It is said that Pheidippides was the first marathon runner. That he ran from a battlefield in the town of Marathon to Athens to announce a battle victory. That he then collapsed and died. That this all happened in the BC times. That now people like myself run marathons, 26.2 miles, because of this. That is all quite strange.

I ran my first and second marathons in 2019. One was a big city race, the other a little city race. I loved them. A third, in 2020, was supposed to take place on my 40th birthday. It was a wonderful plan I had until COVID cancelled the race. Being the way things were in that time, I decided to stick with my training and run it myself. And a new tradition was born.

It is now 2023. I have run a total of eight marathons. Four have been solo. The solo marathons have turned into something I do each year around my birthday, to mark the passage of time and celebrate my health and well-being. As the years advance, I am finding that my health is becoming the bigger birthday deal than presents or parties or Chuck E. Cheese. However much I do continue to love Skee-ball, cake, and a jumbo mechanized rat.

Running a solo marathon is a completely different experience. At first they were harder than organized races, because there weren’t people or situations around to keep me pumped up. But then they became easier. There is something incredibly addictive about lacking excuses or external factors, and having to rely on one’s two feet.

When I run I am free. The bullshit generally falls away: in my brain, on the screens. I am not doing the screens. I am just moving.

It makes me proud that my daughter sees me doing this. That she is learning by example that hard work has a place, and after a period of time, it can become fun and relaxing. I’m going to keep doing this each year for as long as my body lets me.

I’m running a marathon in 48 hours! Maybe in a blizzard because it’s in Northern Minnesota in October. I trained in the summer. I’m currently wearing sandals because it’s supposed to get up to 75 where I live. Here’s what I’m telling myself:

• You trained for this.
• You got this.
• Maybe the weather will change.
• Probably the weather won’t change.
• This is your story for the ages.
• You do not waste hard work.
• You can handle anything that is put in front of you.
• You trained for this.
• You got this.
• The faster the race, the sooner inside.

 

I ran a 7:49 mile in the fourth grade. They thought I cheated and skipped a lap. I didn’t, but I too was surprised by my relative speed. I was one of those types who did the bent arm hang instead of pull ups. I thought I was not athletic and couldn’t achieve much physically, so generally, I didn’t. Until I did.

Our expectations for ourselves can be far more limiting than our bodies and I have had to learn this lesson throughout my life.

I am currently training for my first marathon. It is humbling, exciting, and occasionally painful. Mostly it is a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. In this process I have learned a lot. I must prepare. I must be willing to challenge what I think my body cannot handle. I must confront fears and jettison habits that have carried me through decades of 5Ks and dedicated running that was good, but not marathon-level.

For example: Eating while I run will not make me throw up, nor does it obliterate the point of a workout — I have to do it to survive. Or, pushing through pain is not heroic or tough; if I don’t take breaks when my body tells me to, I won’t be able to run my race. I knew I had gone pro when my period started while I was on a busy street, and I just kept going.

More than anything, marathon training has taught me that I can mostly do what I say I’m going to do if I focus and commit. It is also training me to better recognize the boundaries of what focus and commitment can achieve. I can’t and won’t become everything I’ve dreamed of, including some things I had thought more achievable than running a marathon. And yet, remarkably, I’m still going.