Making my mark at the pre-race expo.
There were a hundred excuses, but only one reason why the Calgary Marathon wasn’t fun.
I could blame my slowest ever marathon time on Calgary’s higher elevation and thinner air.
I could blame the surprisingly hilly course or the less-than-happy stomach.
I could blame the fact I had spread my training across swimming, cycling, running and the gym over the last couple of months, with no real focus on the race.
I could point to all of those things to explain why I clocked in at a modest 4:05, but I’d be lying to myself. The real reason I was 15 minutes slower than my two previous marathons? Easy. I didn’t run enough.
In the few weeks leading up to the race, I had just three 3-hour runs under my belt. I figured those three runs and my triathlon-ready fitness were sufficient to get me through.
Yeah … about that.
Perfect conditions for the 50th anniversary Calgary Marathon. Marathonfoto.com
The sky over Calgary was delightfully clear at 7am when the starting hooter blasted. I took off at a clip and gained confidence as I weaved through the crowd. At 12km, Ron the 3:45hr race bunny caught up with me. “Jolene! You mean monster!” he said. That morning, over breakfast at our hostel, I told Ron I just wanted to finish the race but “anything under 4 hours” would be nice.
I kept a decent pace and focused squarely on getting to the 30km mark. Then it’s just another 12km right? And I’d use gels for that extra push.
But at 32km my muscles began to shout: “Hey! We’re done now. Game over. Time for a sit down and some ice cream.”
“Can’t do that muscles. We’ve still got another 10km to go. Only 10km, what’s the big deal?”
That last 10km was hell. My legs had given up and my usually steady gait turned into a shuffle. This new running style meant I relied on other muscles to keep moving forward. Glutes, vastus medialis in both quads, my right calf and left heel, took turns at protesting. For that last 10km all I could think about was the hurt and when it would be over.
The mental beating was also pretty brutal. You suck! You wanted 3:50? Ha! You’ll be lucky to finish. You’re too heavy. You didn’t train enough/eat properly/hydrate well. You’re not a runner anymore. Why do you even bother? You should quit.
When I finally straggled over the finish line I wasn’t flush with the usual elation. Even when a race volunteer handed me a ginormous medal and pushed me in front of photographers, all I felt were my stiff muscles and intense disappointment.
The berating continued into the next day. I contemplated quitting running, but then I got on the phone to New Zealand. My parents were super proud of me. My sister said I was awesome and we started to talk about what I needed to do for an Iron Man in 2015.
Far from quitting running, I faced up to the truth of what went wrong and what I need to do next time. Not enough running, eh? That’s easily fixed.
“Hey muscles,” I said two days later. “It’s time for a run. Let’s roll.”
runningwithabook 