I am a few days out from my marathon.  The pain is slowing vacating my thighs and my euphoric post race pride grows in direct correlation to the fading memories of the pain and the mental warfare that is marathoning.  I have been spending the past few evenings at home curled up in my race poncho and the shining glow of my medal which I have dubbed-“The Precious”-marveling at the marathon.

My last marathon experience was not a good one.  The Austin Marathon hills and 26.2 miles took me and broke me (literally, I actually had to have hip surgery) and there is nothing from the experience outside of being able to brag that I’d completed a marathon on a broken hip that I remember at all fondly.  I sat glaring on a curb until my Dad found me and I wore that same shell shocked expression until I went to the doctor six weeks later and discovered that the cartilage in my hip had been torn to shit, and I had somehow been hobbling about with bone rubbing against bone for weeks.

Not fun.  Why then, would I endeavor to run another marathon?

The truth is during my hip recovery, I missed running.  I’ve run several half marathons since 2011, discovered yoga, and then the attack during the Boston Marathon happened.  Having lived there and been a part of the running community I felt it acutely, and its rare that I run a race that I don’t think about it.  The trauma you put your body through and then, that?!  But the actions of the runners inspired me.  Boston, the place where I learned who I was and who I wasn’t, inspired me.  The Boston Marathon came back the next year, bigger then ever, and tiny thought bubble came to me with, “I’m so much stronger now…and I don’t want what happened at Austin to be my marathon experience, these runners didn’t let the bombing become their Boston experience.  I don’t want to have been defeated by something I love.”  I entered the NYC Marathon on a whim, because the odds were against me making it, and I could still say I tried.  Lo, I was chosen-and rather then feeling the drop in my stomach of “what have I done?!”  I was truly elated by the challenge.  My sister, Amanda, defeater of 4 marathons which she knocks out with an ease that is annoying, was jealous and after my prodding, offers of a free flight and hotel room, front row seat at my misery, decided to run for charity.  Having my best friend in my corner of self inflicted insanity immediately heightened the experience.

Entering a marathon takes a small impulsive moment of bravery, but lets face it, any knucklehead can fill out some paperwork.  Kids, training for a marathon is fucking hard- physically, financially, emotionally.  It requires impulse to transcend into habit.  Kiss late nights out with your friends goodbye, because even if you had the time to sleep in the next day your body is tired and says,”You know what is more fun then a bad date?  Sleeping.”  I decided early on that I was requiring a lot from my body, and ditched almost all alcohol for 5 months except for the occasional beer when social situations required it (Hint:  Most social situations DON’T require it).  Beyond a hibernation like need for sleep, prepare also to be hungry pretty much always.  There were mornings when I woke up that my first immediate thought was, “ooooo, goody!  First breakfast!”. Your body is trying to counteract the 25+ miles per week and 2500 calories you are stealing from it.  You will gain weight. You will crave carbs the way the Kardashians crave relevance. You will get hangry if you go more then 3 hours without feeding and demand snacks as toll from colleagues who dare enter your cavicle.  You will likely stop being invited places because you will pick food off the plates of those around you, which, unless you are a golden retriever really isn’t cute.  There will be chaffing.  Before this year my metabolism blessed me with, “thigh gap”.  It was real.  My legs basically functioned for show, they looked good and I knew it.  Enter long distance running and the feeding.  Thigh gap gone, and so I was introduced to rubbing skin.  Do you know what happens if you were to be in the woods and rubbed sticks of wood together for hours?  You would start a fire.  The same thing happens when you spend a merry Saturday morning running a quick 12 miler.  Two hours of your thighs scissoring back and forth and your skin is on fire.  Chaffing can also happen on your boobs.  After one particularly hot run in an old sports bra I was horrified to discover cuts all over my chest where my sorts bra had dug into my chest to prevent my cans from escaping for 2 hours.  Annndddd, in case that wasn’t sexy enough, your toenails will turn black with bruising.

Marathon training is also hella expensive.  4 pairs of tennis shoes (approx $90 each), Marathon entry fee ($390), Hotel approximately 1 stumbling mile from the finish for 3 nights ($1500), Plane tickets for self and sister ($500), online running coach via New York Runners ($189), braggy marathon apparel ($186), fancy running pants that prevent chaffing ($90…but seriously…WORTH IT, bloody thighs is the epitome of a terrible run), Sports bras that prevent bouncing and chaffing (3 @ $42 each…again, after experiencing a sports bra essentially slice me open during a run, I scream, “WORTH IT!!!”), new running watch with which to analyze every last damned mile ($159).  I’m coming in at $3500 invested into it.  Running a marathon usually is cheaper, I just happened upon the most elite one in the world, half the country away, and I need the accountability that paid for gizmos provided me.  I’m spoiled. Also I have a great job at a phenomenal company that I bust my ass at for 60 hours a week that affords me the opportunity to be excessive as a hot single lady with no dependents.  I’m blessed.

The above sounds pretty terrible.  But the truth is, the good of training for this* marathon outweighed the bad.

Running when you start is hard.  It hurts to breathe.  You feel tired.  Your body resists you because it’d rather chill on the couch binge watching Netflix, obviously.  But the first time you run a mile without stopping?  Its progress you can feel. It’s progress that you get to measure, not your boss, not your partner, not your parents, not your friends…it’s YOURS.  Marathoning is much like that first mile and anyone that has had the thrill of one mile thinking, “I just did that!” has a marathon in them, because every single marathoner started there-at 1 mile.  We all start the same place.  Its one of the few things in life that starts us all on the same page.    Getting out there.  Even when its hard, feeling the progress in your body-watching what you are capable of tick ever upwards.  The days when you have a run and it feels like you’re flying with the ease with which you move.  The days when its hard but you look at your watch and you realize you went faster then you’ve ever run before.  Running can be a metaphor for your life.  Its hard.  Some runs you are just lucky to finish.  But every single one helps you go a little farther next time, a little stronger, a little smarter-more prepared for what lies ahead.  You just have to get out of bed.

*Training for New York was worth it.  Training for Austin was not worth it.  That race can take it’s hills and suck it.