Signing up is harmless. It’s probably most exciting when you get the confirmation email that you’ve just committed to run 26.2 miles. Yes, this is actually going to happen. You are going to do this. You feel invigorated in the weeks of training with a spirit of triumph before you’ve even accomplished anything. Why? Because you know of the utter agony you face ahead, and signing up equates to crossing a mile-marker in itself — overcoming the fear in the mere idea of running a marathon.
In the weeks leading up to the event you tell everyone your plan to run. I was always satisfied with their reactions. They gawk, jaws always drop and eyes always bulge. There’s a shameless thrill I get from their faces. Everyone knows of the ugly and brutal difficulty posed by running a marathon. The honest truth? This is why I run them. It’s difficult, to say the least, and the challenge is universally undeniable. In completing the race no one can take away from me or belittle the merit I’ve earned.
Talking about it is one thing. As a third-time marathoner, I’ll say this: running it is something else entirely. You’re at the start line. It’s early morning, the sun is still down and runners stand in huddles to keep warm in the sharp cold air. In this moment it hits you that this is not going to be fun. Ruminating over how far you are from finishing is enough to make you question just what you were thinking.
For me it’s always around mile 18 when the self-loathing sets in. My knees and ankles take the brunt force of every incline like they’re being hit straight on with the head of a hammer. Mostly you just want the whole thing to be over already. The pain in your legs and the doubt in your head are enough to make you want to throw your hands up in defeat.
But despite all of these things you’re able to keep going. I run with a partner so I have no other choice — although most runners are on their own which makes their perseverance even more incredible. You muster up scraps of energy or picture yourself as the sweat-drenched athlete of Gatorade commercials for some humor and a little encouragement. You replay the last 30 seconds of a song to pick up your spirits over and over again — or maybe I’m alone in this — and after many hours you’re finally able to stand still and stop for good, swearing you’ll never do it again.
Despite having sworn it off for the rest of your life — recalling the aches and possibly even the tears — you find yourself signing up once more a year later. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we submit ourselves to hours of running and the weeklong aftermath of joint pains and debilitated limbs? I’m convinced it’s because we desire to prove to ourselves how much we can take. Earning success has to be arduous and painful, and not just for runners. It feels better to know what you’re attempting can’t be achieved by most, an exclusivity, to prove the valor of your determination. During a marathon nearly all you can think about is how you want to stop and how you very well could stop. No one is making you do this but yourself. This is what makes finishers feel so accomplished — the option to quit is right in front of you, so easy and so tempting. But you don’t.
The fervor it takes to run a marathon can be applied to anything. It’s okay if success and merit are in part determined by what others think. The more dismaying and demanding a task regarded, the more prone we are to doubt our ability to complete it. We owe it to popular opinion for pushing us to go beyond what we think ourselves capable of.
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