Today one week has passed since my first marathon. For days I refused to write this post, because after all these months of dreaming and training (well…), I had reached my goal and the marathon was over. And I won’t lie — I have the marathon blues.
Everything was over too fast. Except when I was actually running the damn thing. Thought it would never end. It was so fucking hard.
Naively, and as you might remember from previous posts, I thought this little marathon thing was going to be a piece of cake. I even set a modest goal for my first ever marathon — 4 hours. No biggie. I would just keep a pace of 6 min/km. Easy. No probs. I do that kind of pace in my sleep. I’d breeze through this marathon in 4 hours like nobody’s business.
Yeah. Fucking. Right.
The WALL. I had heard other runners talking about it like some kind of mythical beast, some creature that was out there waiting to pounce you after the 25km mark. Me, I thought it was exactly that — a myth. I won’t happen to me, not as long as I gobble down my vegan (and horribly disgusting) energy gels and drink enough water and energy drinks. The WALL … pffff.
Oh. my. fucking. God. was I wrong. The WALL was real. And for me, it was a tall, mean bitch acting like I had stolen her boyfriend and now she was out to get me. Fucking hell, the bitch damn near killed me. She was so close to making me quit. But I’m not a quitter, and I fought back until I crawled over that finish line in 4:48h. Yeah, 48 minutes later than I thought, but fuck it — I completed a marathon.
Here’s the play by play
1-10k. The rain pounded down like pregnant elephants, but I still felt pretty good. I felt so good I ignored my planned starting pace. Also, thanks to the rain I had to take off my glasses which meant I couldn’t see shit. Thanks myopia.
10-20K. Still going strong. This will be easy. And who cares if I’m soaking wet. That way nobody will notice if I have to pee in my pants. Don’t worry — I would never do it. But sometimes it’s nice to know that you can. If you had to.
20k-28k. Starting to lose it. Wanted to cry like a fucking baby — I was running a marathon! And I did cry. Felt crazy tired here, but thanks to the oranges and the support from Boticapop, Angel, Héctor and Grace, I kept going.
29K. Here came the tall, mean bitch of a wall. She hit me with a hook in the gut and almost knocked me out. Never before have I been so tired and in so much pain as I was at the 29k. Now I was running through my neighborhood and I thought “fuck it”, I´m going home. But then I remembered my family was waiting for me at 35k. Damn it! Why had I made them come? At this point I had to walk a bit, and thought “why the fuck am I doing this, this doesn’t make sense. This is so stupid. Then I cried a bit, mostly because I never walk in races and I felt like a loser. “This is not you, Bere,” I told myself. So I got my shit back together and started running again, with tears still running down my cheeks.
32K. El vikingo waited for me with a big sign that said BERE. Started crying like a baby again. “I can’t do this,” I told him. “I’m too tired.” But he said, “Yes you can. I’m proud of you. You can do it. I know you can.” He was right. I could do this shit. Even if I had to fucking crawl I would cross that finish line.
35K. Had to keep my shit together for my waiting family. They gave me some more oranges, water, and after a quick hello and race update, I continued.
36k-39k. That WALL bitch caught up with me again. I really thought I was dying. I started to feel nauseous, and once again I thought — why the fuck am I doing this? I walked a little bit again and I was pissed. That bitch.
39k-42k. I remembered again why I was fucking doing this. I was running a marathon, a fucking marathon, and suddenly I felt something happening, from nowhere came this energy, fuelling my legs and mind, and I bitch slapped that WALL and got back up to 6min/k, and I started crying again because now the end was in sight and oh my God I’m about to finish a marathon and I’m ALIVE!
And fuck. I did it.
Next time I’ll do it in 4. Or less.