I'm addicted. As I write this I'm laying on my back in bed twenty-nine hours (give or take) after crossing the finish line at the Saskatchewan Marathon. What follows is my account.
It was sunny (10 Celsius) at the gun. Warm enough to be comfortable, but not too warm. The mayor gave a speech, but I couldn't tell you what he said. A singer sang Oh Canada, and a few of us removed our hats. At the countdown the butterflies in my stomach welled up into a storm, and then the gun shot into the air signifying the beginning of the trial.
Us runners not up front politely walked toward the gargantuan, yet familiar, inflated arch bearing the word "start" on both sides at the top.
Once across I stuck with the 4:30 pacer (a terrific and friendly gentleman named John) who turned out to be a good natured and encouraging pacer for as long as I stuck with him.
I must admit that it felt strange to be running after having missed so many runs in the previous few weeks. But this thought passed quickly as the funny signs spectators had made came into view (eg "just remember, you're doing this for a free banana"). The first 19k or so of the course was thronged with both half marathoners as well as us marathoners. We all had different motivations, from midlife crises and bucket lists to the occasional attempt to recapture old glory. Some of us ran because that's simply what we do.
This race felt like a communal event. All of us running the full marathon will never forget our struggles in the final third or so of the race as we greeted one another on an emptying course (only a few hundred of us did the full marathon, while over a thousand did the half marathon).
I couldn't bear to wear my headphone or cut myself off from the people around me--I probably listened to a total of three or four songs on my phone the entire time.
My lovely common law wife, Jasmine set up a make-shift aid station for me complete with Gu Brew, Voltaren, KT Tape and scissors. Knowing that she was awaiting me along the course and at the finish line meant everything to me. I am a lucky man.
I should point out that I even made a friend along the way. Geoff from Martensville and I ran virtually the entire race together and finished at the same time. Without his company I think the experience would not have been nearly as rich.
As I passed the 41 kilometre point, many of my leg muscles in failure, a glass-like pain in my right big toe, my sunburned neck and arms sore, I struggled just to move forward. One of the volunteers a man of roughly fifty years in age, who I will never forget, looked at me and said "I can't do what you're doing." I thought to myself, "is he kidding, I'm dying here." But then I knew what he meant, and I respectfully nodded, and said thank you.
The last burst before the finish was not easy. The virile prairie winds had picked up and swept onto our faces, as if a brief but final obstacle from mother nature. Strong as it was, those of us who finished were able to endure.
Jasmine and the kids were waiting for me. Within a moment of crossing I had a medal around my neck. It was as close to a religious experience as I've ever had. With my body in terrific pain, my energy zapped and my heart full I collected my free chocolate milk and considered myself lucky.
And so I wonder now, will all these aches and pains, as I lay supine next to the fan and type this post for you, what drives me to want to sign up for this epic struggle again? It would be so much easier to just do half-marathons. But there is a reason to sign up again, and it's because I have never felt more alive than running kilometre after kilometre only to suffer at the tail end of a marathon. I want to chase that feeling (no pun intended).
