A Failure of Marathonic Dimensions

Marathon Day finally arrived - happened - and finished, and I've only just now been able to bring myself to write about my harrowing misadventure.

Where to start my tale of crushing self-defeat and perpetual loathing of aforementioned failure?

Friday, June 11th, 2010

The Chicken Vet Spaniard and I hopped in a taxi after work, inched our way through Bangkok traffic towards Suvarnabhumi airport and had to run like madness to check in on time. We did, landed safely in Phuket, rented a car and found ourself gossiping and relaxing at the German's villa. While the gentlemen went out to Stereolab and some other pubs in the local Phuket nightscene, I was trying to sleep and remain calm (or rather, blissfully ignorant) with regards to the fact I was about to undertake this hugely daunting task.

Saturday, June 12th, 2010

Despite the fact that the Chicken Vet Spaniard and the German had gone out the night before, I still managed to wake up later than them. The German cooked an excellent breakfast for us soon-to-be-champions and also told us the hilarious story of how a few nights before, he had drunkenly signed up for the 5km "walk", part of the same event.

So to kick things off after breakfast, it was time to register. We ran into Nike-Nick's other half, who was registering for the half-marathon herself. One word for the atmosphere: "PSYCHED". Everyone who was registering seemed tense and excited for the big day coming up!

We even had time to check out Surin Beach in the afternoon with the Radz One and the German. My mental state at this point? I was still oblivious to the fact that I was going to attempt running a full marathon...

Sunday, June 13th, 2010

= The Day the Earth Moved, but I Stood Still After 31km

• Marathon registration - check.
• Check that the Cristal was not damaged en route - check.
• Loaded up on carbs at the pasta party - check.
• Soft drinks with Pitti MoonLanguage and his fiancee (our cheerleaders) before bedtime - check.
• Preparing my 'champions outfit' - check.
• Ordering 2.30am breakfast and eating it at 2.30am - check.
• Being at the startline at 4.30am - check.
  

Here's everything except the vast amounts of anti-chafing Vaseline with which we had to smother our skins.
*yeah! At least I look ready to run! My mind was kind of blank at this point.

The race started off in complete darkness and the temperature was approximately 25 Degrees Celsius with bearable humidity. I was enjoying myself for the first 15km, for we were still on flat land and the sun was only beginning to rise towards the 17km. I saw the sunrise for the first time in YEARS.

From the 19km onwards, the course turned into a combination of inclines and plateaus. At this point, Nike-Nick overtook me (the Chicken Vet Spaniard had been light years ahead of me) and told me that I needed to slow myself down and start drinking water at every 1-2 kilometers. I started to do so. The problem was not only the combination of varying terrain, but now, the sun was starting to rise rapidly, and with it, I could feel my skin steaming itself.

By the 27th km (which by that time, the temperature had climbed upwards by at least 4 degrees), I reached what is famously known as "The Wall", that impenetrable mental impasse which prevents you from going on. I felt like crying. I did. I made myself slow down to a jog. I was in pain. I felt like I hated myself. I wanted to give up right then and there. My feet were going numb and the numbness was creeping towards my knees and my thighs and I didn't know whether this was in my head or really happening.

The jog forced itself into a combination of jog + walk, then walk altogether, then standing in silence with exasperated tears of frustration and thinking to myself "[Insert expletive] How am I going to get to the finish line?! [Insert more expletives]"

*Obviously, I made it to the end, otherwise I wouldn't have been given a medal (as seen here with the Chicken Vet Spaniard and the German).

I was rescued by one of Nike-Nick's friends on a motorbike who picked me up on his motorbike and drove me to 1km away from the finish line. I could barely walk but of course managed to cross the line. I actually had requested him to drive me to the carpark as I didn't want anyone to see my defeat but he insisted to drop me off at that point to make me feel better about giving up. Let me tell you, no one has to make me feel guilty about stopping at 31km because I have been replaying the event in my brain for the last few months nonstop. Why else do you think it's taken me so long to write about it?

For all of those pesky friends who haven't attempted the marathon, "try it before you criticise the fact I stopped at 31km". I mean seriously, What the EFF was I thinking?! Everything that the word "marathon" itself evokes - endurance, pain, stamina, courage, torture (did I mention pain already?) - and all of their synonyms were definitely experienced that day, if perhaps not all by me. After a few months of reflection, I have no regrets about my attempt or even not finishing. How many people do you know who have even tried to run it?

Having discontinued the rigorous marathon training and with my failed attempt at completing a marathon already behind me, I noticed that:

1. I have less desire to drink alcohol or feel intoxicated. This is because I hadn't experienced a hangover for about 7 months (since the training first commenced) and I really have no desire to start experience those things again.


2. People ask me quite often, "Have you lost weight?" I have also had comments about my legs looking slimmer. Personally I don't notice the difference as the scales state the same weight, and my clothes fit the same BUT I am getting less firm. Great, for jellyfish impressions.


3. My consumption of cigarettes is at an all-time high. This is terrible. The Consultant is kind enough to not lecture me about it but I know he doesn't approve and quite frankly, why would anyone? I blame it on work-related and douchey ex-boyfriend and all other kinds of stress but I know that I'm just using stress as an excuse for my lack of willpower. My next new year resolution (to be achieved, for real, unlike all of the others) for sure.


4. My skin appears to be clearer, on average. How? I assume this is because I don't spend so much time sweating in the gym under my makeup. For those of you who ask why I wear makeup while working out - I use the same gym as my clients. I don't want to scare them by allowing them to see my real face!


5. I lack any desire to run. This is even worse than item 3 and I don't know how to fix this. It's not simply a matter of mind over matter. I think of running in the park and it makes me want to throw up. Uh oh...

SO. Will I try it again? In the last few months post-marathon, I have wavered in between a definite "YES" and "I will punch anyone who asks". Truth be told, I am closer to the latter. My marathon attempt made me feel as if I had runned myself out, and for a long time I was unable to even look at a treadmill, let alone train on it. On the plus side, I am so happy to have introduced the Chicken Vet Spaniard to running, as he has used this opportunity to explore his hidden potential and uncovering ambitions that he never knew he could achieve - such as attempting the Ironman or Ultramarathon.

In conclusion, my lesson to myself here is that it doesn't matter if I didn't get to the end of the finish line in Phuket on 13 June 2010. Every adventure or misadventure is itself a life changing experience... Regret nothing, and enjoy it as much as possible.