I did something totally crazy on Sunday.
I ran a marathon.
Yeah. Totally not kidding.
And it probably wasn’t the best decision I ever made.
But after how good I felt in Chicago I thought this was a great decision! Ha. So.totally.wrong.
I woke up Sunday morning ready to tackle the race. Sure, I was nervous, but I knew it was a distance I could run. And I was totally DUE for a good marathon.
But, instead, this is what went down:
- My iPod didn’t work as soon as I crossed the start line (no exaggeration).
- I called J twice to tell him I was done. I wanted to quit. I wanted to be done running. Come pick me up.
- I threw up at mile 20.
- I was plain out BORED.
The first half was great. I felt fine, my legs were great, and I was keeping a pretty decent pace. I was right where I wanted to be.
But all of a sudden at mile 15 I wanted to be done. I was over it. I called J and told him I was done. I couldn’t get my breathing under control and I didn’t want to run anymore. My heart wasn’t in it. He told me “Too bad. You’re not quitting. Keep going.”
So I kept going.
Until mile 17. And this time I turned my watch off, stepped onto the sidewalk, and stopped running all together. I called J to come pick me up. And he sighed. Ugh. The dreaded sigh. It was that sigh that made me suck it up and start running again. I didn’t want to disappoint him, or C, and I quickly remembered a sign that said:
- Pain is temporary, but quitting is forever
And I knew I had to finish. As much as I dreaded it, I turned my watch back on and off I went. From then on I ran a mile and walked a minute. Until I reached the finish line.
I couldn’t figure out why my watch was so different than the race website. And then I remembered how I stopped it when I stopped running at mile 17. Duh.
No big deal. Here are my splits, though:
I stopped to talk to J at Mile 12, Mile 15 is where I first stopped to walk and call J, and Mile 20 is where I tossed my cookies (or should I say my Gatorade?). But you can definitely see where I mentally checked out.
Luckily J found me at mile 22 and ran me home. He pushed me to that finish line.
This medal is just as much his as it is mine.
But I still decided to get him his own medal:
Dinner and a growler from his most favorite brewery ever. Beer = medal in his world.
This was by far the hardest marathon yet. And not because my legs gave out on me, but because my mind did. I’d like to say I’m proud that I didn’t quit, but I kinda feel like I did. I gave up on myself – something I never do. I’m more proud of J for pushing me – he didn’t let me stop, which is exactly what I would have done for him if the roles were reversed.
What helps you push through when you’ve mentally “checked out”??