Pushing through Pain

I completed my first marathon last weekend and it was incredibly challenging. I felt as prepared as possible, having completed 16 weeks of training. I was overjoyed to race with my mom by my side. The weather was perfect for the long run - 62 degrees and cloudy. Tens of thousands of runners were crammed in their corrals and we could feel the energy rolling off in waves all around us. Each corral was counted down to start over the speakers. Our corral was toward the back so we came to the start line 15 minutes after the first corral. As one, we pressed start on our watches and began our run to the sound of cheers from the spectators and crowds alike. The first 13 miles were exciting. Spectators lined the streets with encouraging signs and were cheering loudly. The course ran through surrounding neighborhoods next. The locals really got into the spirit. They were dressed up in costumes, handed out alcohol and beer shots, and handed out fruit and homemade items such as cookies and brownies. While I was prepared for elevation changes, the beginning had a lot of rolling hills, sending us up and down repeatedly.

Long-distance running, especially marathon and ultramarathon distances, is known to be more of a mental trial than a physical one. I didn't realize how true that was until around mile 17. I had practiced running 22 miles in training, so I thought I'd be comfortable with the distance. However, the course was hilly throughout and I started to feel pain in my hips earlier than usual. Each time another incline loomed over us, I felt my resolve dissolve a little more. I let the pain wash over me in waves. No matter how much training you've completed, you will feel uncomfortable at some point during the run. I focused on taking deep breaths, allowing oxygen to reach my muscles. It's hard to push through pain and sit with it for hours.

Something funny happens when you push through that first wave of discomfort: you tend to get a second wind and push faster. I began to sink into the run, my thoughts focused only on my music and pushing forward. I was singing along to my music as my pace increased to a full minute faster. It didn't hurt more to go faster at this point so I focused on the runners ahead to keep me going. Around mile 21, my husband was waiting to cheer me on with our two huskies. I wanted to cry, feeling exhausted and relieved to see him there. I stopped to kiss him and pet our dogs, knowing it would give me a boost to get through the 250ft incline coming up at mile 22. I had to walk-run the incline by making mental stop/start points. Runners were slowing down all around me as the hill claimed its victims. As the incline finally leveled out, I came up to a sign saying "I survived the 163 highway to hell" with a giant bell. I jumped up and slapped the bell, feeling pride in having conquered a massive obstacle near the end of the race.

When the finish line came into view, I sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me through the last tenth of a meter. My legs were sore and wobbly, but I walked to the side and watched my mom cross the finish. While it was hard to bend over or stretch my legs within a few minutes of finishing, I could move freely within a few hours. I was in awe of how quickly my body could recover after what I thought would leave me incapacitated. If I had quit during the many times my brain was screaming at me to stop, I wouldn't have realized all that I could accomplish. Sometimes, it's worth it to push through the pain and fear of going beyond what you previously believed was possible.