Pain
“If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon.” Emil Zatopek
With three blocks left in downtown Charlottesville, the excitement of the crowd near the finish line begins to fill the air. I look back at Colin, put my fist out, and say “Let’s finish this.” I can see the pain in his face, but he meets my fist, and I turn back.
One stride at a time; left, right, left. I see the crowd fifty feet away, marking the final turn. The bottom of my feet hurt like hell. My calves are shot. And I’m fighting back tears. I came this far; I fought for the past 4 hours for this moment.
As we came upon the crowd, I refused to look up. I didn’t want my face to be seen, this was much more to me than just a marathon. I took the final turn wide, making sure Colin kept with me. Finish strong, finish together. Stride for stride, we crossed. This wasn’t a race for us.
We turned and hugged.
“We did it.”
Back in November, I was struggling. Academically, mentally, even socially, I just didn’t feel myself. As I’ve talked about before, I was obsessing over YesTheory’s YouTube channel. I watched Amar run in a marathon that he really didn’t train for, but his sense of accomplishment after really intrigued me. I missed the Hokie Half in the fall for some lame excuses, but when my friend Colin told me he was thinking of running a marathon in the Spring in Charlottesville, I jumped on the idea. I needed something to shake up my life; to give me a new sense of excitement and self-pride. To prove to myself that I can do a lot more than I think.
It seemed like a great idea at the time. I had several months to train and was already in decent running shape. Colin texted me to sign up sooner than later, not being sure how quickly registration fills up. In hindsight, probably had plenty of time before I really needed to sign up, but on December 6, I paid up and was officially running the Charlottesville Marathon.
I started off training strong. By early January, I got up to a 10 mile long run around a 7: 15-mile pace. With months left to continue drawing out my endurance, I was looking in pretty good shape. Unfortunately, I had to take a week off in mid-January for my Iceland trip, and when I got back, I just wasn’t able to get back into a good training routine. I realized I’m not a big fan of running in the cold, and this winter was brutally cold all the way through March. I would get in a run or two or three a week, but my stamina was fading. With a wonky class schedule day to day, I wasn’t able to get into a routine, and the excuses became easier and easier to find. With college basketball in its peak by March, I was getting to the gym some, and maintaining decent shape.
Before I knew it, we had two weeks until the marathon. I had been promising myself that I’d get a real long run in, planning for around 20 miles. Again, I put it off day by day, until finally, it was sunny out. I went out on the Huckleberry Trail, but as soon as the sun fell, it became frigid. I wasn’t prepared for the cold and walk-jogged my way through an embarrassing 7-mile run. Feeling defeated and stress about the race weeks away, I had a new plan: ask for my registration to be changed to the half-marathon.
I e-mailed the race company explaining my situation, and the best possible thing that could’ve happened, happened: I never heard back. I didn’t read their e-mails all the way through, otherwise, I would have seen instructions on how to “transfer” registration to other races through the website. I’m so thankful I didn’t see that.
I got a couple more short races in, knowing the week of the race, a long run might only hurt me more than help me. I reached out to Brett Brunsick, an awesome friend from home to see if I could stay at his place the night before the race. Things worked out perfectly, and soon I had the plan for the weekend. I wasn’t bailing. I would stay the night with him, run in the morning, and drive home to Warrenton Saturday afternoon to see my parents. Sunday I would drive back to Tech, stopping in Harrisonburg to see Jason for a JMU baseball game and dinner.
Thursday I set aside some race apparel and ran to a local running shop for some energy chews. “Make sure you have plenty of time to figure out what does and doesn’t work for you before the reace,” the shop employee nicely suggested. I chuckled, knowing that I would be finding out in the middle of a full marathon whether or not these energy chews worked for me. “What’s the worst that could happen,” I thought to myself.
Friday was busy. I had a signals and systems test to take, and meet with a family friend from home as he checked out Virginia Tech. I scrambled home, grabbing clothes for the rest of the weekend. I hit the road to C-ville later than I had hoped but felt a sense of excitement.
Race registration closed at 6. Naturally, I was parking my car in a parking garage nearby, and ran to registration praying they hadn’t already closed up shop. I was in luck, got my race bib, and a t-shirt. Naturally, I was accidentally given a half-marathon shirt instead of the full marathon, but that wasn’t a big deal. I picked up the Cummins from their hotel and we headed to Brett’s.
If there is one thing everybody know’s about getting ready for a marathon, it’s to carbo-load. We hit Noodles & Co, and I scarfed down a delicious Chicken and Parm dinner. Brett and I got to catch up on school, our upcoming summer’s, and UVA’s lucky basketball streak.
After dinner, we walked around the Grounds a little, drove around the city, and the Cummin’s and I headed to the grocery store for some last minute race day snacks. I resorted to my high school classics: smore’s granola bars, beef jerky, and some gatorade. I dropped the boys off at their hotel; it was time for some sleep.
Laying in bed that night, the nerves really set in.
“It’s too late to change anything now,” I thought to myself. “Tomorrow, it’s either going to happen or not, but I can’t do anything about it now.” I fell asleep.
I woke up at a quarter of 6, chugged a lot of water, and got dressed. Race gear first, and then some sweats over. I didn’t think about how cold it would be before the sun came up. I slowly ate some granola and jerky, and was picked up by the Cummins to head to downtown, where the race would start.
The sun was barely up, and it was an overcast morning. I continued to eat some snacks, found the bathroom, and “limbered” up. Just some easy jogging and stretching, making sure to save all my energy for what was ahead. I continued to drink and eat, and the Cummins got in the long wait for the restrooms about 15–20 minutes prior to start. I refused, feeling like I was fine and not wanting to wait in a mile long line. The Cummins got back only minutes before the start. We stashed our bag and made our way into the mob behind the start line.
Colin and I got somewhere in the middle of the pack. I had my plan in mind: “Just stick with Colin as long as you can. Hopefully halfway, and just grit the rest out on your own. Whatever happens, happens, but doing this alone the whole time is a recipe for disaster.”
The starting buzzer sounds and the mass of people slowly funnels through the small starting line area. It would almost a mile before Colin and I could hit the strides we wanted to. We began in downtown, running around UVA’s Grounds, and then off towards some suburban neighborhoods, where most of the remainder of the race would take place. My legs felt fresh and healthy from the start, and Colin and I got through the first 10 miles feeling pretty solid.
Around mile 10, we split from the half-marathon runners and the path became a lot quieter. Colin and I were still together, still keeping a solid pace. I began to feel it in my legs but tried to keep my mind off of it. We met some hills, and although they weren’t too bad now, I knew that it was only a matter of time until things started to burn some.
We popped some of the energy chews around the hour mark. Luckily, they sat well. I’ll never really know how much they helped, but they definitely didn’t hurt. By the end, I had consumed over two packs.
A little after the halfway point, I knew I was losing juice. Colin was going strong, and after struggling to hang onto him for another mile, I told him to go. That was really hard to do, but my legs didn’t have it like he did.
Miles 13–17 would be the most difficult. I was on my own, something I struggled with throughout high school racing and training. I had to stretch out a couple of times, giving my legs a moment to regain any energy that they had left. Uphills felt like mountains, but downhills seemed to hurt my body even more. Keeping an eye on my watch, I truly took things one mile at a time, just counting down each marker. Once reaching mile 20, a sense of calm came over me knowing that even if I had to crawl, I knew I could finish this race.
Miles 17 through 20 took place in a riverside park, a 2 mile down and back path. As the fastest runners came back the opposite way towards the finish, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. After a hard few miles, I found a weak second wind and was able to hold a solid pace for the last couple of miles. Popping back the rest of my energy chews, I was able to get back up to Colin. He hit his wall later than I and was hurting, but I think being back together was the strength we needed to finish.
With a little over 6 miles left, we left the park and headed through some neighbourhoods back towards downtown. Between mile 24 and 25, we hit a massive hill. At one of my weakest points, we walk-jogged it to the top. An experienced runner came past us, saying “you’re almost there boys.” The camaraderie among running strangers was incredible.
Two miles left.
“This really f***ing hurts”, I say, turning to Colin.
One mile left.
“You can go”, Colin insists.
I knew we were going to finish together. I didn’t care about a time, a place, or a medal (not that we were anywhere near contention for anything at this point.) With everything Colin has done for me over the years, it meant the most to me that we crossed the line together. That’s what I wanted.
“I’m not going anywhere. We started together and we’re going to finish together.”
The last mile was quiet. The bottom of my feet ached with every stride on the asphalt.
We hit the 26 mile marker. The last quarter mile (or what felt like a lot more) lasted for an eternity. We reached downtown, turning down city blocks. It sounds cliche, and maybe it was just the pace, but everything slowed down. Before the final turn, there was barely anyone else on the streets. It was a weird feeling.
Half a mile.
Quarter of a mile.
Two blocks.
One block.
The crowd.
The tears.
The chute.
I didn’t know if I was going to finish that morning. I didn’t train with discipline, I’ve been mentally weak, and I hadn’t even ran the distance of a half. Weeks before, I had even tried to bail.
I could barely walk the rest of the day. Hobbling around the finish area, I took advantage of the complimentary Muscle Milk. Colin and I went to a compression booth to help with the acids. After cheering on Tommy for his age group medal, we found lunch nearby, and I headed home to Warrenton.
I hadn’t felt that sense of accomplishment in a long time. For the first time, I wasn’t running for anybody else. I wasn’t nervous about what place I was in for cross country, or if I was qualifying in track. But I did push myself to the complete physical limit. I can do so much more than I would have ever imagined.
“I’ve learned that finishing a marathon isn’t just an athletic achievement. It’s a state of mind; a state of mind that says anything is possible.” -John Hanc
