Running a Marathon

One of my most concrete memories from early childhood is of a hot summer day when I attempted to keep up with my dad as he ran laps around our large rural property. I was only 5 or 6 at the time so my little legs couldn't match his 6'3" frame stride for stride, but I tried my hardest and quickly exhausted myself to the point of having to vomit in the bathroom as my anxious father waited outside the door. I distinctly remember feeling dizzy and marvelling at the sheer quantity of sweat that was pouring off my face into the porcelain bowl.

Since then I've had an on-again, off-again relationship with jogging, largely because until recently I had bad knees which would ache terribly both during and after any attempt at running. Fortunately, weightlifting allowed me to strengthen the connective tissue and surrounding musculature of these joints and thereby alleviate the underlying problem which had caused the pain. Having overcome that obstacle, I've grown to love the challenge and primal ephemeral qualities of pushing my body past what my conscious mind deems to be its limits.

I've become enamoured with the idea of mind over matter, and consequently intrigued by gruelling sports such as distance running and triathlon. I love the idea that each of us is capable of much more than we realize if only we can tap into our true potential by using an iron will to silence the little voice inside telling us to give up. Hearing the stories of extreme endurance athletes has helped feed this fire. If they can do it, then so can I.

In the spring of 2019 I decided to put my mettle to the test and sign up for the Toronto marathon. I had a little more than a month to train and virtually no idea how to even begin, save for the understanding that I would need to run a lot. I was already strong and fit but had done virtually no cardiovascular training of any kind for over a year.

I began to run 5 km every other day, but within a week an old deadlifting injury in the arch of my left foot had reared its ugly head and forced me to walk with a limp. I kept running for another week or so, increasing the distance to 10 km, but the pain quickly became unbearable and I worried about causing structural damage which would prevent me from completing the actual race. I took a few days off to heal.

When I resumed my training I incorporated a stretching routine into my regimen. I obviously should have been doing this from the start, but had been reticent to do so as I perceived it as somehow being soft and a waste of time. This had persisted despite my concrete knowledge to the contrary, having worked as a personal trainer and always insisted that clients adequately stretch prior to physical activity. I had one more minor flareup of the foot pain from then on, but it was clearly caused by overtraining on my part and quickly went away again.

Roughly a week before the race I went to Running Room and asked for a suggestion regarding footwear for marathons. I have a sneaking suspicion that the shoes I purchased were only recommended to me because they're quite ugly and seemed rather overpriced, but regardless they immediately proved themselves to be vastly superior to the hard sole sneakers I'd been training in.

I had consistently lowered my 10 km time from around an hour to just over 50 minutes, which seemed good to me seeing as I hoped to run the 42.2 km course in under four hours. I trained without water and at a slightly faster pace than the one I'd need to maintain to reach my goal, as I figured this would make it easier to persevere while running the longer distance on race day. I also stopped drinking coffee in the week leading up to the event so that I could consume some caffeine at the starting line and get a boost from it, seeing as my tolerance was low. The most fun day of my training was the final one, as I loaded up on protein and carbohydrates in the form of tacos, pho, and other tasty treats from my favourite local restaurants.

The race was scheduled to begin on the morning of May the 5th so I woke up at 5am and ate breakfast, having been fortunate enough to fall asleep relatively early and wake up feeling refreshed and energetic. I had decided against driving myself to the starting line in North York since that would mean having to fetch my car afterward and I assumed I'd be in no condition to drive. This premonition would later prove extremely prescient.

I hired an Uber and consumed a Clif bar, Gatorade, and as much water as I possibly could along the way. When we arrived I was struck by how chilly the weather was but also greatly invigorated by the nervous energy of the other participants milling around the starting line. I ate another Clif bar, then drank a Gatorade and a heavily caffeinated Starbucks brand energy drink as I waited in the line for the bathroom. Luckily, I was able to relieve myself very shortly before the race began.

I had signed up for the slowest group of runners, since I ultimately had no idea how quickly I was capable of running such a long course. This meant we started in the back and didn't even cross the starting line until about a minute after the gun had sounded. I felt extremely grateful that I'd opted not to listen to music or a podcast, as the sound of over a thousand people jogging together was unique and quite wonderful. 2000 feet hit the pavement at irregular intervals and I could hear the breathing and throat clearing of myself and those in my immediate vicinity as our collective breath rose like steam into the cool spring air.

The herd began to thin out as we all fell into our respective preferred gaits, and I found and followed the 4:00 Pace Bunny (a runner hired by Running Room to hold a sign and wear rabbit ears while maintaining a four hour pace throughout the race so as to help participants pace themselves). Clothing dropped along the way is donated to charity, so every few kilometres I shed a layer, starting with my jacket, then my hoodie, and finally my t-shirt.

About a quarter of the way to the finish line I began to feel that the efficiency of my stride was less than optimal since I was attempting to match a slower pace than what I was accustomed to, so I sped up. This was a particularly hilly part of Yonge Street and I remember consciously attempting to power up the inclines and harness the downward slope of the declines, passing one Pace Bunny after another. Eventually I found myself on a sub-3:40 pace.

The sun was warm and conditions were just about perfect that morning. I forced myself to be present, embracing my bodily discomfort and soaking in the beauty of my city from this unique perspective. I repeated sayings to myself such as "What one man can do, another can do" and "Pain is temporary, your time is forever." I reminded myself of myriad examples of people enduring much more difficult things than the suffering I was experiencing.

I felt great at the halfway mark despite the pain in my lower extremities, but around the 25 km checkpoint doubts began to creep in. There were still more than 17 km to go and I had serious cramps in basically every muscle of both legs. I also had to stop to pee on a tree, disrupting my rhythm. My pace began to slow. The course was set up in a way that caused us to pass Exhibition Place (the finish line) and then have to continue along the shore of Lake Ontario before looping around and doubling back, which I found rather demoralizing compared to just continuously getting closer and closer to the endpoint. The breeze was very refreshing at least and the scenery was beautiful. People lined the sides of the course, holding signs and offering words of encouragement, and I found this helpful as well.

The final 10 km of the race were an absolute slog and I had to walk for about 30 seconds on roughly a dozen occasions, although I never stopped entirely. My body felt completely depleted and I couldn't stop thinking about cheeseburgers. It wasn't so much that my heart was pounding and I was gasping for air, it was more that my brain was sending me powerful urges to stop. My only desire was to not be running any more. I kept going.

In the homestretch I passed a woman who had stopped to massage her quads and I don't know why but I yelled to her that she could do this. She caught up to me a few minutes later during one of my walking spells and shouted encouragement to me as she passed. We continued this pattern for the remainder of the race, urging one another on. I don't even know her name but it was a wonderfully human experience to connect in that way as we both attempted to achieve an incredibly difficult goal.

Three Pace Bunnies had passed me (spaced five minutes apart) so I knew my pace was worse than 3:50. I resolved to not allow the 3:55 Bunny to catch up. It was disheartening to realize at the aid station of kilometre 42 that in addition to the water and gatorade held out to the participants by volunteers, there were supplements on the table for us to grab. To this day I wonder how much better my time would have been if I had realized that I could replenish my body's supply of carbohydrates during the race.

The finish line came into view as I crested the final hill, and seeing it was absolutely one of the happiest moments of my life. My heart broke as I passed a young woman with blood streaming down her leg, crying as paramedics attended to her less than 100 metres from the end of the race. What awful luck.

I crossed the line and slowed to a wobbly walk, taking stock for the first time of the pain emanating not only from my legs but also my shoulders and back. It didn't matter at all, I was beaming and almost in disbelief at having actually accomplished my goal. My time was three hours and 54 minutes.

I entered Exhibition Place and claimed my belongings, labouring to put on my orange Toronto marathon t-shirt. My best friend was supposed to meet me there but had had a fight with his girlfriend and been convinced to just head home instead. I called him, my mom, and numerous other friends as I ate and drank and attempted to regain a modicum of strength. I got two massages before catching the bus home, struggling immensely to climb the steps of the vehicle and then those of my front porch. I arduously undressed and took a shower. It was extremely difficult to step over the edge of the tub but thankfully I didn't slip. Returning to my room, I collapsed on my bed for an indeterminate amount of time, spread eagle so as not to further irritate the incredibly chaffed areas under my arms and between my thighs.

I went to work the next day and the four days after that, which in retrospect was likely unwise seeing as I had a hard time even stepping onto a curb. Gradually I healed, indulging for a week in pizza, ice cream, burgers, and all kinds of other unhealthy food that I normally avoid like the plague. I'd earned it.