The Marine Corps Marathon was a total disaster. From the moment I started running I sensed something wasn’t right. I wasn’t myself. My energy was low, my legs felt heavy, I was off balance and weak.
Every mile felt like a mini-marathon. Every hill felt like a mountain. Nothing went my way, and as I continued running, it got worse.
By the time I hit mile five I was already contemplating quitting the race. Nausea set in. Pain seared my legs. I became preoccupied with circular thoughts— images of quitting— when, where, how would I get home? Will I regret it?
Training for this marathon was very challenging due to the intense heat and humidity of summertime in D.C. I took the long runs slowly and ran early in the morning whenever possible. I had a range of outcomes, from terrible to mediocre to ok, with an occasional “good” run thrown in the mix. But it was mostly about enduring the suffering and remembering my goal: The Marine Corps Marathon.
Coach Matt reminded me many times: training in heat will better prepare me for race day. I believed that then and I still do.
In early October, three weeks before race day, the taper began and so did the cool weather. I felt renewed running in the magical crisp cool autumn air. My pace improved and I was infused with energy. I ran happier which made me run better. I was pumped.
Then things changed.
One week before the race I started feeling like crap. Tired and weak. Lethargic. I’d walk up a flight of stairs then sit down to catch my breath. Something just wasn’t right, but when things like this happen, particularly before a big race, I find it hard to determine the cause— is it my brain or my body?
I slept well the night before Marine Corps. I ate my normal breakfast. I was as prepared as I could be. I became nauseated on the Metro, but it passed. But once I started running… wow. Just awful.
Somewhere around mile 13 I started a run/walk approach: run for one minute, walk for 20 seconds, repeat. This was tolerable. I continued that pattern for a while, counting the seconds in my head while Elliot, joyful and enthusiastic as ever, ran beside me. We met up with Catherine at the Mall, around mile 18, and I thankfully had her by my side as my condition deteriorated.
At this point running for even one minute became impossible. At mile 19, and all could do was walk… slowly. So Catherine and I walked together. I had two options: walk the last seven miles, or stop.
I decided that it simply wasn’t worth it. I was in agony, and deriving no joy whatsoever from my marathon experience. So I stopped.
I tore my bib off and handed it to Catherine. We took a photo together. The timing was funny but I’m glad we have it. She then went to the finish to retrieve my bag, while I headed home
I sat in a taxi in a state of mild shock and bewilderment. I had experienced the familiar sights and sounds of a marathon, but none of the joy and none of the accomplishment. Instead I was alone, driving up Connecticut Avenue, listening to a Washington Redskins radio broadcast.
Our cat Lance greeted me at the door. He had no idea what happened. I told him but he offered no response. I was so happy to be home. I took a shower and sat down on the couch. Total disappointment.
What happened? Why did I feel so terrible? Why was I unable to run? I’ll never know. Sometimes you just have a bad day. My bad day happened to be on race day.
Catherine had been sick for a couple of weeks leading up to the race. I never seemed to get sick myself though. I didn’t come down with a cough like she did. But maybe I had a milder version of it? Who knows.
Until that point I had never quit a race. Never. Now I have. Soon after, I began thinking about another marathon which would take place three weeks later.
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| Here I am before the race. |
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| Running with Elliot. |
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| Discussing the situation with Catherine. |
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| After deciding to quit the race, we took a quick photo. Then I headed home. Thank god for my wife! I love her. |