Marathons are silly. Just really silly. Am I right? I’m right.
This weekend I headed to Virginia Beach to run the Shamrock Marathon–my third marathon. I hadn’t trained well for it, but was excited because it was my first visit to Virginia Beach and I was raising money for Lauren’s scholarship.
On race day, we woke up at 5am to head for the beach. It was 40 degrees and with the wind blowing, it felt like 30. I was NOT pumped. But I headed to the Start Line anyway…
This race was awful. I couldn’t find my stride..
I kept thinking about how many more miles I had…
When was the next checkpoint…
Why was I running a full marathon when a half would have taken two hours…
What kind of burger will I eat after this…
Is that mile 15 or mile 20? Because it feels like mile 20…
To pass the time I took pictures. Here’s the ocean:
Here’s a guy with no shoes:
Here’s my favorite couple ever:
And here’s how I felt for 26.2 miles:
I finished the race in a grizzley 4 hours, 30 minutes, and 38 seconds later and it wasn’t pretty. This marathon made me realize how much money people actually spend to put themselves through 26.2 miles of torture. Why do we do this?? Think about it–I spent $100 for:
- A dri-fit shirt- $25
- A crazy-heavy medal- $10
- A banana on the course- $.99
- A gatorade on the course- $1.50
- Four Yuengling beers (that I did not drink)– $15
- Sore hips
- Hurt ankles
- Bruised pride
- Lost toenails
Does all of that add up to $100? No, it doesn’t.
I’m done with paying $100 for this mess. I’m done with marathons. DONE.
My buddy Matt said it best when he said (in his southern drawl):
“You can go out and run 26.2 miles any ol’ time you want. I pay for the obstacle races because I can’t make my own obstacles.”
Touche, Matt. Touche. So from now on, I’m only running obstacle races and half-marathons. No more of that 26.2 mile crap. I’ll do 5 Rugged Maniacs, 10 Tough Mudders, and 5 Savage Races before I ever do a marathon again.
I’m being negative-The good news is: I raised a little over $700 for Lauren’s scholarship. And I’m DONE with marathons. Did I mention that earlier?
The Shamrock was one of my student workers, Mary’s, first marathon. She passed me at Mile 3–This picture captures our post-race feelings perfectly:
I’m old. She’s young. I’m broken. She’s pumped. And she kicked my butt by 30 minutes.
Lesson learned. Body hurting. I need some Advil. Until my next race/adventure…