Did Someone Say Marathon?

I have registered to run the 2011 Grandma's Marathon here in Duluth. I am running it with my friend Tony. I wasn't really planning on running until he had called and reminded me we had talked about running it together one night over some drinks. I don't remember the conversation, but I don't doubt I was the one that brought it up. There is rarely an instance I have a chance to bring up the fact I had run a marathon and let it pass. To slip it into conversation we don't even need to be talking about exercise. "You drove 400 miles to go to a wedding? That's longer than the marathon I ran."

I think before I ran my first one, I was imagining a lot more instances where I could impress people with this. In fact, if you listen to people talk about running a marathon you'll often hear the phrase, "I want to run one, just to say I did it." They literally mean that. They want to "just say they did it" as often as they can. I, like many others I'm sure, soon realized that no one cares, and has little interest in listening to a braggart. I think we have Al Roker to blame for this. Ever since he finished the NYC marathon all over the Today show, the accomplishment doesn't carry the same weight. But, after the disappointment of not being special wore off, I did realize I liked running them. I say this like I am a veteran, but again, that is an enormous overstatement. I have ran two. I have wanted to run another though, because there's something about putting your body through voluntary agony that attracts me. It's like a test to see what your body can endure. Let's face it, I sit at a desk most days and have often used shoveling snow as a perfectly acceptable substitute for real exercise. To boil it down, it's just fun to see what I was still capable of.

My first marathon was along side my friend Rob. I had trained quite a bit but that's only in comparison to my regular exercise schedule. Still, I felt ready. A bit naive yes, but still, I knew I could at least finish. This was my only goal. I wasn't fooling myself. I was entering the race twenty pounds heavier than what's recommended for someone of my height and up to the day of the marathon, my longest run was only sixteen miles. However, despite all of the warning signs, I had the comfort of knowing that Rob would at least be worse off than me.

I had thought so anyway. Rob was invited to run the marathon by a friend who had injured himself after he had already registered. Rob would have to register under his friend's name, but since the entrance fee is non-refundable it would've been a waste if no one used it. Rob was asked if he wanted to run and made the decision with only two weeks left before the date of the marathon. Now, Rob is never truly out of shape, but still, I felt I was safe. He had two weeks to train and the longest run he had gone on prior to the marathon was 8 miles the week before. If anything I was expecting a nice jog where we'd both be hurting. My training would hopefully make up for being overweight and Rob's lack of training would work against his ridiculously unfair natural strength and stamina.

I was wrong. About ten miles in I noticed Rob was barely breathing and rather enjoying himself. By this time, I could no longer talk and my nipples were chafed so bad I had to remove my shirt. This wouldn't have been so bad, but for my wife and her camera. There's a perfect picture of me and Rob standing next to each other at about the ten mile mark. My eyes are barely open with the rest of my face in a wince, half hunched and in the perfect position to showcase my sore-nippled man boobs. Rob on the other hand is smiling and arrow straight, all 6'3 of him glistening with sweat, towering over me in the perfect light to accentuate his impressive six pack. Being that we had only gone ten miles, I was sure that things were about to get much worse.

I remember we both started to get really hungry around 15 miles and some rumors of a good food station started trickling back through the runners. We gathered that mile 17 was the place to be. When we arrived we were famished. They have food every couple of miles, but it's rarely anything that sounds good while in pain. It's mostly oranges and bananas. Knowing full well I would regurgitate any solid foods I attempted to eat, mile 17 had just what I needed. They were Clif Shots. Little packages of a gel or syrup packed with calories and energy giving nutrients. A woman was standing in the middle of the road with a box of them. People were reaching in and grabbing one or two as they jogged past. Rob and I both stopped five feet in front of the lady, slowly cornering her. Crazy with hunger we were afraid she'd fly away with the gels. As I limped towards her, my arms outstretched like a zombie, the look on my face must have been terrifying. She held the box as far away from her body as she could while I greedily scooped out a handful of the packets. Rob and I, too excited to move, stood right next to her while we tore into them like a couple of polar bears.

To say the other runners knew better than us doesn't quite say enough about the enormous gap in our knowledge of what it takes to complete a marathon. The way the body reacts under enormous strain was something we knew next to nothing. The reason most people chose one gel, or grabbed two to save one for down the road, is pretty simple to explain. If all you've consumed during the day while running seventeen miles is water and energy drinks, syrup sits in your otherwise empty stomach like syrup. With my belly lined with a thick coating of sugar the last nine miles were agony. Rob of course, recuperated much better than I had from our Clif Shot binge and by mile twenty two he was practically walking beside me. I urged him to go ahead. It was one thing to be barely able to pick up your feet while pretending to run, but another to make a person in much better shape stick with you while you do it. Plus, I really wanted to start walking more but had been too embarrassed to do it with Rob around. With him out of the way I could look fat and walk as much as I liked. He was reluctant at first, but the way he eventually galloped away made me think he was maybe more excited than he was letting on about leaving me. I didn't have long to eat his dust, as he was out of eyesight within a minute of us separating. For the next four miles my only goal was to try and not look too defeated for the last mile before the finish. I figured this was where the most pictures would be taken. I can't remember much of the end, but I crossed the finish line at some point.

Surprisingly, my finish time wasn't nearly as embarassing as I was expecting, but I knew I would never run one again. I had achieved my goal. I could finally say I did it, to anyone who would listen. After a month the pain wears off though, and you find yourself getting soft and lazy at a desk and you wonder if you could do better the next time. I guess we'll see.