I’ve been notorious for shooting down the “So, when you gonna run a marathon?” question routinely since I tied on my first pair of trusty Kinvaras. I’ve been vehemently anti-marathon since the get go and if you and I were to travel back in time to 2012 and ask my newbie runner self (who am I kidding, I’ve been running for barely 3 years, I’m still a newbie) if I would ever take the plunge and sign up for the enigmatic 26.2, I’d quickly change the subject or vehemently reply, “Nah, not my bag. I’ll stick with halfs.” To be honest, the thought of running for 4 hours made me want to vomit. There are plenty of things I could see myself doing for 4 hours (like HBO bingeing and finally finishing Season 2 of The Leftovers), running was not one of them.
Alas my friends, peer pressure is a bitch. This competitive spirit of mine? Turns out is also, a raging bitch. I mean, who are we kidding here, a hefty glass of Malbec may have also been involved in this decision.
Rewind to the start of the 2015 Fall training cycle. I was tossing around goals for the Columbus Half and settled on a 1:40. Mid way thru the training cycle I decided that if I met my goal in the Fall, I would entertain the idea of a full in the Spring. The fact that I was surrounded by Garmin wheeling marathon fanatics may have also played a slight role. Truth was, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I wanted a new challenge. I wasn’t and still am not quite sure my body has it in me. I mean, sure I can suffer thru a 26.2 and shuffle my way thru those last 6.2 miles like an eighty year old mall walker, but who wants that? I don’t. At the end of the day, for me, it all boils down to an innate desire and drive to push my body to a limit that every time I flirt with, seems to edge further and further away.
So here it goes. Lord help me. There is no turning back now #glasscity26.2