2 nights ago, I ran my first marathon. No training. No preparation. In fact I’ve been sleeping like shit recently. 4h21 moving time. By far the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I used to run, but it’s been over a year since I last trained. Despite this, I like to run a half-marathon every now and then just to prove I still can. That’s what I set off to complete 2 nights ago.
But my brain wouldn’t let it slide.
“Go for a full marathon”
“It’s not that hard, you can just do it”
“When are you next gonna have the motivation to do this?”
“Now’s your shot. Check it off the list. Secure a massive victory”
“If you don’t, you’ll always wonder ‘what if?’”
So I said “f*ck it”.
I’ve never suffered physically like that before. I’ve done half marathons with little to no training. I’ve done single miles on the rowing machine that left me keeled over, lungs burning. But this was different. The last 10 miles were literal torture. My legs were screaming. Every part of me wanted to stop running and order an Uber home. All the while knowing I still had over an hour of pain to go.
Around 16/17 miles, my knees really started flaring up. It was the only point in the run that I genuinely thought I might not make it. I wasn’t willing to seriously injure myself for this. That’s when I began to “shuffle”. It shifted the burden from my knees to my calves and I realised I could keep going. It was an amazing moment of remembering there’s always a way. I didn’t have to quit; I just needed to adjust my strategy. And it worked. The downside is that it slowed me down massively. You can see in the splits how my mile time fell off a cliff.
That final 10 miles took me 1h57. There were occasional moments where I’d be carried away by the music and forget the pain. But for the most part I was just coaching myself to keep going. I quit in my mind 100 times. The conversation about packing it in was never-ending. Eventually, I just accepted that that conversation would be present the rest of the journey. I let it happen. “It’s okay to think about quitting if I just keep moving my legs”.
As I got closer to the 20-mile mark, my brain played a horrible trick on me. I started thinking that maybe it wasn’t cool that I was running a marathon with no training. Maybe people would see it as dumb and weird. And worse, maybe I wouldn’t even be proud of it. Maybe all I’d feel is regret. Maybe it was so painful that I wouldn’t even be proud. And if I’m not even going to feel good about it after I’m finished, then what the fuck is the point in continuing on? Eventually, I realised that was just the pain lying to me. And that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought because I was doing this for me.
Most people train for months to run a marathon. They carb load, perfect their sleep, make sure their race nutrition is exactly right, and they drink the exact right amount of water. Their friends come to support them and wave flags. A crowd of strangers is cheering them on the whole way. They’re surrounded by people going through the exact same thing, and they get a medal and a hug from their loved ones at the end. I had none of that. No preparation. No training. No planning. Improvised nutrition and hydration. No friends. No family. No strangers cheering me on. No fellow runners. No medal waiting for me at the finish line. I was truly out in the wilderness, alone.
In total, my nutrition/hydration amounted to:
A coconut water
A 750ml bottle of Fiji water
2 electrolyte sachets
One Clif Bar
One gel
That’s what sustained me through 26.2 miles.
In the last 3/4 miles, I suffered more emotionally than physically or mentally. My legs were still screaming more than ever. I still wanted more than anything to go home. But it was dark, getting colder & windier, fewer people still out running, and I started to feel incredibly lonely & miserable. I prayed for strength. That and a few mantras kept me going. “Wilson’s don’t quit.” “Suffer now, and live the rest of your life as a champion.” “A moment of pain, a lifetime of glory.” These may sound out of proportion to running a marathon, but when you’re that deep in hell, it helps to aggrandize the situation.
Every now and then I managed a laugh at the ridiculousness of my situation. And then towards the end I made a conscious effort to take my pain and suffering with dignity. It was almost meditative. I tried to empty my mind and forget the time passing. Forget the pain. The isolation. How I’d rather be anywhere else, doing literally anything else. It worked in bursts, but all I could really think about was that I still had 30-40 minutes left of this. All I could do was just take it. I wasn’t going to quit with 4 miles left to go, so I reminded myself that the time is going to pass anyway, and that soon it would be over. That I’d be home, in my bed, NOT running. But it was awful. It was the worst 40 minutes of my life. Pure physical, mental and emotional anguish. No one knew I was out there and no one cared. I was completely alone, left to ponder the ridiculousness of it all.
In the last 0.6 miles I began cramping up for the first time. That in itself was hilarious, having made it almost 26 miles without a single twitch. I had my phone in my hand for the first time in the run so I could see the meters ticking over. I couldn’t bare the uncertainty by that point. I needed to know exactly how close I was to finishing. And it was brutal. I even quickened my pace to get it over with faster. I think that’s what started the cramps.
When I finally finished, I pumped my fists in the air like Rocky at the top of the Philly steps. I wish I could say I got some sort of “high”, but it was really pure relief. I walked to the tennis pavilion to take a sh*t and brave some of the tap water, but it was locked. I was too drained to even be annoyed. Ordered the Uber and stood at the fence watching the app. It couldn’t come soon enough. I was finished. And I wanted to go home, immediately.
Once I sat down in the Uber my body started shutting down. At first I opened the window because I wanted some fresh air, but then it started. My body started shivering, and my neck and ears started vibrating. I was a little worried that something might be seriously wrong, but then I remembered how people always have those foil blankets on at the end of races, so I figured it’s probably normal. The Uber driver was very kind and congratulatory. He saw how much pain I was in getting out of the car, and even offered to help me to the door.
As soon as I crossed the threshold into the house I felt the urge to cry. I somewhat suppressed it as I needed water and a sh*t and couldn’t fully let go yet. Once I’d got water and done the business, I immediately stripped off, put some warm clothes on and got into bed, attempting to warm myself up. And that’s when I broke down. I haven’t cried like that in years. And I didn’t really know why I was crying. Perhaps a comedown from the megadose of adrenaline and cortisol. Perhaps relief from the torture I’d just put myself through. Grateful I’d made it, and it was over. I don’t know.
Despite being under a full duvet I couldn’t stop shivering. So I got another one, drank more water, downed more salt, got a cup of tea, and laid back, staring at the ceiling. Soon I was warm again, with nothing but the agony in my legs and the mellow calm as proof of what just happened. I thought I’d sleep like a baby, but that wasn’t the case. I tossed and turned for a long time. My body was probably so jacked on adrenaline and cortisol that it wasn’t in any state to sleep. Besides, sleep requires metabolic energy and I had none.
I’m 2 days removed now, and can still barely walk. But I like having the reminder of what happened. Once the pain goes, all that’ll be left is the memory. And then it’ll be time for the next challenge.
Main lessons:
There were 100 times I wanted to quit, and each time I kept going with some micro adaptation/solve. Either I got some water, electrolytes, a gel/clif bar, took a sh*t, changed my running style, prayed, repeated some mantra, new music etc. There was always a way to overcome the voice saying “we’re done, pack it in.” Can be applied to everything. There’s always a way to keep going.
The reason I executed those micro adaptations instead of quitting was because there was a clear finish line and I was absolutely determined to finish. The mind is constantly trying to move you away from pain. Running is easy because it’s so black and white. You have a finish line, and you just have to keep moving your legs one in front of the other. I think work can be that simple if you make it that simple.
Example:
Start with an initial intention
Affirm your absolute determination to get it done no matter how painful/time consuming
Don’t stop/take long breaks that allow the pain to catch up with you
If you reach a point where you really want to fucking quit, remember that there’s always a way to keep going. Some solve/micro adaptation you can make to keep yourself working
Build up a mental resume of “times you wanted to quit but found a way to keep going regardless”
Forge your identity around that way of being. “I don’t waste my own time. I love work. I will do what’s required.”
When the question of “why am I doing this?” inevitably arises, have an immediate answer to stop yourself from spiralling. I found on the run that “to prove that I can” was a highly effective and real response. Morbid curiosity. I just want to know that I can do it.
Life is made up of moments. Think about a year from now, what do you want to look back on and see? It’s never random nights of drinking. It’s the marathon with no training. The impulsive trip abroad. The huge business win you achieved despite constant fear and doubt during the process. Those moments are what make up a great life. Make more of them.
— JW