When I was young I remember wrapping up in a blanket and driving out to the Diamond Valley exit to watch the St. George Marathoners run down the highway. I was in awe that they could run that far. It was almost unfathomable and I knew it was something I could never do.
A couple years ago Miles and I ran a half marathon together while living in California. After the race we declared there was no way we’d ever run a full marathon, the training was just too big of a commitment. But our appetite for achievement got the best of us and in April of this year we entered the STG Marathon lottery, thinking it was unlikely we’d get in anyway. But we did. So se started training.
We found the least intense schedule to follow knowing that our goal was simply to finish hopefully running most of the way. The training wasn’t too time consuming at first so we just traded off watching the kids. As we went on though, finding a babysitter for our long-runs on Saturdays became difficult. Many of those long runs were scheduled for after the kids were in bed. It was easier to find sitters for the evenings since not many people would be willing to babysit at 5am. Our 20-miler was from 8pm-12 midnight.
The week before the marathon I came down with a cold that turned into a sinus infection. I got on an antibiotic as soon as I could in hopes of being better for the big day. I was frustrated with the fact that running while sick was not possible. I was anxious and not running made me nervous.
We drove to St. George on Thursday. On Friday we spent time with my family, picked up our packets, visited the expo, had a lasagna dinner and got about 5 hours of sleep—more than expected.
Everything the morning of the marathon went smoothly. I ate a bagel with peanut butter and a banana and washed it down with Gatorade. Then had a breakfast drink about an hour before the race.
It was so exciting at the starting line. We were looking forward to a great day.
The first 7 miles were great. Veyo hill wasn’t that bad. The 3 mile incline after the hill was more difficult in my opinion.
It was right about mile 9 or 10 that everything changed. At first my tummy felt a little bloated and liquid was sloshing around inside. It also felt like I had gulped down a bunch of air. It was also strange because when I’d cough my throat was dry so I just kept taking more beverage to stay hydrated.
I was becoming miserable very quickly. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’d never had these symptoms during my training. I started crying from hopelessness at about mile 15. At this point all I wanted to do was throw up. I wan’t nauseous, I just felt like I needed to get all the sloshy liquid out of me. I was relieved at mile 17 when about a gallon of liquid gushed out of my mouth (sorry for the graphic details). I felt infinitely better for about .5 miles until I started feeling extremely thirsty. But I couldn’t stand the thought of warm lemon-lime Gatorade. All I could think about was getting water.
It was right about now that I went to a different place. Sometimes women will describe something similar during labor when the pain is so unbearable that they somehow remove themselves. How in the world was I going to go 10 more miles!? This was also the point when the entire race changed for me. It really did become just about finishing. Finishing would be a miracle.
I was grateful at about mile 21 when I threw up again. I was amazed again at how much came up since I was just so thirsty! At one point after the water station we had walked quite a ways and Miles turned around and ran an extra half mile or so to get me more water. People looked at him like he was crazy. He was so incredible and supportive. He stayed with me the entire time and encouraged me the whole way. The last few miles I was completely dehydrated. I wouldn’t let go of my water cup which meant we had to walk a lot. I got up the motivation and the energy to run the last stretch across the finish line. It felt anticlimactic.
We came in at 5:18—a full hour longer than I was hoping for. But I finished. The blessing Miles gave me the night before meant something different after the race than it did at the starting line. In the blessing I was told I would be “given the strength to do it.” As disappointed as I’ve been over the whole experience I think I would have been distraught if I was unable to finish at all.
I’ve done some reading on GI distress and it sounds like this was likely what happened to me. But I’m still confused about what I did wrong to have brought this on or what I could have done to help relieve it during the race, if anything.
People have asked me if I’ll do another marathon. Do I give up in frustration or try to figure out what happened that day and prove that I can do better?
I just don’t know yet.
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