What makes us do crazy things? How does something go from seemingly impossible to potential to reality? And who decides if that crazy thing is a little too crazy, a little further than your capability can reach? For me – a thirty-something year old dad and full-time worker, being able to run a marathon definitely seemed implausible. I suppose a caveat first – yes, there are many thirty-somethingers who’ve tried and conquered marathons (and further), maybe even on a regular basis. This little piece is for the average schmuck, much like the writer himself. So read on, and take a dive into the depths of my insanity.
Addressing the stupidity of such a notion…
I started running about 12 months ago for one simple reason: I was bored at lunch time. Emerging from the Covid lockdown bubbles of 2020-21, I had returned to work in Sydney’s glamorous Moore Park, before my team finished their project and we were shipped back to our head office in Western Sydney. Suddenly the parklands had been replaced with an industrial backdrop, and the coffee shops I used to peruse were replaced with… not much. First world problems to be sure. So on went the $10 Kmart sneakers, a never-before-used strappy thing to attach my phone to my arm, and away I went.
The first thing I noticed was the burn in my lungs after about 2 blocks of jogging. Next came the realisation that the industrial backdrop only lasted a couple of blocks before breaking out into the far more palatable surrounds of the Parramatta River. Yet I’d have little time to appreciate the waterbirds calling from the mangroves, or the ferries puttering along the river with my thoughts pre-occupied by just how difficult it is to start exercising after years of half-hearted routine. There was no thought of marathons yet; I enjoyed the roughed-up feeling my muscles got after running, thinking to myself “if it hurts this bad it must be good for me.” This was only the beginning.
Apps that track your flaws, and a big decision made
Training regimes must have been harder in the past. Today we have little devices that can track your speed, time, heart rate, steps all in one app. First thing reinforced upon me was that I kept tiring after about 6km and needed to walk the final 2km (my original running route was 8km, chosen for no reason in particular other than it filled my lunch hour), and the app I downloaded had no problem telling me that. But I was having fun, and my two runs per week stretched to about 10 and 12km as I undertook different routes; soon a little thing called the runner’s high led me to the stupidest decision I’ve ever made – “I should run a marathon!”
Teething problems
The jump from 8km to 12km had seemed easy enough for me to assume building to the 42km of a marathon would be doable. At the start of the year, I knew I had 9 months to prepare for the Sydney Marathon in September 2023. Plenty of time. What nobody tells you though, is that the jump to 15km runs is quite a wall to climb. Given I had started from no exercise at all, I had none of the muscle built up in my legs to handle the distance on a regular basis. Cue the first doubts. Here I was struggling with 15km runs – a little over ⅓ of a full marathon! It’s difficult to choose which pain was the worst; the shin splints had me sitting in ice baths, my feet and ankles needed compression socks, my knees and hips ached, my nipples chafed as I jiggled along. The hot summer sun had my sweat drip into my eyes, my shirt soaked – maybe marathons are only for athletes?
I persevered. A ten day break from running saw me make a few valuable purchases: a visor to keep the sun from my face and sweat from my eyes; a shirt that stayed dry; I also ditched the 1kg hand weights I’d been stupid enough to run with for a short while. Soon I turned my focus to a rather significant milestone – a half marathon.
Mental health and fine tuning things
Running long distances takes a lot of mental willpower, and strong mental health is not something I’ve been known for. My depression was pretty dark in the early months of the year; whilst running helped with the ol’ endorphin release, the doubts I had over my ability to reach this stubborn marathon goal was getting me down. A few more changes were made. I quit alcohol, and ditched what I deemed as ‘big sugar’ – basically if I wanted something sweet, it was banana bread with coffee and nothing else. The effect this simple change had on my running was quite substantial, even one drink the night before a run and I’d feel groggy as all get out. There were other little things – running when you’re hungry sucks, so a piece of fruit an hour beforehand is the answer. Controlling your pace has an enormous effect on endurance too; by deliberately setting out at a slower speed, you can run longer. All these things seem fairly obvious upon reflection, but remembering that I’m just an average dude with limited athletic ability, I’m sure you can cut me some slack.
February, seven months out from the marathon, it was time to tackle the half. Here’s where some new challenges emerged. I’d been running on my lunch break at work, and there was no way I’d be able to run 21km in that timeframe. Saturday it would have to be. I settled on a route along the Coal Coast south of Sydney – Bellambi to Stanwell Park was 21km (thanks Google Maps). Despite the late summer heat and the presence of many hills, I managed and… My doubt only increased. When I’d completed my first half marathon, my calves felt like they’d explode. I was on my back on the platform at Stanwell Park station elevating my legs to alleviate the pressure, looking quite ridiculous to be sure. I’d done half a marathon, but my body was telling me a full marathon was basically impossible.
Runner’s high? More like runner’s blues
So it turned out I was supposed to fuel myself while running long distances. That was why my muscles hurt so much, that was why I was feeling so down after my runs. One month later, I thought I’d tackle the half marathon distance again. It was March, the footy season had started, the autumn weather might keep me cool, surely it would be easier this time. I chose to run from Shark Park to Brighton Le-Sands and back, 21km through the mangroves near the home stadium of my beloved football team. The weather didn’t get the message however; it was 34 degrees as I struggled through my second half marathon. But this time I had an ace up my sleeve, or rather, a little pouch of sweet goo in my pocket to give me some gusto. Energy gels aren’t great, really. Intense sport is probably the only reason anyone would bother with the damn things. They’re functional though; there is a noticeable lift in mood that overcomes you as you sip them, and I realised that so long as you keep a steady pace and top up your energy levels, you can keep going a lot longer. Could this be the key to lasting a full 42km? Just remember to brush your teeth afterwards, your mouth feels pretty gross after your second or third dose of berry flavoured goo.
Getting official
Finding time for those longer runs was difficult. It’s the common excuse, ain’t it? I’m too busy to commit to this. My stubborn ass wasn’t about to lay down, I had to make it work. I signed up for the Sydney Half Marathon to be held in May, but before then I’d have two runs which really pushed my progress along nicely. School holidays arrived and I realised the opportunity was there to get up stupidly early and run to work. My third attempt at the half was the most successful yet; waking at 5am and driving until I was 20km from work, then running the rest of the way. I’d arrive before my start time of 8:30am to an awaiting change of clothes and a shower before starting work. Sounds like madness but it was honestly a great way to begin the day. Such was my enjoyment that a week later I did it again, pushing the distance out further to 27km. All of a sudden the full marathon was only 15km away and seemed possible. A 5am epiphany during a 27km run had me realise that I can do this; I need to sign up for September and commit.
First however came the Sydney Half, which I used to gauge whether I’d chicken out or not. Having already accomplished 27km a few weeks earlier, the official half marathon was no trouble at all – swept up as I was in the excitement of the event, I beat my best time for the distance and at last signed up for the Sydney Marathon. No backing out now!
Oh, the places you’ll haul your ass
My knowledge of Western Sydney was getting substantial by now, as I took a different running route practically every time I set out. There would be another official run in the Memory Walk and Jog, an 8km run around Cronulla raising money for dementia, several more pairs of shoes burned through, 7kg lost and a whole bunch of mind games developed to keep me in the zone. I’m not one to listen to music while I run, preferring to take in the scenery and go a bit brain dead. It’s a wonderful way to clear your head and the perfect panacea to a melancholically minded individual such as myself. Even still, there are long stretches where you need something to distract yourself, and I had all sorts of little tricks I’d do. 80 BPM was a good steady rhythm to jog to, so David Bowie’s All the Young Dudes or Jimi Hendrix with Wind Cries Mary were often stuck in my head. I’d attempt to list all the games from the Cronulla Sharks’ 2016 premiership season. Done? Too easy? Try and recall the score from each game. How about your music modes? Tell me the notes of B-flat Dorian. F# Locrian? Need some more? Make it harder: modes of Melodic Minor – go! My head would spin, and the kilometres would slip by. Studies of Google Maps led to interesting finds – it’s awesome when you run somewhere new, only to pop out in a familiar spot and realise “this was here the whole time?” and “so that’s where this road leads!”
The long run, the taper, and what about the wall?
Buzz words that many runners more experienced than I had spouted on their very helpful blogs and YouTube videos. Runner’s trots – the overwhelming urge to soil yourself on a long run – I wasn’t alone! Leg hairs tangling between your rubbing thighs? A pair of tights will fix that right up! Hitting the wall was another fear that had yet to rear its ugly head. Perhaps that was because I hadn’t done a long enough run? Your ‘long run’ is meant to be the last big distance before slowing down towards the big day. I again opted for the early morning run, pushing it to the furthest distance so far: 33km, or roughly 80% of a marathon’s distance. More time was needed, so the start drifted to a bleary-eyed 4:30am, in the middle of winter, 3 degrees outside – why in the world am I doing this again?! And I went sloooow. So slow, mostly out of fear of hitting the wall and leaving myself stranded and late for work. Bananas were this sleepy runner’s best friend, alongside Gatorade, energy gels, protein bars and other sugary garbage. Man, I hate that stuff after a while! Wouldn’t you know, I made it to work on time. It’s weird starting a day of work having been awake for 5 hours already. The main question I had to ask myself at the end was “could you keep going for another 9km?” My answer was yes. I was ready. There were 2 months to go.
Tapering, i.e. running less in the weeks leading up to the marathon, seemed counterintuitive to my progress, but in all fairness I was so busted up by this point that I appreciated the lighter load. The fatigue in your body builds up over time and this can only be mitigated by running less, with the aim of having as much energy as possible on race day. A bit of anxiety was creeping in now too – the urgency to just smash through the shorter runs with little focus, trying to remember that every little bit still counted. It’s so hard to focus on your run-of-the-mill short run when by now you’re just wanting to swing away at a full marathon. Patience is so important for long-distance running, in more ways than one, and such a virtue has never been my strong point. I felt like I’d seen enough though; I’d run in all sorts of weather, all sorts of injury, food and diet, clothing choices, speed, distance. You don’t fail what you know, and I felt that I knew everything I needed to know, everything except the actual marathon itself.
“The time has come”, the Walrus said
It was a rubbish sleep the night before the Sydney Marathon. I knew it would be. I managed to distract myself by watching the footy, lamenting my dear Port Adelaide being eliminated from the finals by none other than GWS Giants, whose stadium I’d run past dozens of times during my training, before tossing and turning in bed until the morning. With weather forecasted at sunny and 30ish degrees, I had to resign to the idea of an uncomfortable run. Heat has such a massive effect on exercise, draining your energy faster, burning your skin and dehydrating you. All good, I’d done something similar before way back in March during my second half marathon. The mind races all the way to the starting line:
“What if I don’t finish in time?”
“Finishing is finishing, no matter the time.”
“There’s no shame if you don’t make it, just have a go.”
“You’ve done the training, trust the process.”
“You’ve prepared multiple scenarios, you’ve got this.”
And, perhaps, most pressing:
“Do you need to pee?”
I just needed to get going. All that nervous energy would release after I started running, I just needed to make sure I didn’t go out too hard (marathon mistake #1). The 7:10am gun went – finally it’s time – and then I didn’t actually start running for another 20 minutes. Turns out ushering 17000 people through a narrow starting line takes its time. Four-count breathing again (seriously do this, it saves lives: breathe in for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 4, hold for 4, repeat) and patience patience patience.
The marathon was everything I had hoped for; a surmountable challenge, both excruciatingly difficult and wonderfully simple. Any little tidbit I could share at this point would see me just repeat myself. Some kilometres were longer than others, while some flew about without a second thought. I grabbed water and electrolyte drink at every stop. I grabbed the free sunscreen on offer at the halfway mark. I filled my hat with ice and rubbed ice cubes all over my face as the sun beat down. To my utter frustration, I felt tired earlier than I wanted too. Maybe it was the poor sleep, or the heat of the day, or the nervous energy, but my brain was able to remain focussed on the task at hand. This was my day. This was what I’d wanted. I wanted the reward – it was worth the temporary discomfort. Several times I thought of stopping:
At 21km? “No way, you’ve done seven half marathons at this point!”
At 33km? “This is longer than you’ve ever run, surely there’s no shame in stopping?”
At 4 hours 45 minutes? “You’ve been running longer than ever, this is truly the Hadal Zone now!”
My knee started to hurt at 30km. I had to push through. Eventually the pain either subsided, or the pain coursing through the rest of my body caught up and I stopped thinking about the knee. And the worst I felt was somewhere between 37 and 39km, when a small incline felt like a mountain to my tortured legs: “There is no way I’m stopping now, not when I’m this close.”
I reached 40km of non-stop running when I realised I was going to run this whole thing. Rounding the last corner of the course, beginning the downhill stretch towards the Sydney Opera House, random people cheering tired bodies home, I saw my mum in the crowd and got one last lift. Time to leave it all out there – with all I had left I ran as fast as I could muster to the goal posts 100m away. I crossed the finish line. I’d done it. Everything I’d trained for, all the hard work, the goal I’d thought about everyday for a year, I’d done it. Seeing my wife and kids at the finish line made it all the sweeter.
You too can be this foolish
Reader, I ran the whole thing. I say running, but honestly by the end you could’ve walked alongside me I was so slow. But the action of running never ceased in those legs of mine. When I first came up with the idea of running a marathon, I bargained with myself. If I reached the finish line walking, that would be ok. If I ran half, then walked the rest, that would be ok. The goal posts kept moving the stronger I felt, and the more I practiced.
If you’re reading this and wondering if you could do a marathon yourself, the answer is yes. Yes you can. Taking on this challenge taught me far more than simply how to run a long way. I may have been running from my problems at the start of the journey, yet the benefits to my physical and mental health would be significant, and it has given me confidence in other parts of my life – after all, if an average bloke such as myself can run a marathon, what can’t I achieve? I turn 35 next week.
