Last Sunday, I ran my first marathon. It took me 5 hours and 40 some minutes.
Mile 21 and on was probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I spent that last 5+ miles barely lucid. I was crying on and off. I was trying to figure out if it was possible to stop running and just give up. Even if I did give up, I wouldn’t have been able to figure out how to get back to the start.
During the race, I ate two pancakes, 3 or 4 Clif Shots, and various items the Celebration townspeople gave us, and I drank loads of water. But still, that last 5 miles was some kind of torture.
Adding insult to injury was when I hit 26.2 miles according to the GPS and still had to run almost another half mile to the finish line.
Two of my friends who came to cheer my on ran about .05 miles with me as I neared the finish line which made the crying come to a full blown bawl fest. I cried all the way through and after the finish line. I am getting teary eyed even thinking about it.
When I started running 3 years, the first mile I ran was at a 16 mile pace. My first 5k took me almost 40 minutes. The first time I ran 5 miles without walking it took me over an hour, but I was damn proud of myself. My first half marathon was the most painful thing I had ever done, and I was convinced I would never do another.
And then I ran a marathon last week. I ran a flipping marathon. I can’t wrap my head around it, but I did it.