The Marathon Learning Curve
Two weeks ago, I ran my first marathon ever.
Finishing this marathon was arguably one of my greatest accomplishments. The sense of pride and accomplishment I felt crossing that finish line — and continue to feel — is enormous. In the aftermath, I look back at the months of training: the hours of running and cross-training, braving icy and cold trails alone countless times, the constant self-motivation required, the relief of finishing my long run each week. Yes, I think of it as a rewarding time of self-growth and persistence; but I also think of it, in large part, as a learning experience.
Once I committed to the marathon, I had to start training almost immediately. I had run four half marathons before, so I wasn’t new to racing. But running 26.2 miles is much different than running 13.1. Sure, you can and should train for half marathons, doing at least two or three longer runs (8-11 miles) before the race, but that’s kind of it, at least in my experience. Anyone with a reasonable fitness level and some regular running can do it; it’s just resigning yourself to be in constant motion for two hours or so. The day of a half marathon, I would wake up, eat a Clif bar, run the race, then eat a lot of food afterwards without thinking about it. This marathon was a new ball game.
I first downloaded a training program for runners like me: previous half marathoners attempting their first full. The plan was pretty simple: moderate run on Monday, cross-train Tuesday, longish run Wednesday, cross-train Thursday, short run Friday, long run Saturday, rest on Sunday. It started off with the “long run” being a mere 5 miles, ending with it being 20 miles before tapering (drastically reducing mileage in the final three weeks prior to the race). You never actually run the full 26.2 miles before race day. You don’t want to kill your body.
Initially, the training was straightforward and I really loved getting into the rhythm and routine of it. However, once the long run surpassed 13 miles, I realized I had to rethink things. I couldn’t just be heading out to run 16 miles during the week without being intentional about what I was eating before, during, and after the run. With a little research, I was able to nail down a regimen that worked for me: an electrolyte gel or block before the run, then another plus half a granola bar every hour of running. Upon return, I would almost robotically start heating up water to make a big bowl of oatmeal, crack open a chocolate Muscle Milk, and pour myself a glass of Gatorade. I also invested in a lightweight running vest with a Camelbak, so I always had water with me. Not to mention my stylish full-spectrum UV ray protected sunglasses I received by working for my college’s grounds and landscaping crew.
Even after I had gotten that nailed, there were still a million questions I had. I peppered my friend Kate with these questions, as she’s run four marathons and is currently training for an ultra.
What do I eat the week of the race? The day before? The morning of? Do I wear my vest? Do I wear specific types of clothes? Should I carry more food with me on course, or do I rely on what I’m provided along the way?
I had read that I should eat a lot of nitrates, avoid greasy food, and drink lots of water (obviously) the week of the race. I did that to some effect, trying to eat leafy greens and beans and beets whenever possible. I didn’t crush it. Kate was adamant that the carbo-loading should happen two days before the race, not one. And that the lunch the day before should be my last big meal. And that the last dinner should be light. Well, my last day of eating before the race consisted of a giant French toast/egg/potato breakfast, plus half a custom cinnamon roll, a beer, then sweet potato fries and an Impossible burger. So you could say I really followed all the advice I was given.
Kate also point-blank said, “Don’t wear the vest. You’ll look like an idiot if you wear it.”
I was definitely nervous before the race. I had trained exactly as I should have, was overly cautious the month prior (skiing only blue trails at the mountains, fearful of hurting myself at every turn), and eaten and slept to the best of my ability. I just feared that something would happen the day of — I’d wake up late, I’d get an unbearable leg cramp at mile 17, I’d feel so nauseous and ill I couldn’t continue, etc. Thank goodness none of that happened.
I woke up at 5:15 am. My dad got me to the start line by 6. I used the bathroom, ate an electrolyte gel, drank a 20 oz cherry Gatorade, and breathed until the gun went off at 7. I steadily made my way through downtown LA, the course being mostly downhill, the uphills being total manageable after training at altitude in Colorado. Kate was right about the vest — water and Gatorade is provided at every mile, so I’d drink a cup every 2-3, sipping it and walking. I think the toughest part was really mile 13 to 19. Because I just knew I had so much more to go. Once I hit mile 20, I knew that even with a horrible leg cramp or something, I could still finish the race in the time limit, albeit limping. At that point, my body was in quite a bit of pain, but the end was near.
As I came down Ocean Avenue in the last half mile, the sun was hazy around the finish line and I wondered if it really was the end, or the 26 mile marker — meaning I’d still have .2 miles to go. When I finally verified it was the true end, I could only marginally speed up. And then it was over. I thought I’d be bawling, but honestly, my body was too spent for emotions. I hobbled down the avenue, being handed countless snacks and beverages that I could barely hold onto. When I finally made it out of the finish chute, I sat on a curb, surrounded by roughly 25,000 people, eating my Clif bar and drinking my chocolate milk in a stupor. It would take me a solid 5 days to walk properly(ish) again.
I learned a lot about training and diet in the process. I learned a lot about myself — my ability to persevere with little-to-no help, running 18 miles on a given day alone, entirely self-motivated. I also learned that yes, there is a marathon bug — there is likely another marathon in my future. But it has to be under the right conditions. I’m not taking class this semester, so I had plenty of time to train; that’s condition one. I’ll need to be inspired by a particular race, have a real desire to run it for some reason. And next time, I’d really like to run it with someone, damn it. Because now that I know I have the ability to self-motivate, I don’t really feel the need to prove it again. I want someone suffering by me along the way. We’ll see when those conditions align.
