On a Pedestal: Unpacking Others Reactions to Me Running a Marathon

So, I heard you’re running a marathon...

I’m running a marathon, and the fact of my training often comes up in conversations about “what I’m up to.” This is especially true when talking to people I only see once or twice a year. After we’ve inevitably caught up on the basics on what we’re doing for work, who’s watching The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, and how my cats are doing, the conversation turns to how we’re each spending our time. 

In the past, this usually meant describing my personal projects, of which I always have many, but recently, it’s been training for a marathon. I’m not against talking to people about training for a marathon, but I do think the act of it is kind of funny because it becomes a posturing exercise of weird admissions about fitness level and the difficulty of an insurmountable task that, against all odds, I am surmounting.

The view from the Tweetsie Trail in Johnson City, TN.

Even funnier, I think, is the speed at which others find out that you are running a marathon at events full of people you don’t see very often (like weddings). I had a few people come up to me and bring up the marathon themselves, which then leads to conversations like this: 

“So, I heard you’re running a marathon,” they say. 

“Yeah, it’s in November,” I reply. 

“I could never do that. I’m not in shape at all.” 

“Oh, it’s not that bad. I’ve been training for it so I feel ready.” 

“How long have you been training?”

“I started base-building in May, and training really picked up in July.” 

“It’s so crazy that you’re running a marathon! I, just, would never. I don’t think I have it in me to do something like that, you know?” 

And then the conversation also goes to how Kimberly does triathlons and it’s like everyone thinks we’re some kind of fitness gods when really, by our own admission, we’re kind of mediocre at our respective sports. I don’t mean this in a self-deprecating way, I mean it in a truthful way. It’s going to take me seven hours to run the marathon (maybe longer); I’d be hard-pressed to qualify that as “good.” 

I think the funny thing about the conversations is that everyone feeling so impressed about my commitment to this goal feels the need to make a self-disparaging remark about how difficult it is and they could never do it and it’s something that could only happen in their dreams (which is different from the people who tell me I’m crazy and running sucks). There’s an awe-inspiring aura around marathoning that causes others to feel inferior — and I find that so odd. 

One of those reasons is, as I said before, I’m not even very good at it. I don’t think I suck, but I’m not going to qualify for the Boston Marathon anytime soon (or ever, let’s be honest). But that’s also not my goal. I’m running the marathon because I want to and because I want to prove to myself that I can. I think when I hear other people make remarks about how they could never, it makes me think of how I felt about Kimberly doing triathlons when we were first together. I thought it was amazing and doing a triathlon would never be in my future. I admired her dedication, tenacity, sense of self, and desire to improve, somehow thinking I had none of those things — and never would — because I had never and would never complete a triathlon. 

And then I completed a triathlon. While I still admire Kimberly’s dedication to sport, I realized that multisport wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for me. 

Truthfully, I think most people — if they wanted to — could run a marathon. Yes, it takes time and dedication, but if you want to, you can do it. The only thing stopping me was my own belief that I could never. But, as I’ve been training and hitting milestones in my training, the looming mountain of Marathon has shrunk to the size of a molehill. It’s within reach. 

Kimberly used to say this about cycling. She was training for a 116-mile ride and I would tell her how amazing it is that she could ride that long and I don’t know if I’d ever be able to do it. When she told me anyone could ride 100+ miles, it annoyed me. I always thought, There’s no way I could go do that right now. But now, I’ve realized what she meant. Anyone can ride 100+ miles if they want to — and put in the time to train for it. 

The other reason these conversations have struck is that marathoning is just something I decided to do in my spare time. Like writing, it’s a hobby. When I talk to these other people and they tell me about their hobbies, I’m equally impressed by my friend who recently knitted their very first scarf or the person who recently completed an incredibly long D&D campaign. I am no more impressive or better or inspiring than the person who is doing something else with their spare time and finds joy and accomplishment in whatever that activity is. 

But, the physicality of the marathon sparks some kind of primal awe at this arduous feat through which I am putting my body. I am “pushing myself to my limits” and all of that. The “importance” of marathoning is predicated on it being so physically demanding, which, in my own experience, is something difficult to conceptualize unless you’ve done it yourself and have realized it’s possible. 

As I prepare for a 23-mile run this weekend, I think back to the early days of training when I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to last that long. Six hours running? In the heat and humidity? Sometimes in the rain? 

I’m writing a book right now, too, and sometimes I think that’s harder than training the marathon, but, as I chip away at my revision piece-by-piece I feel closer to the end, gain more momentum, and know that I’ll be able to finish it — and it will be good. 

One is not empirically more difficult than the other; there’s no way to measure that. They both sound so hard, but like most difficult things, they’re approachable if you put in the time.