Marathon

I have realized recently that my masochistic streak may be getting out of hand. I say this because a little over a month ago, I ran a full marathon. I have never been a fan of running-in fact it has been one of my least favorite activities since I was little. Although I could probably link this to a few rather terrible experiences on junior league soccer teams, I have never cared to develop the talent or skill of a runner.
However, when my brother ran the St. George Marathon after he came home from his mission, it inspired me to try. I do have to admit that part of it was because I couldn't stand to be one-upped by him either. Having zero experience in training to run period, let alone train for an endurance event, it was a quite a journey for the first few forays I made into running. I entered my name in the lottery for the St. George Marathon the following summer(2009), and was not selected. As I had just begun my training regimen, and was not liking it very much, I wasn't heartbroken to be handed an excuse to stop.
Alas, I had another friend plan to try again for the next summer (2010) as well, and I began a much more serious attempt to articulate a schedule and diet plan. As fate would have it, I was selected to participate in the SGM that summer, and jumped head first into it. I was not prepared, and was taking a full course of summer classes while working full time. I was miserable, and after consulting with my parents, I decided to drop out. I felt like a failure. I don't quit anything I start, if I can help it.
All of this brings me to about last February (2011). Having officially added "run a marathon" to my bucket list the previous year, and with the fresh and painful humiliation (in my perspective) of having to quit the year before, I was once again contemplating a marathon. Ironically enough, in the intervening time I had never really kept up any sort of running training or entered myself in other events. It never occurred to me that this would be the intelligent and most helpful course of action during the interim.
I found a training buddy and, with the help of the internet and several expert opinions, I came up with a 27 week training plan that allowed me to start from scratch. By the time I could enter the lottery (for the third year in a row) I was just starting to hit my stride in the programs and was experiencing my first real "long runs." I feel the need to reiterate my feelings towards running at this point. They are still the same as they were 4 years ago. I don't like running, and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed to force myself out of bed, early in the morning to train. But I was far enough into the plan that I wanted to finish what I had started. But silly, naive little me: I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.
When I was not picked in the lottery, I found myself in a dire situation. I needed to find a full marathon that wasn't half-way across the country that I could run in that fit into a 2 week window I had planned into my schedule. In a stroke of perfect luck, I found the Layton Marathon, which was exactly a week after St. George.  With a little bit of wiggling I was able to readjust my training schedule to accommodate the change, and I keep moving forward.
Unfortunately, that is the best that could be said for some of my runs.  I finished them.  When I started hitting distances like 15, 16, 17, it literally became my goal simply to finish the distance, be it at a run, jog, walk or crawl.  Fortunately, I never had to crawl home, but there were times when I wished I could have.  I sacrificed sleeping and other creature comforts that I had grown to love over the summer that I couldn't otherwise indulge in during school.  I finally began to understand what all of my long distance runner friends meant about how disgusting their feet were.  At one point, I had blisters on every toe of both of my feet.  Sometimes there would be blisters on top of blisters.  )It took quite a while of this before I realized that cotton socks are the devil!)
My family thought I was crazy, but they supported me anyway.  Even when it meant I had to miss out on things and went running when we were on vacation.  By the time I started tapering, my body still hated me for running, but I was much better than when I started.  As is my luck, on my last long run (20 miles) I was nearly unable to complete it--my left knee hurt so bad by the time I finished I was limping.  After tapering and freaking out for two weeks that I was actually going to have to run 26.2 miles, I found that my race day had come at last.
I had to meet up to catch a bus to the place we had to meet to catch a bus to the start line at 4:30 AM.  I guess it was a good think I had been awake since 3 AM.  It was freezing cold and rainy driving all the way out to Antelope Island to the start, and I realized during the 40 minute ride (during which they got lost at least twice and had to turn around) that the only way I was getting of this dreary and smelly island was to run the 26.2 miles back.  I was officially past the point of no return.
As a small blessing, I made friends with the woman who I sat next to on the bus.  She turned out to be an experienced marathoner who had even run St. George the week before.  With her assurances that I would do fine, she graciously kept me company as we stood in the freezing drizzle for 45 min.  I find it incredibly ironic that a group of people who are planning on running 26.2 miles are made to stand around for nearly an hour before the beginning of the race.  Great way to save your legs....
We parted ways with a quick hug and wished each other luck as the race began.  And thus I commenced what would become the most challenging experience of my life (to that point).  It was monotonous and etched with lake stink, and the gray sky did nothing to lift my mood.  I did reasonably well until I reached the halfway point.  To realize that I was only halfway done at that point was disheartening and only served to increased my bad mood which was creeping up with the return of my knee pain.  This pain got worse and worse until it became almost unbearable, ~17.5 miles into the race.  My pace slowed to a pitiful jog/walk and I watched others I had self-righteously judged myself to finish before now pass me.  As I neared the 20 mile mark, I hit what could only be "the wall."  As I hadn't encountered it in my long runs before, I had no idea what to expect.  I was freezing cold, wet, exhausted, starving, light-headed, and all I wanted to do was sit down and cry.
I may be a crazy, enthusiastic, slightly spastic, masochistic, and borderline insane, but I am not a quitter.  So I did not give up, but kept putting one foot in front of the other, crying the whole time.  When my parents drove by to cheer me on, I think I yelled at them to go away.  I knew if they stayed even a second more, I would crumble and tell them to take me home while I tried to forget that I had ever had this crazy idea to run a marathon.  I guess they took the hint, because I finished the race without another sight of them.
When I rounded the corner in to the park, and the finish line was in sight, I blasted the most pump-up song I could find on my play list and tried to run.  My knee almost gave out twice.  I couldn't hear a thing when I finally crossed under the arch, but according to my mom, they announcer over the loud speaker who I was, and that I was finishing my first full marathon.  At that point I didn't really care.  I took the medal they handed me and literally collapsed on my mother, sobbing.
I managed to hobble to the first aid tent, where they gave me a big bag of ice for my knee, and it was all a blur going home.  I do remember asking my dad to stop for Arby's--I got curly fries.  It was the first time I had eaten anything from a fast food restaurant in close to a year.  Apparently in my delirium I made a comment to athletic trainer on how I couldn't believe that people chose to do this for fun.  With my experience, I vehemently stated that I would never do it again.
Since then, I have received some treatment for my knee (severe IT band syndrome and popliteal tendonitis), and might be able to start training again soon.  Its funny, but I find that I miss running just a little.  But I have a hard time owning to it, and will deny it if you ask.
So, in the end, I was able to cross "run a marathon" off my bucket list.  I told myself that this was a once-in-a-lifetime thing that I NEVER wanted to do again.....which means I'll probably talk myself into running another one next summer.