Running the Big 5 Marathon

 Well, this marathon was terrible. Terrible in the sense that the terrain is incredible difficult. While the information about this race tries to convey just how challenging this race is, it doesn’t really succeed. It’s hard. Ridiculously hard.




 
I was not prepared for this marathon. The trails, the rocky surfaces, the sand, the crazy steep ravine, it’s a trail runners dream. More of a nightmare for someone like me who lives in flatland central. And I just wasn’t prepared.

 Granted, trying to train for this marathon was a challenge. Losing my mother partway through training, and the grief and emotional rollercoaster that came with it, made training the hardest thing I’ve ever done. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, so my training runs became more like training walks. Even that was a fight to not quit hallway through. I resented running and starting hating and dreading every run I needed to do. My mental focus did not exist, and was nothing but grief and negativity. Training for anything while fighting a mental war is ten times harder.

 Even with the difficulty of the course it’s beautiful. You’re running on trails through the beautiful lands of South Africa. You see wild animals along the way that I could never see any place else. Definitely one of the most amazing places to run a race.

 Because it’s run in the wilds of Africa, and there’s no barriers from the animals, they are very strict about cut off times. As they should be. Because of my lack of preparation, I wasn’t fast enough to meet the cut off times. A flatter race and I could have made it. But this one defeated me. I was heartbroken. I saw the medic truck coming up the steepest hill ever when I was just past the 27km mark (full marathon is just over 42km, or 26.2 miles). I looked at my watch. I could take the truck now, or keep moving along and get picked up in another 30 minutes. I knew I wouldn’t make the 32km cut off time.

 

Defeated and discouraged, I hopped on board. The medic was very kind, patted my leg, and said I did a great job. I was heartbroken, devastated, and so disappointed in myself. I fought back tears that would betray my devastation. My ego was hurt, my self-confidence shot, and I was so discouraged I felt like I should give up running. I also felt like I let everyone down, including my mother.

 

 When I arrived back at the starting/finish line, the medic grabbed me a half marathon medal. I definitely finished a half marathon plus some change, but it still broke my heart in every way to not cross that finish line.

 My little surrogate family of this whole South African adventure was wonderful, encouraging, and very supportive. Sweetest people ever, and I just love them for their kind words and encouragement.

Did it help? Yes and no. I needed some time to berate myself and feel low and discouraged. And I needed to have a good cry. Which I did later that night and a bit the next day when I was alone. Staying positive was tough, but I made it through and tried to not let it ruin my trip. It was still so amazing despite my defeat.

Looking back on the race after having some time post attempt, I know that I gave it my best. Was I prepared? No. But there is not an inch of that course that I completed that I wish I would have pushed myself harder or faster. I gave every ounce I had to that course, and it just wasn’t enough. Yes it’s discouraging. Running has never been something that comes easy or natural to me. It’s always been a fight to the end. But I love the feeling of accomplishment. I’m used to succeeding in the goals I set, and to fail at one is not something I’m accustomed to. Of course I heard lots of philosophical statements about how it’s good to not succeed sometimes because it will help you get stronger, better, etc. etc. While that may be true, in the moment, I just didn't want to hear it. I wanted to wallow in my own self-pity for not being prepared or good enough. Now, I get it and appreciate the encouragement. It did sink in, despite my snarky mental attitude.

Attempting this all after just losing my mother has also made me realize that even though I didn’t cross that finish line, I’m pretty tough to have even tried. The thought of backing out or canceling the trip never crossed my mind. While there was a big part of me that wanted to finish this race in honor of my mom, I felt her with me the whole time saying she was proud of me no matter what happened.

At this point, I’m torn. I never want to see that course again because it was so ridiculously hard. On the other hand, my stubborn nature kicks in and my defeat festers. I’m pretty sure that somewhere in the future I will make another attempt to complete this course. Turns out I don’t take this kind of failure well.

The plus side is I know what I’m getting into, so that should help me to train more efficiently. The downside is that I now know what I’m getting into and it’s really going to suck, and be amazing all at the same time.