When the race started, I felt great. Actually, I felt really great. I just started running, and all of the adrenaline from the other runners and all of the spectators really pushed my pace. My mile splits were under 8:30 for the first nine miles; I ran 7:35 and 7:47 splits during miles three and four. Going into the race, my plan was to run around nine minute miles. Nine minute miles would easily allow me to achieve my goal of running a sub four hour marathon.
But I just kept running, and I continued to feel pretty good. In fact, I started thinking that maybe my goal of running a sub four hour marathon wasn't nearly ambitious enough. I'd been reading and listening to a lot of content from David Goggins throughout my marathon training, and all of a sudden, I began to wonder if I'd only been tapping into my 40% of my potential as a runner up to this point. How fast might I be able to run this marathon? Those thoughts were soon fleeting. After seeing my family between miles 13 and 14, which propelled me to my fastest mile of the race (7:31.9), I started to fade. And by mile 19, I'd hit a wall; it was a brick wall, and I hit it hard.
Miles 19 through 22 crept above a nine minute pace; then at mile 23, and the three miles after, I was running ten minute miles. I was struggling. I'd run a 20-mile training run, leading up to the race, and that run had gone really well. That was not my reality after 18 miles during this race. And furthermore, I still had eight plus miles to run. This was the point where the mental stamina/training became way more important than any physical aspect of the race.
With about a mile to go, up ahead of me, I spotted a 4:00:00 pacer. I was behind a four hour pacer. My goal was to finish the marathon in less than four hours. Where earlier in the race I'd been thinking about how fast I might be able to run, now I was in jeopardy of failing to meet my goal. The thought of falling short of my goal when it was close within reach was unbearable. How much did I have left in the tank?
Despite the pain endured, finishing the marathon was bittersweet. I'd finished the race, an accomplishment in and of itself, and I'd met my goal of running it in under four hours. My official time was 3:55:37, good for 14,818th place (top third).
Nonetheless, I felt absolutely awful. Upon crossing the finish line, it was like I had the flu (and Scottie Pippen wasn't around for me to lean-on). All I wanted was to lay down, any open space on the concrete would have worked. But I couldn't. I knew that if I laid down, or even sat down, I would have a heck of a time getting back up. Plus, I needed to connect with my family; I had to keep moving beyond the 26.2 miles that I'd just run.
I hated the way that I felt after the race. Throughout my preparation for the marathon, I imagined the finish being glorious; I imagined celebrating my accomplishment with my family. I wasn't prepared to be feeling nauseous and too tired to stand (let alone move). But that was my reality, and unfortunately, I missed out on the joyful aftermath of the race that I had hoped to experience.
It didn't take long before I realized that I would (eventually) want another crack at a marathon. I would want to run a more disciplined marathon, and I'd want to finish it in better shape than what I was feeling post-Chicago Marathon. I was already thinking about what was next...the goal isn't the product, it's the process.
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