If you missed last week’s post, go check it out to read about what led up to me standing on the starting line of my first marathon.

On October 6, 2019 I stood shivering on the starting line beside James in Bath, NY about to run 26.2 miles for the first time in my life. It was the Wineglass Marathon, a point-to-point race through the Southern Finger Lakes. I had heard from many runners that this was an ideal first marathon to do. A great time of year (not too hot, not too cold), a beautifully scenic course, mostly flat, and a Boston Qualifier. I should have stood on the starting line excited and ready, but I had such a large pit in my stomach. I was anxious, I felt pressure (totally self-induced), and I was tired. My legs felt heavy and I hadn’t yet run a single step.

I had told everyone that I had no expectations for this race, because it was my first marathon and anything could happen. But come on. Of course I had expectations set for myself. I wanted to qualify for Boston and I wanted to run sub-3 hours. And based on my 21-mile long run a few weeks prior that shouldn’t have been a problem. But, I was tired. I was tired because I had been pushing myself too hard in my training even though I had convinced myself that I wasn’t. And I was tired because I had been depriving myself of food and had a major focus on maintaining a very low weight.

James and I stood there on that starting line listening to the official’s pre-race spiel. It was a cold and windy morning, and James was rubbing my arms unsuccessfully trying and tame my goosebumps. We were never planning to run together, as we knew that I’m a bit quicker on the roads than he is (having come from a competitive running background). A quick “good luck” kiss and the gun went off. I took my first strides, leaving James behind and looking forward too seeing him and celebrating at the finish line a few hours later.

The first couple miles felt great. The adrenaline kicked in, my nerves shifted to excitement, and I was finding my place towards the front of the pack. By two or three miles in the leaders of the race were already was out of sight, but I was in that next pack holding my own with a group of men. And I stayed there for a long time.

As the race went on, the mile markers seemed to get farther and farther apart, each mile feeling longer than the one before it. And I was only about halfway through the run. At the 13.1 mark I saw my parents and grandparents cheering me on, my mom reaching her arm out with coconut water (an ideal electrolyte drink, by the way!) and caffeine gummies. I refused both and kept running, still hanging on with that pack of guys.

Around mile 16 was when I started to lose them. My legs were feeling heavier and I couldn’t keep up. Cardiovascular wise I felt fine, but my legs were bricks. I knew this was bad news because with 10 miles to go I was beyond ready for the race to be over. As my grandfather always says, “the marathon is only half over at mile 20.” But there I was, already starting to hit a wall. I grabbed an energy GU from an aid table but couldn’t get it down. I chucked it and kept moving, my pace slowing.

By mile 18 I was alone on the course. That group I had been with was too far for me to catch, and anyone behind me was too far to see. I stopped. I had never (never!) done that in a race before, even when I was competing with a broken leg in college. I stopped moving, I put my hands on my quads, and I rested for a couple of minutes.

Others started running by me, encouraging me to keep going. So I did. I put one leg in front of the other and I carried on, going about 2 minutes/mile slower than I had been in the first half of the race. I shuffled through a couple more miles as runners continued to pass me. I felt defeated, frustrated, and unsure if I’d make it to the finish line.

After shuffling for a while longer I reached mile 22 and by this time I was surrounded by others, having fallen back to where the majority of runners were settled. My legs were about to collapse and I stopped. Again. That’s twice now. After never having stopped in a race in my life, I was stopped for a second time.

I stepped aside to make room for other runners to get by and I put my hands on my quads again, wanting to scream in frustration.

As I noted in last week’s post, I’ll never forget my first marathon. Partly because of how terrible I felt, but mostly because of what happened when I was hunched over, feeling defeated at mile 22.

As I stood there with my hands on my quads, a man around my age came walking up behind me. He saw me there in pain, looking frustrated and defeated.

“I’m feeling that same pain right now, want to jog it out together?”

Very kind of him, but uhh… no. I truly thought it was physically impossible for my body to move at that point. So I thanked him but told him I didn’t think that was in the cards for me.

“Come on, we’ll do it together. Even if we’re jogging at 10 minute pace. We can do this.”

Ok… I guess I could try.

We began slowly (very slowly) jogging together, side by side.

“Is this your first marathon?”

Yup…

“Awesome! This is going to be an amazing accomplishment! You are going to cross that finish line today.”

He continued to chat, asking me about the people who had come out to support me that day, what I did for work, where I had gone to school, etc. I knew he was doing this to distract me from the pain I was feeling, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than my jello legs and how frustrated I was with myself.

“2.8 miles left. Think about how many times you’ve run 2.8 miles. You’ve got this! Forget about everything before this. It’s just 2.8 miles.”

He could see that I wasn’t doing well (I guess it was pretty obvious…) and told me about how his goal had gone out the window a long time ago (he was shooting for 2:48). He said he knew he was in shape to run that fast time, but today wasn’t his day.

“These days happen, and that’s the beauty of the marathon. You never know what the day will bring. but you know what? It’s ok to have these days. Now I’ll just make the most of it and look forward to that finish line feeling.”

I couldn’t get my legs to move anymore and they were shaking so intensely that I thought I was going to fall. I stopped again (that’s three times) and told him to keep going. He tried to encourage me to go with him but I knew I couldn’t.

“Ok, but I’m going to wait for you at the finish line with a high five, so you better be there!”

I walked for a while. Over a mile. And when I was just over one mile from the finish line I started to jog again, slowly. I was going to jog to that finish line no matter what. I could do it.

So I did. I turned the corner and saw that finish line, heard the crowds, and moved as fast as I could until I was on the other side.

And guess who was there waiting for me with a high five? Yup, he really meant it.

I walked through the finish shoot so happy that it was over. So happy to be done and not caring at all about what had happened in the three hours and thirteen minutes out on that course. My mom greeted me with a hug, telling me how proud she was of me. And a few minutes later I was greeted with open arms by my dad, my grandmother and my grandfather. They all let me know how proud they were, and told me that I had qualified for Boston. Oh great, not I have to run another marathon…

No one asked, “what happened? Why did it take you so long? What went wrong?” None of that mattered. How lucky am I that have a support system like that?

I stood on the sideline near the finish with my family, wrapped in a foil blanket with a bottle of coconut water and watched as James sprinted to the finish line with a HUGE personal record. I guess his training plan works pretty well when you follow it…

Later that night I did some serious stalking research and on Facebook I found the guy who had been so helpful when I felt like giving up during the race. I sent him a message to thank him for what the did, and this was his response:

“Hi Kerry! So glad I met you today and happy I was able to share some encouragement! Regardless of how it started and ended, you still did a marathon and in a wild time too, so that’s something you should be super proud of! Marathon running is a crazy crazy sport and the unpredictability of it is what makes it so much fun. Hopefully I’ll see you out on another course sometime soon. Congrats on your first finish!!”

That marathon took a lot out of me physically, but even more so mentally. I felt so defeated and embarrassed, and never wanted to run that distance again. But as time has gone on I have had time to reflect and I’ve learned a lot. I have learned what it means to train properly and what my body needs from me. I have learned that putting too much pressure on myself takes away the fun, and I have decided that my next marathon (there will be a next one) will be very different. I will train diligently, but I will listen to my body. And if it takes me 4 hours to get through the next one BUT I have a good time throughout it, that will be a major victory.

And to that man who helped me to get through that race when I really didn’t think I could, I promise to pay it forward.