My First Full Marathon--Yeah, Baby!

After more than two years of running (on and off--mostly off), I finally ran my first full marathon last December 5. Very characteristically, I was ill-prepared for the event. A person is supposed to train seriously starting at least four months prior to the marathon, doing long runs, interval runs, fartleks and so on. My own training was haphazard and consisted 95% of runs on the treadmill, not on the road. I simply didn't have the discipline and perseverance to train properly. Tsk, tsk. Understandably, I was very anxious as December 5 crept closer and closer. I wondered if I should go ahead with the marathon, knowing I wasn't ready, and "respecting the distance" as every runner should. The full marathon is no joke. Some people have died trying to complete the whole 42+ kilometers. But my mind was made up. It was now or never. I turned 40 this year (yes, I'm ancient), and I was adamant that I should run my first full marathon to celebrate the beginning of my new life. I also knew that the battle was as mental as it was physical. I had the mindset to finish the race, come hell or high water (and leg cramps or dehydration), and this sealed the deal for me.

On race day, the gun went off at a little past 4:30 (the official race start). I started slow, as was my wont... and continued slow throughout the whole race, ha-ha. My goal was just to finish, hopefully within the allotted curfew of 7 hours. I thought I'd walk and crawl if I needed to, but finish I must.

To make a long race, er, story, short, I ran respectably up until Kilometer 33 or thereabouts, then I had the the dreaded cramps, and walked/jogged the rest of the way. I finished the marathon in approximately 6h:45m. Sadly, the race officials had removed the timing mat and the Finish Line itself when I reached it, so I don't have an official time. I could only approximate my marathon time using my watch (and a non-sports timepiece at that).

I knew the leg cramps would be my big problem, and I was right. When I felt the cramps coming, I stopped a few times to gently stretch and massage my legs. The rub-on pain ointment I brought with me helped a lot. At one time, I stopped at a Red Cross booth to apply the ointment, and a volunteer helped me with it. I was shocked at the sight of the angry bluish-green veins pulsing on my legs at the exact location of the cramp. Yes, the veins really looked angry, ugly, rigid and somewhat scary. As I stood up, I erased the sight from my mind and continued on my run. I must finish, cramps or no cramps.

There was this older guy (he looked like he was in his 70s) that more or less kept pace with me during the final kilometers of the race. Apart from his age, he stood out because he wore a cap with a towel under it, and the towel flapped around his face as he ran. I guess it's good sun protection, and I envied him a little as I myself was not wearing any cap. When I'd pass him, he'd shout "Ano ka ba, di ka ba nahihiya, inuunahan mo ang matanda!" That made me grin. Then after a while, he'd overtake me. When I would catch up with him later, he'd say again: "Wala ka talagang galang, paunahin mo naman akong matanda." And later, "Oy, bakit bumabagal ka, akala ko ba Superwoman ka?" I laughingly replied that I had to make a quick stop at a CR earlier. Then he said something about running and indigestion not being a good mix.

We talked a little as we were running side by side, and I learned this was his 87th marathon. No kidding! His 87th, my first. He said his best times were sub-4 hours, but those days are long gone. Now, he just runs for fun and to keep fit. Wow! Whatta man!

At the Tandang Sora flyover

Apart from meeting such a memorable character, I greatly enjoyed running on the wide, car-less expanse of Commonwealth Avenue. It felt liberating and wonderful to have several lanes devoted exclusively to runners. At one point, I had stretches of the road all to myself, because the faster runners had all gone ahead. A policeman on a motorcycle kept me company, and that made me feel extra special. But then he offered to let me ride on his motorcycle, so that I could rest a bit and have an earlier finish. Hah! Of course, I refused. He rode alongside me for a few kilometers, and we made small talk. I hope I impressed on him that for runners, it's important to finish the whole race honestly, without cheating. He seemed to understand: "Ah, parang panata pala yan sa inyo."

Yes, indeed. I made a promise, a panata of sorts, to run at least one full marathon before I died. This is one major to-do that I can now cross off my list.

When I made it to the finish line, I was ecstatic. Exhausted, yes. Limping a bit, yes. And a little disappointed, yes, because the finish line was no longer there. I had fantasized about making one final, glorious dash to it as a fitting end to a grueling, hours-long journey (with no less than the thriumphant strains of Vangelis playing in the background), but that was not meant to be. The race organizers had removed the finish line, even though the curfew wasn't over yet.

But nothing can diminish the accomplishment I felt.

Finally, I'm a full-fledged marathoner.

The finisher's medal