To Marathon or Not to Marathon?

I am considering running a full marathon this May. I have a few halves under my belt, so I have a solid grasp of what a full means … a lot more work and a lot more pain. I know my strengths, to some degree, but I know my weaknesses and slant toward running laziness better. I believe I can finish, but will I enjoy it? No one ever raves about how great mile 18 feels.

About the time I opt out of the full and decide I want to just have fun with this “running thing,” something sneaks back into my brain, percolating reasons why I should run the full 26.2 miles. Lately, it’s been the book Born To Run, by Christopher McDougall, about the Tarahumara people in Mexico. The Tarahumara run incredible distances in the Mexican desert with flaps of rubber for shoes and smiles on their faces the whole time. 

The book also details stories of ultramathoners who run incredible distances and races, including the Leadville Trail 100 in the throes of Colorado mountains or the Badwater Ultramarathon in the Death Valley, where the highway asphalt melts shoe rubber. McDougall is an excellent storyteller, and I’m right with him and he details the craziness of these runs and the runners who run them. These runs take over 24 hours, one whole day, to complete. That’s on the fast side, and that’s IF the runner CAN finish, and that IF is a HUGE IF. And yet, people do, and they often return the next year to repeat this hell (that’s my interpretation) all over again. Clearly, these runners tap into something into human potential in a very different way than the masses.

And I wonder if I can run 26.2 lousy miles. I’m running 1,000 miles this year (read more here), so why not chip off 26.2 in one shot? In the book, ultrarunner Ann Trason says she simply relaxes into her body into a cradle-rocking rhythm. Yesterday, bopping along on the treadmill and track, I thought about this rhythm, paying attention as my hips rocked, or so I imagined, back and forth, back and forth … maybe side to side is a better description. Today, jogging in a few inches of fresh snow, my rhythm was more choppy as I focused more on my footing. I can grasp as Trason’s concept, but I can’t fathom it being that simple to repeat that many miles over. McDougall writes Trason’s thoughts: “You have to listen closely to the sound of your own breathing … and ask yourself, honestly and often, exactly how you feel. What could be more sensual than paying exquisite attention to your own body?” 

That does sound kind of romantic, in that sort of unachievable, this-will-never-happen-to-me romantic way. After my run yesterday, I rewarded myself with a good soak in the hot tub. I thought a lot about my hips. Something about the hot water bubbling around me seemed to move my muscles away from my bones, and I felt my hips and my pelvis with my hands. They felt exactly the way they would look on a skeleton. I know this sounds weird, but I’ve never really gripped my own hips before. I could feel the blades of the top of my pelvis between my thumbs and fingers. The bones felt so real and part of me, but it felt like we never fully met before. I use them all of the time, but I just expect them to function when prompted. I pictured them rocking, minus the muscles and skins above them, down the road in my tennis shoes, with the rest of me attached. I found this amusing in the way I amuse myself with my thoughts. 

I can tune into my body while running, and understand where I am at, physically and emotionally. However, I take pleasure in the moments I disconnect from by mind and body. For me, that’s the joy of running, this escape from myself. I love when I get to a street corner and cannot remember how I got there, and yet if I think about it, I can pull the path out of my subconscious memory. One part of me is connected to what I’m doing, but another part goes somewhere else, a place of space and nothingness. 

When I ponder a full marathon, I don’t know if this pleasure will maintain itself past mile 13. By then, my feet hurt, although my hips feel just fine. Maybe I need to listen to those hips more. My feet just seem to yell louder, and I sometimes choose to listen to them. I’m not quite sure why.

I’m do not know what I will decide about this particular marathon. I have some time. If not this one, there are others …