The Miracles of the Marathon

Imagine that. After crossing the finish line of the 3rd Quezon City International Marathon yesterday morning, I am now a marathoner.

It truly is a miracle that I was able to finish a marathon, but the bigger miracle is that I got to the starting line in the first place. For a long time, finishing a marathon has been a dream. It was what was on my mind the first time I laced up to go jogging when I was just a lanky teenager back in the early 80's. I eventually fell in love with running. My family got used to the thought that it's something that I do when no one else seems to be doing it. That dream kept me running while other teenagers had "better" things to do. But because of a disappointment in running caused by an injury, and the impatience of youth, I suddenly stopped. The dream faded but not completely. Through the years, I would occasionally literally dream of running. The scene will always be of me running happily and effortlessly on my usual routes. After I wake up from that dream, my first thought would always be the Marathon. Someday. For more than two decades, it remained a dream. Then two years ago, it became a decision.

Running again was far from my recurring dream of blissful running. Age and a sedentary lifestyle took its toll. Running the past two years was hard and at times very painful. But also with age comes patience and focus. I was decided and committed. I did what I needed to do. I made a training plan and I followed it. I did my weekday runs and my weekend long runs. If I had to for my runs - I stayed up late, I woke up really early, I ran in the heat and I ran in the rain. I joined races and I enjoyed it. I got injured but I didn't quit running this time. I continued to run to chase a dream. If I'm going to reminisce about my first marathon, a big portion of it will be on how I got to the starting line in the first place. By the time I stood on the starting line yesterday morning, I was almost certain I will be fulfilling my dream that day.

But the Marathon itself is far from being an anti-climax. It is a very appropriate culmination of all the preparations and sacrifices. And even as prepared as I was, I still couldn't help but be extremely anxious of what lies ahead. A marathon is a marathon and it will demand its due.

The marathon was everything that I expected it to be. It was difficult, it was exhausting, it was painful, it was humbling, it was glorious.

The course was a simple out and back course that started from the Quezon City Hall at the Quezon Memorial Circle then to the University of the Philippines (UP) via Commonwealth Avenue. From UP, it goes back out to Commonwealth Avenue up to the La Mesa Dam then back.

My goal was to finish. As advised by many authors/coaches, I didn't set a time goal for a first marathon. Finishing within the 7-hour cutoff would be preferable though because that way the finish line arch would still be there. But a 7-hour time was still not a goal. I even already scouted the route for sidewalks that I can safely run on and places I can buy water from when the roads are opened to vehicles and water stations dismantled after cutoff.

The scheduled gun start was at 4am. My wife (who was doing her first half-marathon) and I were there by 3am. The race started on time. I did my planned run-walk-run right from the beginning. For several workouts, I rehearsed the pace that I was going to do at the start so that I will conserve energy for the latter part of the marathon. The plan was for my heart rate not to go higher than 127 bpm (the low end of my Maximum Aerobic Function (MAF) range) for the first 5K. I was able to do it during rehearsal and was even able to maintain a sub-cutoff pace. But it didn't go as planned. At the first kilometer my heart rate was already at 144 bpm. Oh well. The last thing I needed to do was to worry, anyway I still felt that I was doing a "conserve energy" pace. The first 8K was in UP and I was very familiar with the terrain and that helped me relax.

Going out of UP via the University Avenue, I thought I was in last place already. I looked behind me and there was nobody there and the University Avenue is around a kilometer long. But I didn't really care. I kept on reminding myself , "My only goal is to finish; being not last is not one of my goals." Long before the race, I already accepted the possibility that I will be last. Being last in a marathon is easier to accept knowing that you are still faster than 99% of the world population. At any rate, being in that situation, alone in the dark, with more than 30 kilometers to go is still really depressing. In most of the books on marathoning that I have read, they say that you call on your mental toughness training around the last 10K of the race, just when you hit the wall. I had to start calling on it within the first 10K.

Then there was the stretch of Commonwealth Avenue. I ran part of Commonwealth last year when I did the 10K. A couple of weeks ago, I also drove the stretch of Commonwealth that was part of the marathon to familiarize myself with the terrain. It certainly isn't flat. My strategy for Commonwealth was to skip one or two walkbreaks on the downhills to make up for the slower pace on the uphills.

As I got on Commonwealth, I could now see a few 21K runners. They were probably the ones that were late for their gun start. Around the 10K mark, I saw the lead pack of the 21K already on their way back. And soon the main body of returning 21K runners came. This helped because I got to meet some 21K runners I knew who gave me encouragement. Best of which was at around the 15K mark where I met my wife who was already on her way back too. It was great seeing her as I was wondering how she was doing. Seeing that she was doing great gave me a boost also. We greeted each other, she gave me a banana she saved for me (how sweet!), gave each other a kiss, and continued on with our races.

The course so far was great. There were enough water stations, enough marshals to guide us and traffic officers to control vehicles. Commonwealth was really closed off for runners. And the weather was great.

After the 16K mark was the turn toward La Mesa Dam. I've read about how beautiful and how difficult the route inside La Mesa Dam is. It really is beautiful inside there and the hills were really hard.

Since this was a marathon plus the hills inside La Mesa Dam is hard, returning marathon runners will give other runners still on their way to the turn-around point encouragement. And I do appreciate these. They typically say - "malapit na (it's close)" or "konting konti na lang (just a little bit more)." But if you were hearing that for the past two hilly kilometers and it's still nowhere in sight, I get more discouraged than encouraged. I'm sure they meant well but two kilometers is not near, at least not for me, especially when I kept on expecting that it will be just around the next bend (and there were a lot of bends). So, when it was my turn to do the encouraging (yup, I managed to pass a few runners at this point), I only told one runner that the turn-around was just around the bend, because it really was, and it was less than 100 meters away. The rest, I just encouraged them to keep going and that they can do it (if I can do it, anybody can).

Just after the turn-around, it started to drizzle. It was a great sign. For weeks I was praying for some light rain during the marathon. The past few days, the sun was out and it was hot in the mornings. God was looking after me. Another small miracle. Running in the rain in La Mesa Dam was so perfect. Very few runners experienced this and I feel blessed to have been one of them. Thank you God for answering my prayers.

On my way out and back to Commonwealth, I had problems with my hydration belt (I left it by the La Mesa Dam gate because fluids are not allowed inside). The Velcro strap kept getting off. Probably because it got wet and can't keep its hold with the weight of the stuff I had on it. Since it was raining, I decided to empty two of the flasks which contained water which I planned to use to pour over my head when it gets hot later in the race. I also poured some of the Gatorade in my two other flasks and left them quarter full since I saw that the route along Commonwealth had enough water stations. I figured I'll be able to refill my flasks later. Wrong!

If it stopped raining and the sun came out in full force, I would have been in big trouble. There probably were 4 - 5 water stations along Commonwealth up to the La Mesa Dam gate. They dismantled all but one water station along the whole stretch of Commonwealth. Not only that, I suddenly found myself among oncoming vehicles. They opened the road to vehicles and left us to fend for ourselves on the road that's known in the Philippines as the Killer Highway. You wouldn't know that there is a marathon going on. There were some short stretches where there is a traffic officer who'll see me (I was already on the sidewalk) and guide me to go to the middle of the road again where there is some semblance of a lane reserved for runners. Then just after a few hundred meters, I'll find myself face to face with vehicles again. I'm thinking, "this isn't happening to me!" But I don't have a choice so I'll cross the eight lanes to the sidewalk while jeeps, trucks and buses are zipping by (no traffic officers or marshals guiding me this time). I did that twice! Those vehicles just got out of a traffic mess caused by the race. And some were probably stuck in it for hours - on a Sunday morning. It's not unthinkable for a runner to become a victim of road rage in this race. I'm thankful I came out of it unscathed.

Finally, Commonwealth was clear of vehicles again around the 30K mark, and that's where I found the remaining water station on Commonwealth.

I don't know if it's just psychological, but at around the 32K mark, I was slowing down. I was cutting my runs short and making my walks longer. I felt exhausted. Even on downhills, I just wanted to walk. My legs were heavy and my feet were throbbing. I didn't feel like drinking my Gatorade, nor did I want to eat my chocolate bars. And I was still pissed with what I had to go through earlier. Was this the wall? I was thinking it was kind of stupid for this to be the wall. It was so cliche - "the last 10K is the start of the marathon." I still just wanted to walk. I wanted it to be over. Then, while I was on top of the Tandang Sora flyover, a young runner walked beside me and said, "Kumusta sir? Kaya pa 'to. 'Abot pa tayo ng cutoff." (How are you doing sir? We can still do it. We can still make cutoff.) Thank God he didn't say, "konting konti na lang" or I would have used my remaining strength to throw him off the bridge. But I really should thank him, because I snapped out of it. I started running again with more zeal. At every start of my run portion, I told myself, "Armand, move your ass!" It's definitely not one of the many mantras that I chose and practiced, but this was what I found myself saying at this point. It also helped that I was only around 3K from the UP Oblation, where my support crew - my father and my two sons were waiting for me. My older son will be pacing me from there until the finish line. My younger son was in charge of the ice cold Gatorade and the pictures.

There is always a part in a race when you already know that you are going to finish. When I entered the University Avenue, I already knew I was going to finish and I knew I was going to make cutoff. I earlier didn't like the idea of having to go on a detour into UP instead of just going straight to City Hall for the finish line. But when I got there, I felt it was proper that I go once around UP, to pay homage to where I started running two years ago; before I move on to become a marathoner.

When I got to the academic oval, I saw my support crew family waiting for me, and that lifted my spirits and eased the throbbing pain in my feet and soreness of my legs. My older son started to pace me, and my younger son handed me my ice cold Gatorade. My father was proudly taking pictures (he's 77 and I'm 44, nothing changes).

The atmosphere cooperated with my impromptu ritual around UP. It was quiet unlike the typical Sunday mornings in UP when it is filled with runners, bikers and families just taking a stroll. This morning, the academic oval was quiet and empty because of the rains.

I continued my last few kilometers (konti na lang) of my first marathon, drawing additional strength from my older son while he paced beside me. As we passed in front of the College of Engineering building I imagined myself almost exactly two years ago; the first time I ventured to run outside. I was standing at the corner looking at the runners. I was overweight and self-conscious; wondering if I can be one of them (the runners). I also wondered then if I can do at least one round (2.2K) of the academic oval. Now, I was just about to pass the 36K mark.

Soon enough we were back on University Avenue, exiting UP and on to the last 2K of the marathon. Surprisingly I found some more strength to increase my pace. The last 2K was a blur, the only thing I was focused on was the finish line. We got to Commonwealth again at Philcoa, 1K left. Then we were back on Quezon Memorial Circle where the finish line was. Then 500m to go was a sight. A lady with an umbrella was coming towards us!? It's my sister-in-law! She was going to pace me to the finish line too!

Then there it was. The Dream.

I can't really describe what it felt like to cross the finish line. I believe it is personal and as different as the reasons why we did a marathon. All I can say is that it is far better than anything I have read.

My wife, younger son and father were at the finish line waiting for us. The smiles were big, the hugs were tight and the feelings were honest. They were happy for me and I was glad they were there.

oOo

It has always been said that the Marathon leaves you a changed person. I agree and I think that is part of the miracle of the Marathon. There is an affirmation of oneself. The successful marathon has freed me from the baggage of past mistakes, failures and self-doubt. It highlighted the best in me. The right stuff so often overlooked, that one sometimes forgets that you have it in you and that you have what it takes. The change though is not complete and the process has just started.

The Marathon has taught me that we often have perceived limits for ourselves. When I crossed the finish line, I overcame my perceived limits of physical endurance. So now, with the same passion, discipline, and persistence, I also hope to be able to overcome any of my perceived limits as a husband, as a father, as a son, as family, as a friend, and as a Christian.

Thank you for following Just Another Runner from 0 to the Marathon. I wish you all the Miracles of the Marathon.