The Marathon

It started as a challenge to myself, though challenge is too strong a word. I wanted to know if it was possible, even though I had no reference of what that would mean. 26.2 miles is an abstract number that told me nothing. It did not seem like a short or a long distance. It was something beyond the grasp of my perception.

The 4 months of training passed quickly. It was fun at times, but not usually. You go out at first, excited by the novelty of the activity and of your goal. Excitement gets you through the first couple of weeks. As the weekly distance gets longer and longer, you start to grasp what a marathon means. By that time, habit and giving yourself the benefit of the doubt is what keeps you going.

People around me had the most peculiar of attitudes. Running a marathon does not shock them, nor does it seem like a very big deal. “You’re running a marathon in two months. That’s nice”. An understandable lack of interest and cynicism about actually meaning what you say have never been so apparent. Stating your intentions and giving your word never means much these days. Running a marathon is a one person sport, but it does not have to be a one person experience. I got the sense that solitude is what I should expect when trying anything out of the ordinary.

Two weeks before the marathon, I ran 20 miles. The run was way less rewarding but it taught me something interesting. Doing it when no one is watching, when you’re only accountable to yourself is a must if you want to get through the training and have fun.

Soon enough, marathon day morning greeted us with cloudy skies. Thousands of people were at the starting line and the crowd spread as far as I could see. I could not even make out the starting gunshot, by the time we crossed the starting line, the first runners had already started for more than 5 minutes.

Mile after mile passed as the crowds got more sparse. The sun turned into a cold drizzle which, by mid race had numbed my hands. People turned out even in the rain to cheer us through our efforts.

The race actually started during the last 10km. After all that pounding, my feet felt rubbery and moved at their own will. It was harder to stop than to keep going. Every step was painful, yet there was something so familiar in that pain. Every movement was robotic yet very fluid.

As a race, the marathon is very peculiar. There are people all around you, and it’s considered to be a singles sport. However I got mixed feelings about this throughout the race. You pick your pace and you end up around people going it the same. Sometimes, you lose sight of them by going too fast or too slow, or stopping for longer at an aid station.

Finding them again later on is very refreshing. You’re all like comrades doing something painful just for the hell of it. You are brothers in a fight against yourselves.

By the end of the race, things change. During the last 10km, a lot of people are walking. Passing them is a great morale boost. They’re not enemies or anything. You’re not happy that they’re suffering. The fact that you can still keep your stride and pace just makes you feel more motivated to keep going.

The last few km are the longest. During mid-race, I was unaware when 5km had passed. By the end of the race, I was hoping that the km signs popped up every time I turned a corner.

Finishing did not give me a high orders of magnitude greater than what I felt during the race. Running, it seems, is its own reward.

What you get, however, is the feeling that you just “know” you can now do anything. It’s not something intellectual, which anyone can rationalize. It’s something very visceral and superb. Self-confidence without any hint of arrogance.

Thinking about what I had just done made me burst into laughter. I could not help it. It was happiness.