I'm Running a Marathon on Saturday. Let's Get Into It.

A reflection on training for nearly seven months and reaching the inevitable end.

I can hardly believe it, but I am running the Every Woman’s Marathon in Savannah, GA, on Saturday. I remember when I signed up for the race, just a couple of days before the bridge run earlier this year. Nearly seven months of training and on Saturday around 2:00 PM, it will be over. The goal I’ve set for myself will be realized; I can bask in the glory (and hunger and tiredness) of having run 26.2 miles. 

The hardest part over the past couple of weeks has been fully buying into the idea that I am ready and prepared. Of course I am, but then last night, nearly drifting away in sleep, a thought entered my head: what if I don’t finish? What if something happens and I can’t do it? 

Before entering taper, my coaches told me that this line of thinking was normal, and to combat it by telling myself that I can trust my training. But after not running more than six miles at once for the past three weeks, I feel that maybe I’ll forget how to run or burn out at mile six or run too slow. The possibilities for marathon race-day related catastrophe are endless. Hell, I could just fall and twist my ankle on an easy walk around my neighborhood.

My training load over the last six months courtesy of COROS.

I’m someone who has grand delusions about my own skills and abilities. I truly believe I can probably figure out how to do anything. Sometimes I get excited about the prospect of a new project or want to take on the challenge, but then I get bored and give up. In a rush of excitement, I signed up for the marathon, somewhere between overconfident I could run a marathon and doubtful of my abilities to stay committed. But I stayed committed. It’s all in the preparation. Every run I showed up for, every blazing hot hour I spent outside, every Huma gel I took and ounce of Tailwind I drank, every added mile on my three pairs of running shoes is preparation. 

Listening to audiobooks for hours is preparation, but so is dealing with silence for seven miles because my earbuds died. Figuring out how to take care of my mental health is preparation, and so is learning that I can be proud of myself even when I’m not great at something. 

At my first meeting with Coach Dana, I remember she said that marathoning changes people. It sharpens dull edges. Once you’ve trained for and run a marathon, you know your worth and what you deserve. You know what you’re capable of and you know what bullshit you don’t have to put up with anymore. You know what it takes to do something hard and what it means to fight through the worst of days. You know how to dig deep into the recesses of your mind to just keep going. 

I think about all of this and I wonder if I have changed. Have I “cut the fat” out of my life, so to speak? Am I more confident? More committed? More determined? More willing to try something for the hell of it? 

Nothing in my life has transformed; it is fundamentally the same as when I started this journey, but I think there are things that are different. 

Starting this newsletter was a way for me to document my progress and see how I improved over time, or that was the intent anyway. Looking back over each one I’ve sent out I’ve realized that perhaps the greatest thing I’ve gained from this is not being able to run 26.2 miles, but knowing that I can run 26.2 miles. 

I’ve done difficult things before. My first triathlon was difficult. Moving across the country by myself for grad school was difficult, but there’s something raw about keeping the body in motion and sustaining effort for the length of time it takes to run a marathon. This is not to say that running a marathon is an achievement because of its physicality, but rather that the true gain of running is accepting that life moves slow and sometimes progress is slow, and the best thing we can all learn is how to deal with silence, discomfort, and time.  

I think of running like yin yoga, a yoga practice where you hold poses for several minutes. Yin classes are transformative because they ask the yogi to remain still, quiet the mind, and let go of tension while in a difficult pose. In yin classes, I find myself exhaling and releasing the tension I hold in my body. There’s no reason for me to capture it. I have to let it go. I have to accept that being in dragon pose or pigeon pose for five minutes isn’t going to feel good, but afterward? Afterward it will feel delightful. 

And running is like that, too. Much has been written about the intersection of running and philosophy or running and creativity, but I don’t think there’s any reason for me to not say what I want. When running, I can only control what I can control, and that means allowing myself to be uncomfortable. Holding on to tension and holding my breath gets me nowhere. To get to the end, I have to keep moving. There’s no other option (than quitting, and that’s not really an option). Accepting discomfort is hard and being patient is hard. I’m not a particularly patient person. I should probably say I’m not very patient at all. But I’ve had to be patient with myself and allow myself to feel frustrated and uncomfortable through the process, and in the end, I know it’s worth it. 

Breathe through it. 

Relax your body. 

Know that you are capable. 

Cross the finish line.