The Five Stages of Grieving an Unrealistic Marathon Goal
First of all, I did it. I finally ran a marathon. I had been trying for about five years to do this and kept getting derailed by various things. Mostly, it was my shins--which lacked the strength to withstand the assault from overly-tight hamstrings and calves and from trying to run as hard as I could every time I ran while being frustrated that in my late 30's, after having spent my best years for physical activity being dormant, I could not run as fast as I did when I was 17. Sometimes it was sickness. Other times it was just life. But each time, in the summer, I'd stop to recover and then not find the strength to start again until some time in the Spring. But this time, at the age of 40, I made it. I'm a marathoner. And despite what you may read beyond this point, I'm happy and thrilled that I did it.
Denial
Let me start off by saying my goal was to finish in 4 hours or less. I have run two half marathons and my goal was to finish those in under 2 hours and I did. I figured, with marathon training, I could get to where I could run a marathon at that pace. I think I was on track until I unwisely donated a double-dose of red blood cells to the Red Cross six weeks ago. I'm not saying it was a bad thing to do, but the timing was just wrong and I have no idea why I did not think about the effect this would have at the time.
I believe this stage began in the last few weeks of my training. I had been hoping ever since the donation that enough of my blood would regenerate in time to recover and I had noticed improvement from week to week. However, when doing pace runs in the last couple of weeks, it was all I could do to run a relatively short distance at a 9:00/mile pace. I was realizing that 4 hours was not probable and that I would probably be closer to 4:30. However, part of me hoped that with all the downhill on the course and with the benefit of a taper, that I still would be able to do it.
Stacie and I lined up just behind the 4:00:00 pacer. It took us a little over five minutes to get to the starting line after the race officially started and then we were off. I immediately lost her. At this point, it was just a matter of trying to find open space and getting there only to be cut off and having to find it again. I got ahead of the pacer and felt like I was easing into this at a comfortable pace. I was thinking it was about 10:00/mile. My first mile was actually 8:52. The first mile marker came up fast. Somewhere around here, the pacer passed me and Stacie was with him. I hung back, but kept the pacer's balloons in sight.
Along we went at 9:14, 8:38, 8:24, & 9:02 where I saw Stacie at the aid station. Someone had stepped on her shoe and she had fallen back. She caught up to the pacer and I stayed back again. 8:34 to mile six and I started feeling like I was done.
One problem was that my ankle was hurting. I've sprained it a few times over the years while playing basketball and it has been a nagging injury for me for some time. I've been able to run through it and the more I run, the better it feels. After a few weeks of consistent training, it stops bothering me. But if I stop for a small amount of time, it hurts when I start again. Well, my taper was just enough to get it to act up again.
The other problem was that I hadn't been monitoring my pace. It was dark and my watch is nearly unreadable by 40-year-old eyes. But that didn't really matter--my plan was to run this section at under 9:00/mile because I knew I would slow down for miles 8-12. 8:44 down into Veyo and then the trouble started.
Anger
This was more frustration than anger. I tried my best to push up Veyo Hill. I kept running and noticed that the pacer was walking. Stacie was still with him. I was able to close the gap to about a dozen or so feet when he started running again and then they just disappeared into the mass of people that I could see constantly rising above me throughout the Dammeron Valley.
I heard a man say, "These next three miles are the hardest for me. Except for the last three, of course." I knew this would be difficult, but the slower pace actually helped me recover a bit of hope and I knew if I could get to mile 13 at 2 hours, I might be OK. I covered these miles at 10:52, 10:24, 10:24, 10:52, 10:36 and then the long uphill grind was over. I ran 9:56 to mile 13 and got there in a little over 2 hours. This was right where I wanted to be, but the frustration was that I was feeling anemic and pretty much spent.
Bargaining
I knew it would be hard to find any more 9:00 miles, but I knew there was some good downhill coming. I just told myself, "Just keep pressing on and we'll see how it goes." This was my favorite part of the race. The downhill was a welcome relief and the next three mile markers really seemed to come in rapid succession. The spectators at Snow Canyon were very enthusiastic and I missed them when they were no longer there. I did 10:14, 9:14, 9:34, 9:56 and then, just before the uphill section of mile 18, I hit the proverbial wall. My pace was 10:52 for this mile and I started slowing down on the downhill before the bridge.
Depression
I felt like I was done. I finally caved in and started walking. I did not know how I was going to run 7 more miles. I was sure Stacie was still with the 4 hour pacer and that she would be waiting around at the finish line for a long time before I got there. I started running again and then, all of the sudden Stacie was there with a giant otter-pop. I was surprised to see her and was disappointed that she wasn't going to make 4 hours, either. But it was nice to run with her again. But the niceness of finding her again went away when I couldn't run anymore and had to walk the rest of the way up the hill. Somewhere around here, the 4:15 pacer passed. I said, "There goes 4:15. Now we wait for 4:30 to pass us." At this point, I didn't even know how I was going to finish. So I did mile 19 at 12:48. At the top of the hill I was able to get myself running again. Mile 20 was 11:16.
Acceptance
I could now see St. George. It was good to see where we were trying to get to and it was bad to see how far away it still was. Another big downhill section was coming up and I did my best to push through. In the process, I left Stacie behind. At an aid station, I turned around and walked backwards to look for her, but I couldn't see her. I was worried about her, but I knew I had to push hard or I was never going to finish.
My walks through the aid stations just got longer and longer and it was very difficult to start running again afterwards. Mile 21 was 11:16. People were walking all around me and was very hard to run downhill. I wanted to walk so bad and it took everything I had to get to mile 22. I just kept thinking, "Just get to mile 22. Just get to 22 and we'll take it from there."
12:10 to mile 22. And I kept it up. "One more mile. 23. Just get to 23." 12:08. We got into town and the crowd was amazing. People would say, "You are almost there," which really made me mad. I wasn't almost there. I knew exactly how far I still had to go and I wasn't sure I could get to 24. I was doing my best to just focus on the next mile and these people were making me think of 3. Of course, they were just trying to help and be encouraging and I'm glad they were there. They must have helped because my pace picked up. 11:48 to 24.
Somewhere around here, Stacie appeared and slapped my butt. I was so glad to see her and was now worried that she'd leave me behind. We turned onto the diagonal and I could feel the excitement of being close, but still the agony of not being close enough. I was still just trying to make it to 25. If I could get there, I knew I could finish. You can always run 1 mile, right? We stayed together and made it to 25 in 11:14.
The next .2 miles went by with much difficulty when I saw the 1 mile to go sign. I kissed my right hand and slapped the clock. I saw a girl lying in the gutter with some people giving her aid. I was sincerely envious of her. This was so hard at this point. We turned on to Main street at the round-a-bout and I said, "Just one more turn."
It was hard to get to that turn. I was making weird noises. I couldn't stop it. Somehow, I kept going. I saw some runners turn the corner and I said, "Thank goodness." I turned the corner and could see the finish line. It looked out of reach. I just kept pressing forward at the most agonizingly slow pace I'd ever run. It must have been getting closer, but it was hard to tell. The crowd was encouraging, but it was just noise. Somehow, there was a wide open gap between the people in front of us and the people behind us. Stacie and I were together all by ourselves. We crossed the finish line together and I stopped between the timing sensors to stop my watch and then stepped over. I ended up officially a second behind Stacie.
I stumbled through the finish area then walked into the recovery area. Rob Duehlmeier, a co-worker and Ragnar Relay teammate, was right there. It was so nice to see him. It was kind of like being greeted into heaven by a trusted friend. It was then that I realized that the 4:30 pacer never caught us. I'd said all along that I'd be between 4 and 4:30. I made it by less than half a minute. 4:29:33. I'm a marathoner.
Proof
