Why I Chose To Run a 13.1 Miles For My 30th Birthday
I have been in the worst shape of my life, and the most heavy. I was a super skinny girl in my youth and while I don’t condemn or judge other people’s lifestyles, I have internalized fatphobia. This was a gift endowed to me by the hypocritical beauty standards of my grandmother who was a fashion designer who only liked dressing size 0s. She herself has always been overweight and nobody ever judge her for it. But because of her snide I think I am hideous and look terrible. I never think on or comment, I am not in the business of perpetuating my grandmother’s horrible habits and comment about other people’s bodies, but I am most definitely my own worst critic.
My 20s ended in a low note. My self-esteem was on the ground, I thought very little of myself, I was disenamored with life, my job, and everything. Complete disenchantment. My life is actually really awesome, but the depression had hit me hard for three years and I felt I was at my lowest.
I changed jobs. I changed my outlook. I signed up for a marathon. I was doing all the steps to get myself out of the rut. Up until this point I had proven myself over and over in the crucible of academia and professional environment, and I had let my body slide — and my soul along with it. Did I still have the fortitude and drive to set a physical goal that seemed impossible and achieve it?
Every year Denver hosts something called The Colfax Marathon — for all the 6 years I have lived here I always thought it would be a cool thing to do. The first couple of miles go through the Denver Zoo, which I found awesome. I love the zoo, I went there for my 28th birthday and it was one of my favorite days in my entire existence. So in the name of the zoo, my far-off desire for years, and my determination to push my body for once on many years (besides all-nighters and binge drinking). I was registered to run 13.1 miles.
And now we train.
For 2.5 months I went from running no miles to running 13.1. I can’t stress enough how non-existent my running habit was. I had never run a single mile. The night I signed up for the marathon I ran my first one. A 15 minute workout that proved to me that I could do it — because I had just done it. First day, BOOM, a mile ran. So began one of the coolest and hardest things I have done with my body.
As the weeks rolled over the long runs increased. The training program was 14 weeks long, and I came in at week 11 — the easy stuff was behind me so my first big push was a 10k — 6.25 miles. It scared the hell out of me. I had barely been able to run for 20 minutes straight in a previous mid-week exercise. At the time it was the hardest thing I have ever attempted to do physically. To make matters worse… it was the coldest, windiest day possible. I remember talking to my father in my 48-minute walk to the location where I would be doing this 10k— and he, like my husband, told me how he didn’t understand why I was doing this and how boring it all seemed. I would have said the same thing if I was an outsider looking in. Running does not sound fun.
Why Running is So Fun
The first mile is the worst mile. Your critical non-running self is stressing how horrible and painful this thing you just started to do is. Your entire body is screaming in discomfort and disapproval. But that’s when your mind takes over and rationalizes, and then at mile 2 everything becomes easier. You start getting into the zone, literally running away from intrusive thoughts, the worries of your day, your responsibilities, your commitments. You become aware of every inch of your body. Every toe. Every ache. Every crease in your sock. Every hair being pulled by your bun. Your mind and body fuse and you become a machine. The human machine. And you begin to learn what you have done to your body up until this point, the consequences of your actions, and all the personal records and barriers you can break because of your newfound resolve enacted at the starting line of the run you’re currently doing.
This wonderful feeling does not equate lack of exhaustion. Nor does it mean every run was perfect. Or easy. No. After every run I almost couldn’t walk for days. The pains were bearable, but a reminder of my lack of fitness. A painful reminder at that. But I became addicted. Addicted to the thrill of breaking a new record. Running one more mile. Running without stopping. Learning about how my body reacts to things I have always consumed — water, electrolytes, caffeine, and how I could utilize nutrition to enhance my performance.
The half marathon seemed ages away posted on May 19th, but before I knew it — between my new job and impromptu travel plans I found myself even more behind on my training. A week before the big day I was going to practice doing 10 miles. I was to do everything as if it was race day, like everyone advised me, and break my record of 9.3 miles.
Everything went wrong.
Everything that could go wrong went wrong. I had been told to eat carbs 2 hours before running and I did. I made waffles. What a mistake. While running everything felt off — I was hurting before I was used to hurting. The water wasn’t helping. The Powerade less so. For the first time in a run I was desperate to go to the bathroom. But the worst of fates happened… at mile 8 my legs stopped working.
I couldn’t tell them what to do. They had no energy in them. I barely could feel them — I just couldn’t order them around. They could autopilot me home. And they did. But I had no say or command over them.
I couldn’t feel them for a couple of hours. I freaked out. All of my newfound yet feeble confidence vanished. I had just proven to myself that I couldn’t even run 10 miles. How was I going to run 13.1 in a week!? I was genuinely horrifyingly afraid.
My mother and husband were the least encouraging. They kept telling me I didn’t have to do this. That this wasn’t a big deal. They told me this wasn’t life or death nor would it affect me in any way if I decided to not finish the race or simply not go. They were giving me grace, they were worried about my health but I needed encouragement.
That is when siblings, cousins, friends and strangers kicked in. My brother, who is near and dear to me, told me that on the day off I would do it — to have faith in myself. My friends and cousins were constantly reassuring me that I could do it — that there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in their minds. Strangers were giving me their tips (which were life-changing and in my mind the reason game day was the way that it was) and telling me how they knew I would do amazing. For the first time in my life, I experienced the concept of “it takes a village”. I had to travel to San Francisco that week before the race, and I met wonderful people who encouraged me with their own stories of their own marathons stories and tribulations they had surpassed. I had all the beautiful experiences in the forefront of my mind and they all inspired me to look at my own story: I had something incredibly exciting and scary to look forward to. What a time to be alive.
Game Day
And just like that 2.5 months swooshed by. I got my bib, new socks, and GU’s meant to give me the nutrition needed for the race. I prepared my clothing, my gear, and tried not to think much about what I was about to do. My legs still hurt. I was surprisingly detached from the whole situation in those last 12 hours. I was intellectually nervous but the butterflies weren’t there. I didn’t really want to think about it anymore. Just show up and experience it.
6:30am — I was in corral Z. I had given myself the most grace and chosen the last group. The goal was to finish it, not to race it. As the starting line drew near I held my resolve. I knew how to run every mile…up until 9.3. But I had a contingency plan and so much resolve. I had never wanted to experience something so bad as that feeling when I reached the finish line. That was my rock. The imaginary sensation of achieving it. I would think of and hold to that feeling if I ever faltered along the way. That — and my minute by minute playlist I had prepared, my socks, and my GU would get me there. I knew it…
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GOOO.
Mile 1
I was nervous. Very nervous. My legs already hurt and I hadn’t even started the journey. I knew my mile times weren’t the best, and I had choked in mile 8 more than once. I felt prepared. I felt motivated too. I just kept envisioning the finish line. Everyone around me seemed faster than me, but I looked back and there was a group of people behind me. The drive that I couldn’t be last motivated me — but I felt guilty and decided to just focus on my body.
Mile 2
It came faster than I expected, it came slower than I expected. I was doing a guided run and I had selected a song for every moment of this race. The anticipation of this moment kept me entertained but I knew this was the most boring part of the race. Mile 2 felt long, but I was warming up, and my body was finally getting into that groove, warmed-up level that makes me feel powerful.
Mile 3
At this point the first checkpoint for water and event-provided gateroade had passed. I didn’t take any of it. I had the last of my first GU. The course had a switchback scenario in the middle of the street. I could see those ahead of me — some already walking, tired faces. I kept on running. Had a sip of everything in my bag— I felt good. On the switchback I saw how far I had come, and how I’d gained some distance from those at the beginning. Not by much. I kept running.
Mile 4
The whole reason I did this marathon, or at least the reason I paid attention to this marathon for years to motivate me enough into doing it, is because it ran through the Denver Zoo. The Denver Zoo was upon us. I think this was the funnest mile I have run in my life. Between the zig zag inner streets of the zoo, the cool picture I took with an elephant, the goats and a couple of zebras — I was distracted by the fun of it all. Mile 5 came before I could dare process it.
Mile 5
It was here, and it was a blessing. Mile 4–6 is when I start second guessing myself. I don’t know if it was the playlist, the Zoo, or the fact that I was having a blast but the surge of energy blasted me through Mile 5 and Mile 6 was here before I could even acknowledge it.
Mile 6
An absolute banger of a song came up and I just went for it. I ran fast. I was keeping my energy for the later, but the song beckoned more and I felt free. I felt like I was flying — on top of the world. I was energized. I was excited. I was nearly half way done.
Mile 7
Usually during training I am beat, destroyed and disheartened at this point. I was getting tired but the thought of being halfway done dissuaded me from entertaining those thoughts. This is when we left City Park and left for Colfax — the street that inspired the name of the event. It was truly the most boring part of the entire race, and at this point I had pinpointed the other racers I was using as my “competition”, to motivate me to not fall into a lull. In this part of the race, all of my “competition passed me. I felt slow. I felt like I was going into dangerous territory. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time…
Mile 8
To all the people who went out and made funny posters, this mile belongs to you. I was getting to a point where I was loosing steam, but I promised myself I wasn’t allowed to feel that way until minimum Mile 10. The posters kept me going, and the vision of how far behind from the pack I was made me feel inadequate. I was in this middle point where a massive pack of runners was in front of me, and the remaining pack of runners behind me. The marathon was nearing its last leg, they had opened one of the car lanes. It was disheartening and I felt like a failure.
Mile 9
We were nearing the fire station to high-five the firefighters as we ran through the station. It felt like forever to get there, but I was in familiar territory. I had done most of my training downtown. The loosing of steam and the lack of newness in this leg of the race scared me. I was tired. But I had passed the legendary Mile 8. I couldn’t give up now. I ate some more GU, and tried to make sense of myself and my pains. I wanted to walk. I walked. And ran again. And walked. The strength was leaving me behind and so were my “competition”. But I ran through the fire station.
Mile 10
I ate my GU and took the free water. The 10 miler group of runners was joining in to the Half Marathon course. They also had 3 miles to go. They had only ran 7 at this point, to my 10, and they were energized and happy. I felt like hot garbage. I couldn’t keep running, my legs weren’t allowing it. I reached for my bag and grabbed my emergency red bull. I needed energy now — not 20 minutes from now when my GU kicked in. I walked the majority of the Downtown leg, until I saw my husband in the balcony of our apartment waving and taking video of me. I couldn’t just stop and give up and be last. I drank 6 oz of my 8 oz redbull. Walked the massive hill before the last 2.5 miles left. Let’s do this.
Mile 11
I have never been so tired in my life. My eyes were closing and when they did I felt calm. I wanted to close my eyes the entire remaining time. The sun was hot. My legs were hot and I wanted speed that I didn’t have. In my guided run something happened to my GPS and the coach in my ear from the Nike Running App was talking like I was in mile 12. To him I had only 1 mile left. And I behaved like he was telling the truth, to move me forward.
Mile 12
Technically I had finished the marathon. I had done the 13.1 miles. The celebration in my ear from the remote coach who doesn’t even know my name gave me enormous joy. This voice had been preparing me for this moment for 2.5 months and by his account I had done what I had set out to do. For a quarter of a mile this joy and elation got me through. The finish line seemed so far off. I couldn’t even see the park. I tried to focus on my music. I thought again of the feeling of the finish line.
There were so many people. The pack had melded and I was passing people. It made me feel good. I ran a little faster trying to get to the finish line faster. It seemed so close yet so far away. I was tired but revitalized. I was going to finally do the thing I set out to do. I was running 13 miles! 75% into Mile 12 and I still couldn’t see the finish line. A man yelled — “Keep going you are a quarter of a mile away!”. I had run so many quarter miles at this point, not only in the race but in my training — that a surge of power came over me. I was going to make it. I was actually going to get my medal. I was going to be able to say I did it.
Mile 13
It was 13.1 miles, and I am confident that .1 was when I finally saw the finish line. Throughout the race the thought of the finish line made me feel excited to the point of tears. Now that it was in front of me I didn’t feel like crying, I felt like running. With a giant smile on my face, and the sense of accomplishment that only pushing your body can achieve I crossed the finish line. 3 hours. 41 minutes. 48 seconds. I did it. I got my medal. I felt absolutely amazing!!!
And then I could feel my legs again. The face of despair was plain, and they escorted me to the medical area. They helped me hydrate, let me lay down, and gave me a massage gun. It took 30 minutes for me to be able to walk again. Well… waddle again. There were no Ubers so I clumsily waddled around, got my two free beers, and found a scooter. I sat on this scooter while I drank my beer. I took in the 50,000 people around me. Excited that I was one of the ones with a medal around her neck — I had freaking done it.
After the Miles
It took a week for me to recover, I am writing this sentence and it has been exactly 1 week and a half and I still feel pangs, but I can walk normal again. My father asked me if I prove to myself what I set out to prove. I said yes. In the worst shape of my life and at my heaviest I completed something that I thought was impossible for me. It was a slap in my own face that my health and fitness is a state of mind, and that I control my body, not the other way around.
People keep asking me if I am going to keep going. The answer is yes. I want to do more. I want to lose weight and do more. I want to travel and enjoy the sites while in that state of running zen. This experience has been remarkable — not only at proving to myself my power and strength, but by showing me that even when life seems meaningless, there is always a new a starting line.
