The marathons I don't want to write about

The starting line. It's a beautiful thing!

I was really on a roll there for awhile, going back in time and reminiscing about my past marathons, starting from the first one and moving up the chain until...I could say I was too busy training for my next marathon (partly true), but the real reason may be because I am reluctant to go back there...back to "that" marathon....the Houston Marathon, 1998...It may be because it is one of my least favorite marathons, or that it marked the beginning of a long string of disappointing marathons, purely based on the fact that I was singly focused on qualifying for Boston by trying to run a sub 3:45 time.

Up until the Houston marathon I was enjoying the marathon experience, learning what to do and not to do, inching closer each time to the 3:45 mark. I was content with each finish, convinced the progression would continue. Until it didn't. Without realizing it, I had entered an era, where all I cared about was trying to make that time goal, not really looking around and taking in the experience and the day for what it was and all it was going to be. I have a lot of lousy marathon experiences to write about, starting with the Houston marathon, and ending with the New Orleans marathon, where I unknowingly qualified for Boston by running a 3:50. I had aged into the next age bracket, where the qualifying time was 5 minutes slower.  I will get to these marathons and write about each one of them eventually, because they weren't all that bad overall. I just didn't enjoy them as I could or should have.

It didn't matter that I had qualified for Boston, because I had a pelvic stress fracture and didn't run again for at least a year. I tried to make the best of it by immersing myself (literally) into learning how to swim. Additionally, I joined the Carrollton Cycling club and spent a great deal of time on my bike. I missed running terribly, but the pain in my pelvis reminded me almost daily that running was out of the question. I'd see someone running and get a sick feeling in my gut. There were some dark days when I wondered if I'd ever run again.

Finally, as my fracture healed and I started running again I was so grateful that I genuinely didn't care how fast I could run or how far. Finally, the attitude I needed to have about running was within me! As I continued to run further still I returned to the marathon distance.With each training run I was grateful, and when I towed the line at the Oklahoma City marathon I was genuinely happy to be there and ready to enjoy whatever the experience would be. I don't think this transformation could have happened any other way. A couple of ironies occurred. First, I actually did qualify for the Boston marathon again at that Oklahoma city marathon, by 4 seconds! It was not because I was trying to gut it out like before, hitting a certain pace or anything. I ran based on "feel", and somehow picked it up later on and just went with it. At each water stop I'd tell myself that if I slowed it would be ok to walk and let it go, but I'd get to each stop and look at my watch and laugh, because I was still right on pace. That continued to the end. I can't wait to do the entire write up on that great race. The second irony was that even though I never did run a 3:45, in the Chicago marathon, years later, I ran my PR of 3:46. It was my third marathon in 5 months. I was tired and I had an achy hamstring. I was back in the massive crowd of 40,000 runners. The first few miles were insane! But again, the pace came to me and I just went with it and ran what I was capable of running on that day as I enjoyed the event for what it was.

My next marathon is in 10 days. I'm not going to lie and say I don't care what my time will be, or that I don't worry about having to DNF the race due to an injury or whatever, or that I don't worry about the weather we will have to endure. I am still a mess when it comes to the taper! It's the all your eggs in one basket scenario and I hate it! The time factor is more worrisome when your training was in the summer heat and all your long runs were dreadfully slow and painful slogs. You can't help but think you are going to be out there a lot longer than you want to be. You can't even begin to imagine what a fall cool breeze will even feel like, come race morning! Last fall I had to DNF a half marathon and hitch a ride (or two) back to the start/finish when my hamstring blew. So it happens. Guess what? I didn't die! I had a very exciting morning and met some nice people! Still...all of this is part of the mental process we all go through during the taper, right up until it's time to race.

I don't know how many marathons I have left. As I get older I am even more grateful that I am able to do this. There will be a last marathon. I'm not sure how that one will go down. Will I finish it and say to myself, "Ok I've had enough. This isn't fun anymore", or will I Forrest Gump it in the middle of one and say "I'm going home now"? Or will I just unceremoniously just never get around to training for the next one? Only time will tell!