tell me how to do something I’ve been doing since I was a child??
Did I join a running club during my training or speak to any other marathon runners for advice?? No way !!! Men never ask for help, it’s a sign of weakness! Besides, what the hell is a running club? And how would running with other people help me get a good time or improve my running? It sounded like a big fat waste of time to me!
Other runners would just slow me down! I thought. Don’t they know I’m an athlete already?? I’ve been playing football, rugby and racket sports for years. I was sure that would give me an advantage over the competition.
Did I know anything about hydration on a long run?? I could hardly spell the word hydration, the most important fact to me was there was a pub that served Stella beer near the finish line. Besides there were 3 aid stations on the course, which I thought would be easily sufficient for a 42.2km run.
Did I take any snacks to fuel me during the marathon?? Err no! I knew nothing about nutrition or the importance of fuelling yourself during a marathon. I thought carrying food would just slow me down and I can get some food in the pub with my pint of Stella.Packet of crisps anyone? 🙂
So as the gun went for the start of my first marathon, I decided there and then, in the first 10 seconds of the race, to run as fast as I could for as long as I could. What a genius race strategy! “Lets get a good time in the first half and get to the pub early.” I thought.
I didn’t own a GPS watch or any sports watch so I just ran at a pace that made my lungs bleed and thought “okay (breath) lets (breath) hold (cough) this (breath) pace now (breath) for 4 hours (cough)” …
5kms in I’m feeling great. 20 minutes of the race done, perfect! This marathon will be over in no time!
10kms – okay I’m warmed up and a bit thirsty but apart from that I’m okay. I really shouldn’t have worn these tight black shorts (TMI?)
20kms – ouch! So much ouch! My legs are hurting but my extreme thirst is distracting from the pain in my legs. Maybe if I stay thirsty this will be easier?
25kms – I am really thirsty now and my legs feel like they are made of concrete. When did my legs become so heavy?!!
30kms – hitting the wall/bonking
Marathon runners call it hitting the wall, Triathletes call it bonking but whatever you call it, I was in the hurt locker at 30kms. Every cell in my body was shouting at me to STOP RUNNING!! I could barely stand up straight let alone continue my forward propulsion. As I stood at the 20 mile aid station, my vision was blurry and for a brief second I thought I was about to die!
I cursed myself. Expletives of every variety ran through my mind. This running malarkey really f*cking sucked. Why did I even attempt this? I questioned my motivation and reasoning, I think I even questioned my existence. Maybe if I died right here, beside the drinks station in the Halstead Marathon, the pain would all be over? No longer existing would be such a beautiful release from the physical world.
Then, out of nowhere, I made a new friend at 30kms (20 miles) who had run over 40 marathons. An incredibly friendly Japanese runner called Hideo introduced himself and coaxed me forward, away from the aid station. Together we walked and then ran and then walked and then ran the last 12kms to the marathon finish line. .It was the hardest 12kms of my life. The finish line seemed to shift further and further away from me and the kms ticked down so slowly that it was hard to believe the distance markers were properly positioned. I will always be grateful to Hideo for getting me through those 12kms and I immediately was struck by the idea that maybe, eventually, I could become just like Hideo. Maybe, one day far in the future, this might become easier and I could stop people from contemplating their existence at aid stations.
Sitting in the pub after the race, it seemed like a miracle that I had finished. Endorphins were flowing through my body and I felt changed by the experience. I vowed I would never never NEVER run a marathon again!! What a ridiculous sport, why do people put themselves through it??
When I think back to my complete lack of training, incorrect choice of running attire, ridiculous race strategy and lack of water and food, it really was one of the biggest (and most spectacular) f*ck ups in my life. I literally could not have prepared worse for a marathon.
I knew nothing about running and even less about running marathons but with a little help from Hideo I got through it and I finished.
As much as I suffered during my first marathon, I will never forget the wonderful learning opportunity it presented me with. Do your due diligence, be patient, know your subject and prepare for the challenges in life. Not preparing is preparing to fail. Never underestimate any challenge or obstacle, trust the process and respect the distance. Be comfortable with receiving help from people that can unlock the doors for you.
And the final lesson the marathon taught me was, never to wear tight black football shorts on a hot day!! (TMI?)
“Sometimes the moments that challenge us the most, define us!” Deena Kastor
466 – me
152 – Hideo
Recent Comments