How Many Calories Will You Burn Doing Chores This Weekend?
Dylan Armajani: Run Past Your Goals and Find Yourself
Hitting the Proverbial 'Wall': A Marathon Runner's Tale
Posted on Jun 1st 2011 11:00AM by That's Fit EditorsFiled Under: Motivation
By Hailey Eber for Blisstree.com
"How was the half marathon?" That's a question I've been getting a lot of late. I suppose it's related to the fact that I ran the Brooklyn Half Marathon on Saturday and/or the fact that earlier this week I ascended and descended stairs with the speed and grace of the average nursery home resident.
So how was it? It went pretty well, I guess. I finished several (a number with two digits) minutes faster time than I did last year, when I ran my first half at a very, very slow pace after getting injured while training. So yay!?
But, I didn't feel all that "yay" when I crossed the finished line and I didn't feel all "yay" when I looked at my time a few hours later.
I felt tired, people. Real tired. After pretty much holding my goal pace for most of the race, and even running far faster between miles three to seven (which probably didn't serve me well at the end of the race, but sure was a lot of fun), I hit the proverbial "wall" in the last couple of miles.
Oh, "the wall." I hate the very sound of the word in this context, so vague and yet so unavoidable. It's one of those annoying phrases that people -- often people who don't run and who will never encounter said wall firsthand -- easily toss out as cheap shorthand. But what is "the wall" anyway? Last year, when I ran the same race but had trained far less, I hit the wall around mile eight. My legs turned to bricks ... heavy bricks that no longer wanted to move or propel the rest of my body in motion. This year, the wall came for me around mile 11, but it felt entirely different. My legs weren't so much stony blocks but rather a 20-year-old Hyundai hatchback struggling to pick up enough speed on the freeway on-ramp while running on fumes.
And then there was a music issue. Just as things were taking a turn from "I got this" to "I don't know if I can do this," a poorly chosen song came blaring through my headphones -- an old granddaddy tune that I thought might be trippy to run to, without considering how it goes on for nearly nine minutes, much of it spoken, whining over minimal instrumentation. "I believe they want you to give in ... Are you giving in 2000 man ..." It droned on and on. Indeed, I am giving in, I thought to myself. And also, Calgon take me away.
I passed a mileage marker and glanced up at the time. With such perky music driving me on, I'd slowed considerably. Time for another energy chew, perhaps? It seemed too late for that, if, God willing, this would all be over in 15 minutes or so. In desperation, I yanked my iPod around my arm and pressed the skip button. A perkily twee indie rock song -- skip. Then, the digi-twinkles that signal the opening of a Cyndi Lauper song fell on my ears. I pressed on, Cyndi's rasp cheering me through the last leg of the race.
I imagined that when I got to the last mile, Cyndi blasting, I'd get a fresh burst. It would be amazing. I'd pick off my competitors one by one as I rushed down the Coney Island boardwalk and sailed toward the finish line, as though I was one of the competitive runners aiming to win or at least place in this thing, instead of just another chick in her 30s in the middle of the pack, doing battle with herself.
I hit the boardwalk, "All Through the Night," blaring into my ears. Here we go, I thought. Let's do this! But, I can't. There's no second wind, no sense of relief that rushes over me to power me on. I am struggling to keep a steady pace. People are passing me. A stranger cheers, noticing I'm wearing the shirt from the same half marathon a year ago. "Whoo, two years in a row, good job," he says. I want to feel inspired by his encouraging words, but all I can think of is how tired and dead and slow I must look to summon them. I look around for my boyfriend on the sidelines. He's supposed to be holding a red sign. Not seeing him, I look down at the boardwalk planks, too tired to hold my head up. Surely, my form looks awesome at this point. At last the planks turn into the blue and red timing mats and I hit the finish line. I'm done, and I can't imagine how I'm going to run twice this far in six months.
Hours later, I'm at brunch with friends, enjoying an array of hydrating beverages and a hamburger (protein!). I keep refreshing my iPhone browser, wondering if the results have come up. At last they have. My average mile pace is six seconds slower than I'd hoped for. It's only six seconds a mile, less than a minute and a half for the whole race. But rather than think "close enough," I can't help think "if only ..." If only I hadn't stopped for water so many times. (Or so few?) If only I had consumed another power chew. If only I had gotten more sleep the night before (a common theme in my life). If only I had held a steadier pace instead of pushing it early in the race, just when my legs were warmed up but still fresh and I couldn't help but rejoice with a swift mile or two.
But really, it's not those six seconds that I find disappointing. It's that I wanted to tap into some magical energy reserve in the last mile or half mile or 200 feet even. I wanted to look up and see the finish line and feel my feet moving faster, as if triumphantly self-propelled. For just a brief, exhausted moment, I wanted to flashback to those early miles in the cooler air and have just a touch of that elation. But there was none of it. When the final stretch came at long last, I could only put my head down and keep running, slowly, to the bitter end.
Hailey Eber is training for the New York Marathon. She is on Twitter. Her dog is on Tumblr.
More from Blisstree.com:
Marathon Woman: Bay to Breakers and the Ten Minute Mile
Running and Body Image: What is a Runners' Body Anyway?
Not Just for Kids: Running Improves Aging Knees
Outdoor Sports Promote Environmental Conservation
Getty
So how was it? It went pretty well, I guess. I finished several (a number with two digits) minutes faster time than I did last year, when I ran my first half at a very, very slow pace after getting injured while training. So yay!?
But, I didn't feel all that "yay" when I crossed the finished line and I didn't feel all "yay" when I looked at my time a few hours later.
I felt tired, people. Real tired. After pretty much holding my goal pace for most of the race, and even running far faster between miles three to seven (which probably didn't serve me well at the end of the race, but sure was a lot of fun), I hit the proverbial "wall" in the last couple of miles.
Oh, "the wall." I hate the very sound of the word in this context, so vague and yet so unavoidable. It's one of those annoying phrases that people -- often people who don't run and who will never encounter said wall firsthand -- easily toss out as cheap shorthand. But what is "the wall" anyway? Last year, when I ran the same race but had trained far less, I hit the wall around mile eight. My legs turned to bricks ... heavy bricks that no longer wanted to move or propel the rest of my body in motion. This year, the wall came for me around mile 11, but it felt entirely different. My legs weren't so much stony blocks but rather a 20-year-old Hyundai hatchback struggling to pick up enough speed on the freeway on-ramp while running on fumes.
And then there was a music issue. Just as things were taking a turn from "I got this" to "I don't know if I can do this," a poorly chosen song came blaring through my headphones -- an old granddaddy tune that I thought might be trippy to run to, without considering how it goes on for nearly nine minutes, much of it spoken, whining over minimal instrumentation. "I believe they want you to give in ... Are you giving in 2000 man ..." It droned on and on. Indeed, I am giving in, I thought to myself. And also, Calgon take me away.
I passed a mileage marker and glanced up at the time. With such perky music driving me on, I'd slowed considerably. Time for another energy chew, perhaps? It seemed too late for that, if, God willing, this would all be over in 15 minutes or so. In desperation, I yanked my iPod around my arm and pressed the skip button. A perkily twee indie rock song -- skip. Then, the digi-twinkles that signal the opening of a Cyndi Lauper song fell on my ears. I pressed on, Cyndi's rasp cheering me through the last leg of the race.
I imagined that when I got to the last mile, Cyndi blasting, I'd get a fresh burst. It would be amazing. I'd pick off my competitors one by one as I rushed down the Coney Island boardwalk and sailed toward the finish line, as though I was one of the competitive runners aiming to win or at least place in this thing, instead of just another chick in her 30s in the middle of the pack, doing battle with herself.
I hit the boardwalk, "All Through the Night," blaring into my ears. Here we go, I thought. Let's do this! But, I can't. There's no second wind, no sense of relief that rushes over me to power me on. I am struggling to keep a steady pace. People are passing me. A stranger cheers, noticing I'm wearing the shirt from the same half marathon a year ago. "Whoo, two years in a row, good job," he says. I want to feel inspired by his encouraging words, but all I can think of is how tired and dead and slow I must look to summon them. I look around for my boyfriend on the sidelines. He's supposed to be holding a red sign. Not seeing him, I look down at the boardwalk planks, too tired to hold my head up. Surely, my form looks awesome at this point. At last the planks turn into the blue and red timing mats and I hit the finish line. I'm done, and I can't imagine how I'm going to run twice this far in six months.
Hours later, I'm at brunch with friends, enjoying an array of hydrating beverages and a hamburger (protein!). I keep refreshing my iPhone browser, wondering if the results have come up. At last they have. My average mile pace is six seconds slower than I'd hoped for. It's only six seconds a mile, less than a minute and a half for the whole race. But rather than think "close enough," I can't help think "if only ..." If only I hadn't stopped for water so many times. (Or so few?) If only I had consumed another power chew. If only I had gotten more sleep the night before (a common theme in my life). If only I had held a steadier pace instead of pushing it early in the race, just when my legs were warmed up but still fresh and I couldn't help but rejoice with a swift mile or two.
But really, it's not those six seconds that I find disappointing. It's that I wanted to tap into some magical energy reserve in the last mile or half mile or 200 feet even. I wanted to look up and see the finish line and feel my feet moving faster, as if triumphantly self-propelled. For just a brief, exhausted moment, I wanted to flashback to those early miles in the cooler air and have just a touch of that elation. But there was none of it. When the final stretch came at long last, I could only put my head down and keep running, slowly, to the bitter end.
Hailey Eber is training for the New York Marathon. She is on Twitter. Her dog is on Tumblr.
More from Blisstree.com:
Marathon Woman: Bay to Breakers and the Ten Minute Mile
Running and Body Image: What is a Runners' Body Anyway?
Not Just for Kids: Running Improves Aging Knees
Outdoor Sports Promote Environmental Conservation
