How did I get myself here? And by here, I mean eight weeks into a marathon training plan with blisters on my feet, a shin splint creeping up my leg, and chafing in places I didn't even know existed.
Not to mention my eerie financial situation. The amount of money I have dumped into this “hobby” is embarrassing. You don’t want to know how much it costs to sign up for an event that willingly tortures your body and soul.
I got into running like every average, emotionally-balanced 19-year-old: overconfident, listless and scrolling through motivational videos on my for-you page. I didn’t even realize I had become a runner until it had me in its painful clutches.
One afternoon I decided to run a mile. Then a mile turned into two…five…12. It got to the point where I had to double-check I was not going through a crisis.
I did the traditional mental checklist:
Boyfriend? None.
Confidence? Mediocre.
Self-respect? Tetering.
Results: Pretty much normal.
I was at a loss, and yet, I had bought a pair of expensive shoes and was grinding through multi-hour runs fueled by energy gels that taste like warm oysters soaked in flavored water.
When I used to picture a marathon runner, I envisioned a sleek, colorfully dressed, long pony-tailed athlete. This is not my case. My outfits are functional over fashionable. My hair is destroyed by how often it is ripped back into an up-do. Uneven flyaways now frame my face. It looks like I showed my hairstylist a picture of the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and said, “have at it!”
Marathon training is NOT, I repeat, NOT, a glamorous process. This is proven by the fact that I am currently writing this article slumped in my bed, too sore to move, licking a spoonful of peanut butter because I did not hit my protein intake for the day and am absolutely starving. I am constantly starving!
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I have been told the reward for this long march towards tendonitis is a banana and a participation medal. Tragically, I hate bananas, and as a formerly unathletic child, I have enough participation ribbons for a lifetime.
Throughout this process, I have been waiting for a moment of enlightenment. That moment when the world is still and you realize your true capacity of strength and determination. This has not happened.
I don’t think I am getting enough oxygen to my brain to have this moment of enlightenment, but I realized the true gift of running is the ability to brag to your friends, enemies and random strangers that you are an “athlete.”
Is it petty and superficial? Yes. Is it the only thing getting me through the process? Also, yes.
My cynical approach to this training may have some asking why I am subjecting myself to this torture. To that I say: it’s not all bad, but I’m writing this article more for my own mental well-being than for others’ enjoyment. I will say that being able to push my body this way is a blessing. It just would not be as fun to write about.
Training has left me with so many questions. Will I cross the finish line in a couple of weeks or die at a water station? Time will tell. Will the blister on my foot erupt in vicious pain mid-class lecture? It already happened. The main thing I want to leave you with is this… I am better than you!
That is such a lie. No one with ice packs currently stuffed down their pants should be allowed to say that. Please pray I survive, and if you see an obituary in this paper at the end of October, just know I tried my best.
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