In 2015 I finished the London Marathon in 3 hours and 56 minutes.
When I crossed that finish line I had tendonitis in my right knee - pain which I had chalked up to being in my head around mile 18 - and arms that could barely put on my sweats. I remember even my eyes felt tired which was not particularly reassuring. But I was on a mental high. It was a dream come true. The culmination of training and mindset had payed off into something I could not quite believe.
I finished the London Marathon towards the end of my student life, and the transition into being a lawyer at a corporate law firm in London left me wondering if I would ever race again. I optimistically signed up for the Bournemouth Half Marathon only to cancel it for work. I knew two weeks before race day that I wouldn't be able to make it. I decided not to sign up for any more races.
Then, in 2017, I got engaged and decided to move to closer to my fiancé. I figured work would be winding down before my September move so I took advantage of what I thought would be a quiet month and signed up for the Gloucester Marathon.
Looking back on it all, I should not have been surprised things didn't go to plan. I was pulled into a deal for the entire month of June. London experienced a heat wave and I did not know it. I went to work before the sun was up and left long after it had gone down. Running was on the back burner until mid-July when my friend casually asked me how my training was going since "you know your marathon is in four weeks."
In response to that question, I did what no one should ever do and attempted to train for a marathon in a month.
Due to a few more work and social constraints I found myself attempting to run 20 miles on a treadmill at 10pm. I figured as long as I had that distance in my legs, and if I had the mental power to follow it through on a treadmill then I would be prepared for race day.
As a side note, to this day, that 20 mile treadmill run is one of my stupidest achievements.
As race day approached, so did a number of other commitments. The Saturday before my race my parents met my fiancé's parents for the first time, while we all visited wedding venues, also for the first time. It was a big day all around and not the types of activities I would typically recommend pre-marathon.
The next day I got up for my race and felt excited. I remembered how I felt crossing the London Marathon finish line and I could not quite believe that I would be repeating that in a few hours. The first 10 miles went smoothly and I was well ahead of the four hour pacer. Then around mile 12 I started getting knee pain. My mind felt busy, I couldn't focus on anything other than what was quickly becoming an all-consuming focus on my knee and everything else that wasn't quite right. I was thirsty. I was tired, more tired than usual. My armband was rubbing and the path was too hilly. I wasn't even halfway there. It was endless.
I struggled until mile 18 when, for the first time in my life, I asked myself "what if?" I was running a race which held no special meaning to me, it was simply a distance I wanted to run in a month that I thought would be the right time. Instead, the timing was all wrong. I was moving cities in two weeks, changing law firms, and had just booked a wedding venue. Every other aspect of my life was taking off and here I was, miserably watching the pacers pass me by, calculating how long it would take me to finish if I walked.
I did something I had never done before and I quit.
In the weeks that followed, it slowly dawned on me that I had given up on myself. I had failed. In all of my life up until that point I could not think of a moment where I had actually given up. Yes I had screwed things up or been really bad at things, but I always thought I would be the person who would crawl across a finish line if I chose to run that race.
I know the reasons why I stopped running, and I know they were the right ones for me. I should never have entered that race, or at the very least, I should have taken the decision not to run it when I could not commit to training. However, even knowing this, I felt nervous that maybe I would quit again. Was I suddenly someone who gave up when things got hard?
I joke about this race now, how I tried to find a cab to the finish, how I trained for it in a month. But I feel regret. I set myself up for failure and let myself down. Now, when I sign up for a race, it feels like a commitment from the start. I train properly. I put aside the time. I view it as a commitment to myself. Every time I follow through on a run I push away that voice of self-doubt.
Life will always get in the way. But if there's something you love or something you want to improve at, then plan ahead, make the time, and follow through on yourself. If you do that enough, you'll believe in yourself.
