Several months ago I registered for my first marathon. Why? Because I wanted to know if I could do it. Because I believed that I could do it. But I realized that I needed to train.
Timing of the marathon wasn't ideal . . . just over 8 weeks after the fast. Which meant that I would lose at least four weeks of training. This fact did worry me slightly.
Time flew by. Any working mother knows that finding time to train is close to impossible. Finding time to do sufficient training for a marathon is beyond impossible. But what was I to do? I'd rather die than withdraw from the race.
Not long after I entered, sitting around with friends one night I listened to my husband as he offered a friend advice on how to pace herself on the race. He then turned to me, smirked and told me how hard I was going to find it, how I was going to struggle, how I was going to suffer. I recall the glee on his face as he imagined being at the finish to see me crawl in, physically and mentally broken. With a lump in my throat I listened to him. He didn't think I could do it. He delighted in the fact that I was going to learn that I wasn't up to the task. I don't know why I was shocked by his attitude. No matter how often he made his disgust for me clear I was still stupidly surprised each time ...
A few times after that night he reminded me in various ways that he didn't really think I was going to make it. There was the time he went out of his way to point out how slow I was by calculating my average pace (incorrectly incidentally). Then there was the time he told me to my face, that he actually told someone else, that he could see I was going to drop out before the big day.
Then of course the day before the race when he told me he wished he had a Go-Pro - some kind of camera gadget that one mounts on your head and films your every move. Why? Because he wished he could witness every minute of how "stukkend" I was going to be. Such encouragement I received from my husband as I prepared for my first marathon. You can just feel the love right?
In the week before the race I watched how runners around me were overcome by pre-race nerves. Some ate anything they could lay their hands on, others battled sleepless nights, fretting. My dear husband practically popped a third eye - a very visible and painfull growth on the edge of his eyelid. But I remained oddly calm. I guess the fact that I was hosting the event of the year only 3 days later didn't leave me much time to be nervous. Permit applications and project plans didn't leave me much time to train either.
The night before the race husband admitted to being nervous. He was determined to finish in under five hours to qualify for the Two Oceans Utra Marathon and Comrades. I just wanted to finish the race.
Even that night husband said and did things that brought me close to tears. . . But that relates to a different sad story.
Then race day arrived. I was happy. I was calm. I really was happy. We made our way to the start with some friends, singing and joking. Husband had to admit that I was very "nonchalant" about the fact that I was about to run a marathon.
At the start we separated. He moved off to join his elite group and I found my slow poke buddies. The gun goes. With a big smile, happy heart and bursting with excitement we set off. For the first three kilometers we were carried in the crowd of excited runners. I was astounded by how many runners my partner and I knew. There were countless pics to smile for. The energy was indescribable. But after the 3km mark things quieted down as my partner and I found ourselves at the back of the pack - our usual spot, with our usual friends. Kilometer by kilometer we made our way, singing and laughing, sharing stories.
Before we know it we find the 10km marker and we're feeling good. Before long we're 16km in and still feeling good. We danced over the 21km mat to signal that we've reached half way. And then came some hard miles - the inclines. But even these were fun. All you need is good company and the right attitude. I was doing great. I kept wondering when the suffering my husband warned me about was going to start. From around 25km to 33km we agreed to take it easy and save some energy for the last kilometers. In the glaring sun we trotted along.
Ahead of us lay the dreaded promenade - everyone knows I hate running that promenade. But on marathon day, not even the promenade, more that 30km into the race could get me down. I can honestly say I smiled for 42.2km. What an adventure. Again with just over 1km to go we decided to drop the pace to save some energy for the grand finish. But I was bursting with excitement. I couldn't believe and couldn't explain what an amazingly comfortable race we had run. When we hit the finish lane I had to really restrain myself from sprinting away from my partner. I felt I could do cartwheels across the finish line.
The advantage of being the last two runners from our club was that everyone else was at the finish line waiting to welcome us. What a reception! What a bunch of wonderfully warm people.
I felt pretty cuffed. I had finished my first marathon. It did take us just over seven hours, but that was still an hour under the cutoff time. It was also under the cutoff time I had set myself. I was happy.
Added bonus, after a hot shower I realized I had no muscle aches. I figured I'd feel it the next day. But another surprise - woke up and still no pain. Only one little toe nail niggle that I barely noticed.
Unfortunately in this house the high from any achievement is short lived. Just last night, not even a week an a half after the marathon, husband dearest pointed out that my race couldn't be compared to his ... My achievement is not as great as his. I guess his right.
I ran my very first marathon, well within cutoff time, with almost zero training, and still I feel like a failure. Still I feel like an underachiever.
I realize now I could discover the cure for cancer, spin straw into gold, magically transform my unique physique into that of a Victoria Secret model and still this man would find a way to leave me feeling like dirt.
He did call me two days ago offering to buy me new running shoes as a gift for finishing my first marathon. I said no thanks. I didn't add that I'd rather eat crushed glass.
