When I was young and inexperienced I decided to run a marathon. I ran about 30km per week, and had only run for four months after coming back from a year break, bur I felt confident that I was ready for the 42.2km that lay ahead of me.
So at 5:00AM on a cool Saturday morning, I lined up with 500 other runners and when the gun went, started what would probably be my longest marathon ever.
The first 2km went quick – too quick – but I felt good. I had a cup of water and half a cup of the coke and carried on running.
The 10km mark approached. When I looked down at my watch I noticed the 00:50:00 staring back at me. It was faster than I expected. My body told me I felt good. My mind told me to slow down. I ignored my mind and carried on at the comfortable pace that I was managing.
At the 15km mark my legs started tiring a bit. I took a short walk while sipping the energy drink that an attendant had given me and started running again. I ignored the dull pain in my calves that should have warned me that cramps were going to attack.
Less than half a mile later I was forced to stop and walk. My calves were hard as bricks and cramping to much that I didn’t even feel the tears in my eyes stinging. There was a first aid station 500m ahead. I forced my feet to carry me to it. Once there, I was greeted by a physio that smiled with a smile that said ‘FOOL’ without a sound. She made me lie down and started inflicting pain on me with those cruel hands of hers.
Thankfully it seemed to help and 10 minutes later I was back on the road, dragging my feet meter by meter. A friendly runner spotted me and my pain. She pulled up next to me and started talking, trying to distract me. I started counting the kilometers to the end.
18 … 19 … 20 … 21
My legs felt like dead logs, sending pulses of incredible pain into my body and brain. The friendly runner stayed with me, walking when I walked, plodding when I plodded.
22 … 23 … 24 … 25
I was past the halfway mark. Stubbornly I carried on. The friendly runner tried to give some advise, passed me water, handed me gels, squeezed sponges full of water over me. I tried to smile, but I think I only managed to scare the other people around me with a snarl.
26 … 27 … 28 … 29
We made a turn near the finish. The friendly runner was still by my side. By now I was running 300m, then walking 500m. I felt like I was dying. Other runners that passed us, wheezed, whispered, spoke and shouted words of encouragement. I had finished more than three quarters of the route – there was no giving up now.
30 … 31 … 32 … 33
We got to the top of the last hill and I wanted to cry. My legs were killing me. I finally understood that I was too unfit to have run the race. I went out too fast in the beginning stages. I wish I hadn’t woken up at 3:45AM to get to the start line on time. Every muscle in my body hurt.
37 .. 38 … 39 … 40 … 41
One kilometer to go and I could see the end. I had no energy left, but I managed to get enough together to carry on running without walking. I crossed the line with a smile on my face – glad that it was finally over. One marshal put a medal around my neck while another pushed an energy drink into my hand. The time : 04:25:16 My first marathon was over.
I sat down on the grass to get the weight off my legs – when I wanted to get up again, I needed help, and lots of it. For days afterwards I couldn’t walk…
Now, years later, I’ve set myself a goal. Next year, I want to run the London marathon. If I should fail to get an entry, I’ll run the Paris marathon.
Let us hope that this time, it won’t hurt as much.
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