turns out life IS a marathon
a recap of my first marathon experience, and how it has helped me find a new sense of purpose
Life has opened up a bit. I alluded to this expanded feeling of lightness in relation to my work life last month, but it has also started to affect other other parts of my life in really beautiful ways. A lot of this opening-up has to do with some shifts in my life since Marathon Sunday. For example, I have only gone on 3 runs? The time spent not running has meant that I have had *lots* of time to think about race day.
And I have been replaying the day over and over in my head, not overthinking but reminiscing. It usually goes something like this...
I woke up at my usual time. I was in the last start wave because I’m a slower runner, and even though I was pissed when I realized that I had to start at 11:30am (!!), it was nice to do my morning routine relaxedly and have plenty of time to get to the start line.
I left early enough to have time to pick up gum at the grocery store. I LOVE chewing mint gum while running on a warm day. The credit card machines were down, though, and the ladies behind me didn’t have cash on them, so I offered a 5-er, and they insisted on getting me an espresso from the boulangerie on the corner. We chatted, I chugged it, chucked the cup in the trash, and hopped on the metro to the 8e arrondissement.
The port-o-potties at the start village were clean and not that smelly, and the bag drop was spookily seamless. I did usual stretching, my headphones were charged, the bib was secure, the energy was as chaotic as I expected but in an exciting way. Lots of people in my start wave were chunky women like me who were maybe running one of their first races, and it was beautiful to think about how we’d all been through similar training experiences to make it to April 13th on the Champs Elysees.
As I crossed beneath the green arches, we soared toward Place de la Concorde, where there was a really amazing drumming group. One of the coolest parts of the race was the fact that every 5k or so featured a live cover band or high school brass ensemble or pump-up station sponsored by Adidas or Orange (one of the French cell providers) with a decent DJ. Also helped that spotting a band stand meant that a refreshment station was not far off.
It was a really well-organized race, which I suppose is necessary when you have 55,000 runners. There were plenty of water fountains putting out ice cold water, snack options like squares of cake and chopped banana, and really beautiful scenery. The route takes you near the major landmarks, out to Vincennes on the east, then along the Seine towards the Eiffel Tower, and through Boulogne in the west before you finish behind the Arc de Triomphe again. There was never a moment I felt bored or uninspired, despite the challenges.
The first of these challenges happened somewhere around Opéra Garnier, when I realized that my Strava had not been tracking!!! I swore to God that I had pressed start. When I didn’t hear the 1-mile announcement in my ear, I thought it was because I just hadn’t reached a mile yet. But 3km was certainly more than a mile!! I was SO frustrated that my times would now be off, and so would the fueling strategy I perfected over 18 weeks of training. But at least I would get a chip time at the end. Spoiler alert: that didn’t happen.
The horrors persisted, and so did I. But I’m glad I checked my phone when I did and just pressed start, and kept going. My friend saw me at Place de la Bastille, and when she called my name through her megaphone, I was incredibly excited. Thank you, Gabrielle!!
But around that point, the left glute pain that I had started feeling after 2 miles wasn’t going away. I’ve been accustomed to managing calf soreness or some mild runner’s knee, but never anything in my hips or glutes. I took a gel around 8 or 9k while walking up the slight uphill for a bit and just kept going. I was already out there. I wanted to give everything I had. If the pain got to be anything above a 5 or 6 out of 10, I would stop and go home.
Running through Vincennes after this pep talk felt nice because so many training runs took place in those woods. But the sun was out in full force, and we were approaching the 2 hour mark. “I’m not gonna make it in under 5 hours,” I begrudgingly admitted.
I took out my headphones. I needed to think. I stopped, stretched my calf, fist-pumped for other people limping by. What is the new game plan? Just to finish? Do I even have a goal time anymore? Do I ask someone if I can run alongside them so that we can give each other accountability? Will that mean I have to speak broken, panted French with them for the next 3 hours?
I think that was around 11 miles in.
I hit the 25-30km portion of the race, and was struck by the fact that it was underground along the tunnel by the Seine. I hated it. I had to dig SO deep to not quit. I was irrationally angry at the people sipping afternoon beers and munching on sandwiches, and I felt like I was ruining their view of the river on such a beautiful day. Even while I was in the tunnel, I dreaded having to confront the how sun on the other side. Gah, I was incredibly grumpy.
But I saw Gabrielle again and then kept going, and started to feel blissfully delusional??? The Eiffel Tower was right there, and those who know me know that the Tower is my favorite landmark. I relished in the shadiness, and in knowing that I was in the home stretch with 10km left. My glute was still hurting, but no worse than when it started, so I felt okay about just continuing.
When I crossed the 35km timer, the race coordinators were starting to take down the course behind me. I tried not to beat myself up about being so slow, but the team of water providers by Roland-Garros (yes, THE Roland-Garros) were so encouraging of the fact that we were all almost done!!
The last 5 miles or so went through the Bois-de-Boulogne. It was beautiful. At that point, I didn’t care that I was walking more. How could you not love the tree-lined roads and golden hour lighting? The locals walking their dogs or heading home from the finish line cheered that just 5km remained. This was just another reminder that French people are not mean, just more reserved than Americans. I’m always on a mission to debunk that stereotype.
I’m getting chills right now thinking about the last kilometer. Tons of people were cheering and banging gleefully on the barricades. Others taking their afternoon apéro in the cafes waved bells and flags, also cheering. I took out my headphones so I could really soak in the fact that I was finishing the marathon, that I was soon going to get my medal, that I could eat something other than gels.
My eyes filled with tears because of equal parts exhaustion and how proud I was for persevering despite not meeting my original goals and despite the surprise body aches and the sun and late start time.
When I actually completed the distance, the course was shutting down. It was only 10 minutes after 6pm. The timer was still going on the official timer, but no one was allowed to cross it because the crews were powering down. I looked at it desperately, medal in hand and could taste how much I had been relying on having that chip time in lieu of my Strava fail. It still bothers me that I don’t have an official finish time and don’t get to be on the finishers list on the race website: SUCH A BUMMER.
But at least I got to have a little photo shoot! :)
I’m really proud of myself. With hindsight, I’m not disappointed by how I did, even though I was for the week immediately after the race. I know what my body did, and my body certainly knows what she did. I am so grateful to have a body that held me for as long as it did: over six hours!! I am so grateful that the soreness in the days after was surprisingly minimal? Not gonna overthink that victory, for sure…
The most surprising thing of all is realizing that running that race made me really love Paris. My love for it has cracked open. It’s a beautiful city. Getting to see so much of in one afternoon was overwhelming, but in a magical way. If I had quit, I never would have experienced that joy.
I want to do it again. I want to see if I can do better next time, but mostly because I really loved the experience. Training gave me structure. I had a great body image when I noticed the improvements in my pace, and cared less about how I look. I loved how the mental fatigue of running made me get efficient with meeting specific, attainable research goals every week. I loved having a reason to be outside in the winter months, even though the bike shorts tan on my legs is cringey now.
I took advantage of early registration for the Cambridge half marathon in the fall. I’ve run it several times, and it’s tradition at this point for my friends to roll out of bed and deal with the MBTA on a Sunday morning to see me cruise along the Charles before brunching at Veggie Galaxy.
Preparing to run a race I love for the probably the last time is helping me stay excited about going back to North America, getting to see my dearest friends and finish my dissertation and apply for jobs, and whatever else I get up to. If you find yourself wanting to see more of that journey, just make sure you’re subscribed! After many weeks feeling like I had nothing to say, I have my spark back and the juices are flowing once again.
In the meantime, you can look back on other parts of the process, whether in the form of one of my dissertation diaries, some chatty reading updates, or one of my more reflective pieces about being In the Weeds as a recovering perfectionist who still wants to do all the things all the time.
Until next time: stay muddy, my friends!
Cana💚🌿
So fun to see all the race pictures!!
I loved reading this! I felt like I was right there with you for all the ups and downs and ebbs and flows. What a magical experience to have had in your time in Paris, too. I'm sure it's one you'll be looking back on for years to come. I hope you get to do it again some day! 💜