I've started to recap my marathon experience a couple of times this week, but after running it on Sunday I gave myself 4 days to relax, eat whatever sounded good, and not think about doing anything athletic. Then I figured, I might as well give myself a few days before writing about it as well! But now, 5 days later, with my muscles finally starting to relax and my body ready for some salads, it's time to put my thoughts together.
I decided back in September that I needed to run a marathon. I can't really explain where the thought came from, especially since I've never really considered it before, but for some reason it felt like something I had to do.
When I was pregnant with Benjamin my doctor told me to not "overdo" my activity level. Since I was exhausted and working full days on my feet at the time, his advice was just what I wanted to hear. About 4 months in, having already gained 30lbs or so of pregnancy weight, I changed doctors. My new doctor told me that I shouldn't have slowed down in the beginning of the pregnancy, but now that I had I couldn't really get back into working out... He recommended that I "try to stay active" and just watch my diet (which I pretty much was). Eventually my weight flat-lined, and I figured that I was one of those women who put it all on in the beginning and looked ready to pop from 5-9 months. After Benjamin was born I dropped about 20lbs in a week and half, and then about 10 more over the next few weeks. It felt good to get rid of extra weight, but my body still felt loose and all over the place. I was stuck between pregnancy clothes and pre-pregnancy clothes, and every time I had to get dressed for the day I felt embarrassed.
In July I decided that I had let my c-section scar heal long enough and it was time to get moving again. I started walking twice a week with a pregnant friend, and then little by little I started jogging. My attempts were pretty pitiful at first, but at least I was trying. In August I realized that I needed something to jump-start me back into shape. My desire to lose baby weight hadn't been enough incentive to drag my sore body outside for more than two days a week, and I was tired of feeling out of shape. Enter the marathon plan: something completely out of my comfort zone that would force me to get into shape, eat healthier, and make me feel like a rockstar. I did some research and found a marathon in Huntington Beach, CA -- which made it acceptable that the run happened in February. The next step was finding some accountability, so I turned to my husband. I remember that our conversation went something like this:
I decided back in September that I needed to run a marathon. I can't really explain where the thought came from, especially since I've never really considered it before, but for some reason it felt like something I had to do.
When I was pregnant with Benjamin my doctor told me to not "overdo" my activity level. Since I was exhausted and working full days on my feet at the time, his advice was just what I wanted to hear. About 4 months in, having already gained 30lbs or so of pregnancy weight, I changed doctors. My new doctor told me that I shouldn't have slowed down in the beginning of the pregnancy, but now that I had I couldn't really get back into working out... He recommended that I "try to stay active" and just watch my diet (which I pretty much was). Eventually my weight flat-lined, and I figured that I was one of those women who put it all on in the beginning and looked ready to pop from 5-9 months. After Benjamin was born I dropped about 20lbs in a week and half, and then about 10 more over the next few weeks. It felt good to get rid of extra weight, but my body still felt loose and all over the place. I was stuck between pregnancy clothes and pre-pregnancy clothes, and every time I had to get dressed for the day I felt embarrassed.
In July I decided that I had let my c-section scar heal long enough and it was time to get moving again. I started walking twice a week with a pregnant friend, and then little by little I started jogging. My attempts were pretty pitiful at first, but at least I was trying. In August I realized that I needed something to jump-start me back into shape. My desire to lose baby weight hadn't been enough incentive to drag my sore body outside for more than two days a week, and I was tired of feeling out of shape. Enter the marathon plan: something completely out of my comfort zone that would force me to get into shape, eat healthier, and make me feel like a rockstar. I did some research and found a marathon in Huntington Beach, CA -- which made it acceptable that the run happened in February. The next step was finding some accountability, so I turned to my husband. I remember that our conversation went something like this:
"I've been thinking..."
"Yeah?"
"I think maybe I want to run a marathon."
Pause. "Yeah?"
"Well I think it'd be really good for me..."
"When?"
"There's this one in February..."
Pause. "Maybe a half-marathon?"
"Yeah?"
"I think maybe I want to run a marathon."
Pause. "Yeah?"
"Well I think it'd be really good for me..."
"When?"
"There's this one in February..."
Pause. "Maybe a half-marathon?"
He's very supportive, so don't get the wrong idea, but he had seen my futile attempts to get into shape over the summer and he wasn't convinced. I could see that I would have to pull out the big guns if I was going to get some accountability, so I sent a message to my sister.
"I think I'm going to run a marathon. Want to do it with me?"
"Sure. When?"
"February in Huntington."
"Great. Sign us up."
"Sure. When?"
"February in Huntington."
"Great. Sign us up."
You have to realize that my sister is a softball stud, not a runner. She's athletic and never strays too far from being in shape, but she doesn't like to jog for more than half an hour at a time. Our first marathon conversation is an excellent example of why I love her.
I found a book that was entertaining to read and made my goal seem attainable, and thankfully it had us training for 20 weeks -- the exact amount that we had until our marathon. I remember the first few runs that I had to do, for time and not distance in the beginning, and how I barely made it around my 2.5 mile path in the 35 min. run. The first "long" run that was assigned was an 80 min. run, and I remember that the only reason I started was that my sister sent me a message along the lines of "tell me why I just ran for 80 minutes??" so I knew I had to go. I barely completed 6.5 miles that time, and when I finally made it home I felt like I was going to die. Now that I'm in shape I know that I can do 6 miles in an hour (and actually have it feel good!), but I still cringe when I think of my runs in September and October.
Even though my training started to feel good, I have to admit that I began to slack off near the end of December. It wasn't just that Christmas-time makes it hard to want to work out, but when I decided to run in California's February sunshine, I hadn't considered that I would be training in Oregon's November, December, and January rain (and hail, and snow, and freezing wind, and more rain). With a warm house and cuddly baby, why would I want to go outside and run?? I managed to do enough to keep in shape, but my confidence started to slip.
Two weeks ago we went down to CA for a friend's wedding, and then we stayed through the week so that I could run the marathon. My body felt mostly ready, but my mind was in survival mode: Don't Think About It. All week long I tried to ignore the approaching event, and I actually succeeded at times. When Saturday night rolled around, it almost didn't even feel like the time had come.
On Sunday morning California's February sunshine did an excellent imitation of Oregon's February rain. Our race started at 6:50am, and we were soaked through before the gun even fired. My poor sister, used to training on a treadmill and in a tank-top, was barely warm enough in a plastic poncho. We started our race in good spirits anyway, deciding that we would finish in 5.5 hours and beat our original 6 hour estimation. To be honest, I expected us to finish in more like 5 hours, but I was also still in denial. We were running with 2 of Heather's friends from San Jose (don't ask me how she convinced them to join in on our training, I only had to convince her), and we were all excited to be running together for once. Being surrounded by a thousand people who will all be finishing 26.2 miles is exciting, but I was still anticipating the pain.
Our first few miles were awesome. We felt good, we were enjoying all of the little water stations, and we were keeping an 11-min pace. (As a side-note, I had never practiced drinking from a dixie cup while running. Apparently, this is something that should be included in your training. As it was still pouring rain, the water down my face, up my nose, and all over my front wasn't really noticeable.) Around mile 7 we took our first calories (Heather and I split a GU, her friends shared some CliffShots) and things still felt pretty good. Around mile 8 we encountered our first BIG hill and my legs started to whine a little. Around mile 9 we joined up with the half-marathoners and experienced running among a crowd of over 5,000 (whew!). Around mile 10, we had our first glitch: My body wanted to stretch a little and my sister (who was getting over a cold) started having trouble breathing. We waved her friends to go on ahead and walked for a few minutes, until her throat stopped closing up and my legs stopped feeling so tight. My mental downward spiral probably started around this point, because once I had walked a little I wanted to do it more often. We kept running and would pause only for water (and once for a bathroom break for Heather), but I was started to get tired of running. Around mile 14 I voiced that I was over it for the first time, which didn't help my mental situation much. My sister took the "just keep running" approach and wouldn't let us stop, figuring it would hurt worse if we let our muscles calm down. The hurting body wasn't really my problem at this point, more of a checked-out brain, but I wanted to stay with her. Around mile 17 we split from the half-marathoners, and I was mentally shooting myself for not agreeing with my husband back in September. About this time I started to get severe abdominal cramps and decided to pause at a bathroom, even though I knew it was probably dehydration. I was sorry later that I stopped because it didn't help at all, and an inability to pull up wet running tights resulted in horrible sores on my inner thighs (but I didn't know about those until later, when I got into my parent's hot tub). My body felt weak, my stomach felt like it was eating itself, and I was praying that I would just throw up and get over it... I was also praying that the rain would stop, which it did, at around mile 18. Unfortunately, it was replaced with knock-you-over winds off the ocean... which was exactly were our little jaunt was taking us. The last 8 miles or so were along a beach path, completely unprotected by anything, and would have been beautiful if the sun were out, the winds would stop, the sky would clear, and we weren't still running. As it was, I only noticed my own pain. Around mile 20 we had our final turn-around, and I had my final mental snap. We lovingly refer to this time in the race as my "Bolsa Chica Breakdown" (Bolsa Chica being that area of the ocean), and I swear I would still be limping back from that beach if my sister hadn't been there with me. I wanted to stop, to walk, to curl up and die, but she ditched her poncho and stood next to me freezing, telling me that we had to keep going because the wind and sand and walking were causing her pain. We developed a pattern of running 5 min, walking 1 min, that took us all the way to mile 24. Around this point I could see the pier where we'd be finishing, my body felt like it was quitting for good, and I made her walk again with me for about 3 minutes. The last 2 miles is pretty much a blur for me, but I definitely remember the last .2 miles. Looking back on my finish I can see myself shuffling along and I want to scream down "it's almost over! just sprint!" but at the time it was all I could do to slowly jog. We finished in 5 hours, 42 minutes, almost an hour behind Heather's friend Lacy and 38 minutes behind her friend Sarah, but we grabbed hands and cheered and stared at each other, amazed that we had managed to finish it.
When I decided to run a marathon I thought that I would feel so proud of myself, amazed at my athletic prowess and looking like a million dollars. In truth, I've lost some weight but I've still got 14 lbs to go, I barely finished the race with my sister dragging me along, and I told myself that I could never never do that again. I thought that this experience would empower me at a time when I'm between babies, but instead it humbled me. I am glad that I have run a marathon, and I am proud that I was able to finish it, but I know that I didn't do any of it on my own. I would not have had the courage to register, the strength to try the long runs, or the determination to finish the race without my stubborn older sister.
As we crossed the finish line I was greeted by my husband, mother-in-law, and smiling 9-month-old. I remembered why I had felt the need to take this on, and I remembered how supportive everyone was (even if initially they thought I was nuts). The pride I feel for having finished a marathon is not in myself, it's in the people that God has placed around me.
The question I've been asked a lot has been "Do you think you'll do it again?" and right now the answer is no. I feel like I could race a half marathon and kick it's butt, and maybe I will just to feel a little of that running prowess, but it will be awhile before I'm mentally ready to consider a marathon again. That's okay though, because my next big challenge is having another baby... and we all know how much fun THAT was the first time around.
I found a book that was entertaining to read and made my goal seem attainable, and thankfully it had us training for 20 weeks -- the exact amount that we had until our marathon. I remember the first few runs that I had to do, for time and not distance in the beginning, and how I barely made it around my 2.5 mile path in the 35 min. run. The first "long" run that was assigned was an 80 min. run, and I remember that the only reason I started was that my sister sent me a message along the lines of "tell me why I just ran for 80 minutes??" so I knew I had to go. I barely completed 6.5 miles that time, and when I finally made it home I felt like I was going to die. Now that I'm in shape I know that I can do 6 miles in an hour (and actually have it feel good!), but I still cringe when I think of my runs in September and October.
Even though my training started to feel good, I have to admit that I began to slack off near the end of December. It wasn't just that Christmas-time makes it hard to want to work out, but when I decided to run in California's February sunshine, I hadn't considered that I would be training in Oregon's November, December, and January rain (and hail, and snow, and freezing wind, and more rain). With a warm house and cuddly baby, why would I want to go outside and run?? I managed to do enough to keep in shape, but my confidence started to slip.
Two weeks ago we went down to CA for a friend's wedding, and then we stayed through the week so that I could run the marathon. My body felt mostly ready, but my mind was in survival mode: Don't Think About It. All week long I tried to ignore the approaching event, and I actually succeeded at times. When Saturday night rolled around, it almost didn't even feel like the time had come.
On Sunday morning California's February sunshine did an excellent imitation of Oregon's February rain. Our race started at 6:50am, and we were soaked through before the gun even fired. My poor sister, used to training on a treadmill and in a tank-top, was barely warm enough in a plastic poncho. We started our race in good spirits anyway, deciding that we would finish in 5.5 hours and beat our original 6 hour estimation. To be honest, I expected us to finish in more like 5 hours, but I was also still in denial. We were running with 2 of Heather's friends from San Jose (don't ask me how she convinced them to join in on our training, I only had to convince her), and we were all excited to be running together for once. Being surrounded by a thousand people who will all be finishing 26.2 miles is exciting, but I was still anticipating the pain.
Our first few miles were awesome. We felt good, we were enjoying all of the little water stations, and we were keeping an 11-min pace. (As a side-note, I had never practiced drinking from a dixie cup while running. Apparently, this is something that should be included in your training. As it was still pouring rain, the water down my face, up my nose, and all over my front wasn't really noticeable.) Around mile 7 we took our first calories (Heather and I split a GU, her friends shared some CliffShots) and things still felt pretty good. Around mile 8 we encountered our first BIG hill and my legs started to whine a little. Around mile 9 we joined up with the half-marathoners and experienced running among a crowd of over 5,000 (whew!). Around mile 10, we had our first glitch: My body wanted to stretch a little and my sister (who was getting over a cold) started having trouble breathing. We waved her friends to go on ahead and walked for a few minutes, until her throat stopped closing up and my legs stopped feeling so tight. My mental downward spiral probably started around this point, because once I had walked a little I wanted to do it more often. We kept running and would pause only for water (and once for a bathroom break for Heather), but I was started to get tired of running. Around mile 14 I voiced that I was over it for the first time, which didn't help my mental situation much. My sister took the "just keep running" approach and wouldn't let us stop, figuring it would hurt worse if we let our muscles calm down. The hurting body wasn't really my problem at this point, more of a checked-out brain, but I wanted to stay with her. Around mile 17 we split from the half-marathoners, and I was mentally shooting myself for not agreeing with my husband back in September. About this time I started to get severe abdominal cramps and decided to pause at a bathroom, even though I knew it was probably dehydration. I was sorry later that I stopped because it didn't help at all, and an inability to pull up wet running tights resulted in horrible sores on my inner thighs (but I didn't know about those until later, when I got into my parent's hot tub). My body felt weak, my stomach felt like it was eating itself, and I was praying that I would just throw up and get over it... I was also praying that the rain would stop, which it did, at around mile 18. Unfortunately, it was replaced with knock-you-over winds off the ocean... which was exactly were our little jaunt was taking us. The last 8 miles or so were along a beach path, completely unprotected by anything, and would have been beautiful if the sun were out, the winds would stop, the sky would clear, and we weren't still running. As it was, I only noticed my own pain. Around mile 20 we had our final turn-around, and I had my final mental snap. We lovingly refer to this time in the race as my "Bolsa Chica Breakdown" (Bolsa Chica being that area of the ocean), and I swear I would still be limping back from that beach if my sister hadn't been there with me. I wanted to stop, to walk, to curl up and die, but she ditched her poncho and stood next to me freezing, telling me that we had to keep going because the wind and sand and walking were causing her pain. We developed a pattern of running 5 min, walking 1 min, that took us all the way to mile 24. Around this point I could see the pier where we'd be finishing, my body felt like it was quitting for good, and I made her walk again with me for about 3 minutes. The last 2 miles is pretty much a blur for me, but I definitely remember the last .2 miles. Looking back on my finish I can see myself shuffling along and I want to scream down "it's almost over! just sprint!" but at the time it was all I could do to slowly jog. We finished in 5 hours, 42 minutes, almost an hour behind Heather's friend Lacy and 38 minutes behind her friend Sarah, but we grabbed hands and cheered and stared at each other, amazed that we had managed to finish it.
When I decided to run a marathon I thought that I would feel so proud of myself, amazed at my athletic prowess and looking like a million dollars. In truth, I've lost some weight but I've still got 14 lbs to go, I barely finished the race with my sister dragging me along, and I told myself that I could never never do that again. I thought that this experience would empower me at a time when I'm between babies, but instead it humbled me. I am glad that I have run a marathon, and I am proud that I was able to finish it, but I know that I didn't do any of it on my own. I would not have had the courage to register, the strength to try the long runs, or the determination to finish the race without my stubborn older sister.
As we crossed the finish line I was greeted by my husband, mother-in-law, and smiling 9-month-old. I remembered why I had felt the need to take this on, and I remembered how supportive everyone was (even if initially they thought I was nuts). The pride I feel for having finished a marathon is not in myself, it's in the people that God has placed around me.
The question I've been asked a lot has been "Do you think you'll do it again?" and right now the answer is no. I feel like I could race a half marathon and kick it's butt, and maybe I will just to feel a little of that running prowess, but it will be awhile before I'm mentally ready to consider a marathon again. That's okay though, because my next big challenge is having another baby... and we all know how much fun THAT was the first time around.
5 comments:
boy, am i impressed. i have been saying to myself that i want to run a half marathon but then again i can't even run three miles. i have to say this is pretty inspiring to me.
Congratulations Beth!
By the way, the congratulations above is from Beckie, your absent-minded anonymous blog-reading fan. :)
Hi Beth,
I am majorly impressed that you ran a marathon. It sounds like you learned a lot from the experience, like what an amazing group of family and friends you have. I miss you and send you and your family lots of love.
xoxo
Bethany,
Congratulations on finishing the marathon. I am proud of you; you kept going even when you did not want to and you successed victorious. I think it's an excellent testiment to your fortitude and determination. I've tried training twice now for one and have had to stop due to injury but both times it was after having a baby and in an attempt to lose weight. March 1, I start training again, this time at my prepregnancy weight (not 30 pounds overweight) and for just a 1/2 marathon (I'll start there and decide after if I'm going to go for a full someday). You've inspired me and it's got me excited.
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