Don't Try So Hard and Maybe You'll Do Your Best

Last Sunday, I finished my fourth marathon. I had very few hopes for completing it within the timeframe I wanted. Earlier in the summer, right about when I was to start ramping up my training for the marathon, I fell.

See the gash on my knee? Yeah, that hurt.

Actually, I tripped.

Walking.

Up stairs.

Along with a bruised ego, I scraped a healthy amount of skin off my left knee and managed to twist my right foot. I spent that evening in urgent care and got to ride in a wheel chair (not as fun as the nine-year-old in side me thinks it should be). Nothing was broken but I couldn't run for a while. It was difficult to even walk for a while. This delayed everything.

Running a marathon is a commitment. Running a marathon slowly is even more of a commitment. When you are a slow runner, it takes a long time to rack up the necessary mileage and more than one Saturday run was hijacked by oversleeping and hot midday weather (Portland had one of their hottest summers on record). I don't mind doing a couple of miles in 80 or 90 degree weather but when it takes you 3+ hours to run 15 miles, you avoid the heat. Which means you need to start running by 5 am. And, as a result, I never got my really long runs done.

I did manage to complete two 10+ mile runs a few weeks before the marathon; one was very disappointing and the other not so disappointing but I still didn't have high hopes for my time. My main goal was to finish in less than 6 hours, which seemed doable but still hard. If I could, I was going to try for a 12 minute mile pace for as long as I could. Again, doable but hard, given my lack of training. The main thing was to finish and not start too fast.

So, when I looked at my watch at mile 5 and my time was about 55 minutes, I thought I had started my watch at the wrong time (except that I remembered very clearly starting it as I ran across the first mat). Then I thought, "It's race day nerves and adrenaline, it will even out, I'll slow down eventually. Breathe-1-2-3, exhale -1-2." But I also felt good. Really good, like I could keep that pace forever.

Between miles 7 and 10, I was running an out-and-back portion of the course and I was keeping my eyes peeled for a friend that I knew was running the half. This friend is faster than me and had started before me but I was hoping to see her while I was on the out portion and she was on the back portion. And I did see her, fairly close to the turnaround and it was unexpected but I didn't think too much about it until I passed the 10 mile mark and checked my watch again. I was under 2 hours and still feeling good. And I thought, "Good pace, doing great. But now we'll start climbing into Northwest and then comes Highway 30 and the St. Johns Bridge. You'll slow down; just don't push too hard."

"Breathe-1-2-3, exhale -1-2."

Mile 15, under 3 hours, just. What is going on?! How am I keeping this pace? It still feels good. Breathe-1-2-3, exhale -1-2." St. Johns Bridge, the great equalizer (I've only managed to run up it once; this time, I made it half-way before I had to walk. Almost everyone walks part of it). Mile 20, just over 4 hours.

"Breathe-1-2-3, exhale -1-2."

 My walk breaks started to get longer but I was still blowing past all of my previous records. My legs still felt good although my feet hurt and I was pretty confident I was developing a blister on my left big toe (oh, boy did I develop a blister!). I jogged down Greeley and walked up Interstate. Up and over Broadway Bridge. Mile 25, I had finally slowed down but I was still 15-20 minutes ahead of what I had planned with my parents (they saw me pass at about 5.2 miles and went to church and then were planning on seeing me at just after Mile 25). I had to text them to tell them to just meet me at the finish. Put the phone away and started jogging towards the finish. Mile 26, almost there, could walk the rest of the way and still PR but I gotta finish strong.

I discovered I was an athlete when I discovered rowing and one of the things I learned in rowing is you leave it all on the water. You pass that 250 meter mark (or if you have an inexperienced coxswain, 750 meter mark) and you sprint until you think your arms are going to fall off and your heart is going to jump out of your chest. And that is how I finish races. I dig deep, I lift my knees, I pump my arms, I make funny faces and my breathing changes and I sprint.

"Breathe-1-2, exhale -1-2."

I passed 5 people, right at the end. I wobbled my way through the finish area. I was in some pain (mostly that darn blister), and my equilibrium was off, which made walking a straight line kind of hard. I looked at my watch. 5:24.23. Wait, what?!

5 hours, 24 minutes and 23 seconds!

I beat my previous best time by 11 minutes! The marathon that was supposed to be my slowest ended up being my fastest.

Freshly showered and already planning my next one!

Sometimes, we try too hard, we over compensate and we pressure ourselves to be perfect. To run our fastest, be our smartest, our prettiest, our thinnest, our bestest and we fail because we've put too much pressure on ourselves. Too much emphasis on what others think or what we think others think. And I don't know about you but I don't do well under too much pressure. Hard work is needed to get us to the starting point and it's hard work getting to the finish line but, in between, relax, brush it off, don't try so hard and maybe, with the pressure off, you'll do your very best.

After all, the real goal is to finish well for you. Everything else is gravy (yummy delicious gravy on top of fries and cheese curds. Okay, I just made myself hungry for poutine. Sorry about that). Don't let other people dictate what your finish is because you're stronger and faster than you think.

Just don't forget to breathe.