I did it. I finished my first marathon. On the 15th of October, at 12:52, in the Olympic Stadium in Amsterdam, with a time of 3 hours, 33 minutes, and 51 seconds, I finished my first marathon. I was exhausted, yes. But I was elated. A rush of positive emotion flooded through me. Joy - the purest of joys. Pride. Gratitude. Humility. And now, now that the dust has settled, I want to reflect. Why did I do this? And why was it so good for me?
Reflect, how? Well, my blog post for May was focused on my fitness blueprint, the thing that sits at the heart of why and how I want to stay fit. In that blog post, I emphasized that there are three principles that I want to uphold regarding my physical fitness. And these principles feel like perfect points of reflection for my marathon journey, too.
First, some movement is better than no movement. Before I started training for the marathon, I was still training for track meets. But I had competed at a national level in Track and Field for a long time. I knew what it meant and how it felt to train seriously, which meant that I couldn't take this training lightly. But I also no longer had what it takes to take this training seriously. I still had the will. I just didn't have the time. I was overloaded with work, Dutch lessons, pursuing my Masters, and so on. So when, at the end of a long, busy day, I had to cycle 25 minutes to the track, give every ounce of energy to the training session, cycle back, and still had to confront cooking dinner at 22:00, I couldn't do it. And because it was the only thing I believed worth doing, I settled for nothing instead, forsaking my principle.
Training for the marathon could be better. And it was better. I could train at any time, on my own. All I had to do to get a run in, was lace up my shoes and go. And without the weight of past achievements on me, I could run easy when I needed to. This helped a lot. Even on the bad days, I could muster up the energy to get out there, knowing I just had to do something, and it didn't matter how fast or slow I went. On many days, it was even just the thought of the scenery on the run that got me out the door. This would have been unimaginable with the track. I took it too seriously. Now I was still taking marathon seriously. I'm a competitive guy, you know. And on the good days, I would let my ego get the best of me and let it rip. Which leads me to the next principle.
Second, prioritize balance. Part of what led me to the marathon was that I wanted to do something other than sprinting. At the surface, it felt like an imbalance that I'd just been sprinting for so much of my life. But training for the marathon and running the marathon brought about a much more significant sense of balance.
What I discovered with long-distance running was the act of balancing my ego. There was a day on a 25km run where I'd lost control of that balance entirely. It's more complex than starting too fast or not hydrating enough. It's a battle of the mind that is lost when you feel you're exerting too much energy, and you refuse to take it easier. Or when you feel your legs grow heavy, and you give in to the feeling. Or when you take a wrong turn and let it upset you. When you give those bad thoughts control, you lose. And most likely, it's your ego driving those bad thoughts. You're slow. You're weak. Just be better. During that 25km, I let my ego win. And I ended up on a bench, lying on my back, with 3km to go. Eventually, I got up and dragged my feet home. I'd learned a lesson. But it's a lesson I'd have to learn again, and again.
When the day of the marathon came, I was prepared. I had a plan. And I knew myself. I knew the good thoughts and the bad ones. I knew which ones to give power, and which ones to ignore. And it was awesome. I ran that race perfectly. Regardless of the time, I ran it perfectly. I started at a pace that felt too easy, but I remained patient. Every 5km I walked a bit, drank water, ate something small, and went again. I didn't think about how far there was to go; I just thought about the next step. When my legs grew heavy, I injected some pace to show I still had it in me. And when I wanted to chase a time or a person, I caught myself - relax. Stick to the plan. I ran faster every kilometer of the race. And I finished with a smile. I prioritized balance in a way I'd never even known.
Third, set goals. Four or five months prior to the marathon, I had a conversation with one of my best friends, Keagan. We had trained together for a long time during school and lived together during university. He was coming to visit me in The Netherlands in October. During the call, I mentioned the marathon to him. I just mentioned it in passing, without any intention of actually running it. "Let's do it," he said. Now I had some track goals this year. But they were faint. And I didn't want them badly enough. Probably because they paled in comparison to what I had done on the track previously. But the thought of the marathon intrigued me.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to have felt this way. But the marathon symbolized something significant. Of course, there's the fact I'd been challenged to do it a few times, and the proposition of a challenge mostly gets the best of me. But it ran deeper. Keagan and I have come a long way. Running a marathon with him, in Amsterdam, thousands of kilometers away from where our journey started, it felt right. It also represented a clean slate. No matter how fast or slow I ran it, it would be a personal best. In any case, for whatever multitude of reasons, running the marathon felt like a goal I could get behind. Really get behind. "Let's do it," I told Keagan.
So that was that. The marathon. The first marathon. Likely not the last. But the last for a while. For I want to tackle the old enemy again. Reading between the lines of these reflections, my complicated relationship with track and field is quite exposed. But it is just that - complicated. And I am now returning to this complicated relationship. But this time, with a new set of tools, and a secret ingredient.
Wish me luck. Goodbye.
"You can run a sprint or you can run a marathon, but you can't sprint a amarathon."
- Ryan Holmes