I ran two marathons. The first was in Warwick, NY and the second in Newport, RI. My first marathon was a part of my “therapy” after my wife, Irene, died in 1992. During her long illness I had time to run and completed races up to 10 k, but I never had time to really train for a marathon. For many years I wanted to get ready for a marathon but more important things in our battle with diabetes got in the way. After she died I needed distractions and I made goals, some of which were physical and exercise related. They were certainly part of my grieving process. Perhaps my first marathon was life affirming and a signal to carry on after a devastating personal loss for me.
My second marathon was run shortly after my 60th birthday. In a different way, it was also life affirming. Although the years were piling up, I still had it in me to complete a marathon.
In both cases I was building on a modest running base—getting out at least three times a week and running 3-5 miles each time. In each case, I started to ramp up my training about a year before the marathon. I began to add longer and longer runs to my weekly schedule. In both cases I was able to complete an 18-20 mile run in practice about a month before the marathon. In each case, I also scheduled a 10 k and, in the latter marathon, a 10 mile race to give me some stepping stones and incentive. If you know you are running with hundreds of other people, you do push a bit more in practice.
In my first marathon, I was most surprised by the weather. I ran in November, but did not expect the snow flurries and freezing temperatures. In my second marathon, also in November, I was most surprised by the number of participants older than me—one fellow in particular. His friends told me that he was lucky to have fresh legs because he didn’t start running until he was 70. He had a reputation for starting out rather quickly and his friends predicted we would see him running off ahead at first. Then later we would see him behind us, even though we would not notice that we had passed him. It seems he had prostate problems and had to spend a lot of time in the bushes relieving himself and that slowed him down. (I did finish ahead of him!!)
I think the training and the actual running of the marathon strengthened me both mentally and physically. I run slowly, about a 10-12 minutes/mile pace. Running 10 miles in practice takes over 90 minutes and when I get up to 18 miles, I am out there for three hours. This happens during the weekends and on some very warm summer days. I need to warm up carefully and cope with sore and achy muscles even days afterward. It would be very easy to skip weeks or give up. Your family has to back you up because the training sucks away time you could spend with them.
Running a marathon is a really unique experience. My marathons took me around five hours each, which is just about twice as long as the winners’ times. Getting into a rhythm for that long is not easy. Learning how to hold back at the beginning is not easy when you are totally psyched and you feel so good at the beginning. The last six miles or so is usually very difficult for me. Being a slow runner (I usually finish in the middle of the bottom quarter) is also a lesson in humility. All sorts of people pass me. I have to remind myself of all the people that can’t complete the race even at a slow pace.
One really amazing thing about marathons is the camaraderie in the middle and back of the pack. I am sure the top runners are intent on burying their competition but back where I am, we all just want to survive and finish. We talk to each other, trade stories, encourage and console each other. In my last race at Newport, RI, there was a section where the course doubled back on itself and the leading runners could see the following runners. I remember the lift that I got when runners way ahead of me saw me in pain and took the time to encourage and support me—people I don’t know at all. I made sure when I made the turn that I returned the favor to the people behind me. Most never said a word but their eyes said thanks and their body surged a little with each kind word. Towards the end of my race, in the last six miles, I run and walk. That’s when I talk even more and share stories. You join a person or a group and go with them for a bit and then you move on or they do. But even as you separate, you all feel close. It takes a special kind of nut to run 26.2 miles. We bond easily.
Spectators are also great. They cheer you on, they offer snacks or water or a high five. They really help. Newport was sparse compared to NYC (where I have been the spectator) but I cherished each person who gave any kind of support. One of the men who finished a little ahead of me had his wife and three children meet him at about five different places on the route and they always made a point to cheer on the racers ahead of and after their dad. I thanked them after the race. They, along with my wife, were my own little cheering section.
Running a marathon gives you a better perspective on your own goals and life in general. You learn how long you must train and you learn how long it takes to run 26.2 miles. You learn it in the most visceral way—you feel it physically and emotionally. You learn what a poster in my office says, “The race is not always to the swiftest, but to those who keep on running”. Persistence and endurance can help you in life and work outside of running. You learn about injury and pain and recovery and thrills. You learn pace and patience. I think I now have more empathy for my student in the AP course who is trying but will only get a C-. That student is “running in the back of the pack” like I was. In life in general, you learn what is a big deal and what is actually just a little thing. It really helps you to enjoy life and put your crises in perspective.
I’m not sure if this is good or bad, but I feel proud that I did it. I know I’m slow, but I did it and that is more than a lot of other people can say. I am not an elite marathoner but I am a marathoner and that does wonders for my self-esteem. It puts a bit of a swagger in my walk.