The Day You Couldn’t Wait For Comes Way Too Fast (Pt. 2)

OCTOBER 10th.

I woke up sore. I tried my best to start the morning confidently. I executed my pre-race plan perfectly, complete with the carefully calculated four bathroom breaks.

I slipped on my race kit. I tried my best to look strong. And while I might not have been 100% physically, I did not lack bravery.

I showed up to security at 5:40 am, and sat in the corral from 5:55 am until 7:10 am. As the crowd grew, there was no avoiding that it was now time to do the damn thing. 

At 7:40ish, we crossed the start line. I started, with a bit of shock, exactly on pace. I stayed focused on trailing the 3:10 pace group, knowing that they'd be just short of my goal after I caught up with them. However, by mile three, it was clear that the challenges were not over. The real race had just begun, literally. My watch started spitting out different paces - 15:36, 11:47, 5:34. I knew my pace had not changed, but my watch was reading so many incorrect times. By mile 4, I opted to plug my miles in manually. 

Around mile 10, my body let me know that it was no longer willing to run a race pace. And so we started to pump the breaks. It was now a race to the finish, to finish. 

By mile 16, it was no longer reasonable to expect I would run a strong form. So I decided that I would stop at the hydration station to fill my tiny water bottle for about 20 seconds for every mile. 

It was at mile 24 when some very kind woman said, "You did the damn thing, so let's close it out," that I felt like I could finish the last two miles with some form. 

And at 27 miles (which is what you end up traveling to get out of the finish line crowd), after I collected my medal and sat down to change into sandals. And then... I threw up three times. Because why not.

It wasn't the race I had planned for. It wasn't the run I trained so hard for. It was not even my fastest marathon (but it was not my slowest, either.)

It is hard not to be sad about how the day turned out. I wish I enjoyed the trip more. I wish I weren't so sore that I could have explored after the run. The marathon is an unforgiving journey. It doesn't bend to the weather or unfortunate falls. It doesn't pause when you need to go to the bathroom or fix your watch. In many ways, a marathon mirrors the hardships you'll face in life. 

Luckily, the marathon also doesn't define you as a runner. The PRs and the placements are indeed defining of a running career. However, after they clean up the finish line and the crowds go home, there is no grand spectacle of sport. You'll find yourself lacing up to run on quieter roads without much fanfare, maybe a few kudos on Strava.

It is never really about the finish line. It is about how we show up to get there.

Fortune favors showing up.