Isn’t it funny how when things happen, you can be completely mortified and then as time goes on, it slowly fades away? Even to a point where you can look back and shake your head and laugh. Believe me, a lot of these moments happen to me throughout my life. Perhaps, I’m maybe, a little, dramatic. Just a tiny bit.
I was completely mortified, thought my life was over, verge of tears, worst experience ever and no I’m not being in the least bit dramatic after my first marathon. I legitimately didn’t think things could go any worse than what they did, and I’ll never know, maybe they could have. I guess I could have broken my leg or something, but that is luckily not what happened. After I finished I had no overwhelming sense of accomplishment, no tears of joy, no “wow I can take on the world feeling”, nothing. I thought I would fall to the ground on my knees with my arms held high above my head and God would open the clouds and white doves would fly all around me, and all my pictures would be of me shrouded in a huge marathon glow. Nope, that didn’t happen either. I thought perhaps I would be whisked away to be inducted into the marathon hall of fame for finishing and I would be basking in every ones congratulations forever. Nope, the chariot wasn’t there, and the marathon hall of fame, not going to be inducted into there anytime soon! I remember being so excited to get the medal. Yup, of course, hands down the most hideous medal of my collection.
I never imagined that day would have gone like it had. Seriously, the last thing I ever expected to ambush me at mile 8 happened. Those last 18.2 miles were rough. ROUGH, I tell you. I literally thought that at any moment, the tears would spring from my eyes and I would just sit on the curb unable to get up. I vowed never, ever to step foot on the 26.2 starting line ever again. I told myself that it was stupid to run this far, it was stupid to try to do this. Why did I ever want to do this, and pay to do this? There was a lot of weird internal dialogue that went on that day. I remember all the porta potty stops I made and as the blue door slammed on my way out, I thought that this whole marathon thing? Yea, it just wasn’t for me. Everyone else could keep doing it. I would stick to my half marathons and my 5ks. I wouldn’t do this ever again. This was too painful and humiliating.
I remember leaving in the car and saying, “Welp, that’s done.” I remember writing my post about the race, and how I didn’t really want to tell you guys everything that happened, since it was disgusting, but of course all your encouraging words made me smile and reminded me that it wasn’t the end of the world. I never thought I would be able to laugh at the whole day though. I never thought I would look back on my first marathon and not say, “Wow, that was a wash,” but it’s funny how things change right? Funny how now, every time I tell the story, I laugh at how many things went wrong. Funny how I’m pretty sure that doesn’t happen that often, but of course it happened to me.
It wasn’t the best race of my life, or my favorite race, or even a good memory, but it makes for a good story, doesn’t it? Funny how that works. Slowly, slowly, I am considering working up to run another marathon. I’m getting more and more excited about it now, which I never thought the feelings would return. Give me my 4-6 milers, and I’m happy. Give me a 20 miler and I’m uh… poopy. Well not anymore, but you all remember the good old days. So maybe, just maybe, I’ll start thinking about another marathon. Maybe I’ll give it another chance, maybe I’ll try again. I mean, isn’t it the old saying, “If you fall off a horse you just gotta get back on and ride” or something like that. Well perhaps this 13.1 trick pony wants to have 26.2 tricks up her sleeves.
We shall see what falls on the horizon.