I had a surprisingly good sleep that night, and found myself wide awake at 5:30am. Time enough to use the washroom, get into my race gear, and nervously contemplate the events that were going to unfold over the next 6 hours of my day. When I pinned the bib onto my shirt, for a moment I felt a sense of strength come though all those jitters, but then again, I felt my mouth twitch with tension, as I took a bit of a Granola bar. Confidence level 2/10. Not good.
The shuttle bus was just across the street, and as I got into a slow jog towards the bus, trying to loosen up my muscles, and felt my confidence coming back. I sat next to an equally nervous young girl, and we were off. A major part of the race's first half was on Yonge Street, and we got a bit of a recon ride since the bus took the same route up north to the starting point. When we crossed Eglinton, the bus took a steep drop over a few hundred meters, and I chuckled to myself, imagining the torture I would be enduring running up that uphill section. The bus dropped us off at the start, and I did my final stretches, gulped down another Energy Bar, and was soon at the start line, with 2000 other brave souls. That's when it hit me. Me? Running a marathon?
Over the past few months, my training regime had been very lax, and while I can push some of the blame onto the terribly long winter, I perhaps should have done atleast a few runs over 20km! My longest run before this madness was a leg-breaking 18km. I still remember that day, when I stumbled into my room, I thought to myself, "I need to train 3 times more if I want to someday finish a bloody marathon". Ha! It just went downhill from there. The last week before the race, my mileage for that entire week was a pathetic 10km. The night before the race, I remember Googling "Marathon Tips - Worst Case Scenarios". There were a few heart attacks and even more few deaths. Phew. Atleast the chances of me dying were bleak. That was actually one of my good friends' pre-race advice: "Machi please don't die." Thanks Nabs. Really helped!
And there I was. The buzzer went off. 42.2km to go. I was behind the 4:15 pace bunny, ear phones on, the adrenaline was pumping away. I had previously decided that I won't wear a watch. Time freaks the crap out of me. You know that feeling right, when you feel like you've run for an hour and its been ten minutes. No thank you!
About twenty minutes into the run, I was feeling terrific. Still riding the adrenaline I thought. I could see the CN Tower in the distance, some 20km away, but it gave me belief. It looked a bit smaller than I liked! And then it happened. The dreaded uphill I had seen on the bus, it was barely 30 minutes into the race. The gradient hit me hard, but I pushed on, and I made it to the top without stopping. I noticed a 5KM banner, and thought, "Holy Crap", I had another 37 to go, and was out of breath already. I went a couple of gears lower, and was soon with the 4:30 pace bunny. This felt much better. Pretty soon, we were going downhill, and I pushed the tempo up again. I soon got into a rhythm of hooking up with different groups of runners based on how good I was feeling. This was working well for me, and the legs were holding up well. The constant inundations though were beginning to take a toll on my knees. At about 15KM, when we entered Don Valley, I made my first stop. Big big mistake. It hurt just to get into a run again. There was still 6KM to go to the half mark, I'd lost track of time, but broke into a jog again and was soon within sighting distance of 21.1KM! I could see the big electronic time display above the road, and as I stumbled past it, the clock said 1:56:21sec. Wow. I had already achieved my furthest run in my fastest time. Had I gone in too fast? I tried not to think of it, and was just trying to take in one kilometer at a time.
I was on Wellesley St. when the first half marathoners flew past. By this time I had established a walk-run strategy, alternating every 5 minutes. My legs were sore. Head and shoulder were dropping. Still a long long way to go. The run along the Harborfront towards Etobicoke was brilliant. I walked quite a lot of it, and had a glimpse of the front runners, who had made the turn and were heading towards the finish. I was about 2:30:00 into the race, and was completely cooked. Then the cramps started. I decided I'm going to walk to the finish if thats what it takes! The next 15 odd kms were the hardest I've ever done. Every step seemed an eternity. At this point I was overtaken by the 4:30 pace bunny, and then the 4:45 pace bunny went by as well, as I crossed 35KM.
As they always say, motivation comes from the most unlikely of places. I found mine in a volunteer, who happened to be a sports psychologist. He wasn't running the race, but he accompanied me over a couple of Ks telling me about his love for hockey and how he was never much of a runner. It reminded me that you don't really need to be something, but if you want it bad enough, its yours to take. I soon said my thanks and goodbyes to him, and ran along. I saw the 1KM banner. I was already euphoric. In about 10 minutes, I would be done! Done with this insane stunt. My body would never forgive me.
At 5:10:12 on the clock, I crossed the finish line. I slapped my face. I wasn't dead.
Oh that feeling!
