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Peter Sagal’s _The Incomplete Book of Running_: book report

Peter Sagal’s _The Incomplete Book of Running_: book report

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When I began training for my first marathon in 2007, I distinctly remember buying one of those page-a-day daily calendars from a local mall in the north shore suburbs, one that had a red cover on it and featured a lanky and uber-muscular (if not sinewy) male Caucasian’s lower leg, wearing some old school running shoes that were quite reminiscent of what I wore for high school volleyball. It was in that pseudo-training plan calendar that I meticulously and methodically outlined my running for an entire year, as I went from not being able to run a full mile to running my first two marathons within six weeks of each other later that year.

It wouldn’t be til much later in my running “career” that I’d learn that that popular red cover and even more popular leg belonged to Jim Fixx, someone who many would argue single-handedly began the running boom in the late 1970s. It is based on that famous red cover that we can begin talking about NPR commentator and frequent Runner’s World contributing author Peter Sagal’s newest book, The Incomplete Book of Running.

Right off the bat, readers will notice that Sagal’s book looks strikingly similar to Fixx’s: red cover, Caucasian leg, nondescript shoe, although — perhaps predictably — Sagal’s cover quickly brings humor into the conversation, what with the “incomplete” titular reference and his legs being askew and shoes flying off his feet. Sagal is perhaps best known — or what I know him as, anyway — for being the long-running radio personality and host behind NPR’s Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! comical weekend news radio show, an informative and entertaining bit that aims to bring some amount of levity to what would otherwise surely be a hella depressing job (especially in this political climate).

By virtue of living in Chicago for eleven years, whether warranted or not, I feel like I have a sort of kinship with Sagal: he has lived in a west Chicago suburb for many years, he films Wait Wait at the Chase Auditorium in downtown Chicago (very near my old employer), and tons of friends have seen his show live. (Alas, the one time I purchased tickets for us to see the show, C and I ended up not going because if I recall correctly, we were going to go see the show right after I got back from Kenya, and yours truly contacted something nasty on safari and was too busy bonding with toilets upon re-entry to the US. Fun times).

Probably more pertinent for our purposes here, Sagal runs/ran a lot of the Chicago-area races that I once frequented, making his spotting therein a pretty regular thing; that just adds to that whole aforementioned (un)warranted kinship thing. Like a true runnerd, I once worked up the gall to talk to him while we were both waiting in a high school cafeteria before a half marathon in early March — hi Peter I’m Erin and I’m a fan of your show and your writing and good luck at today’s race oh and at Boston too are you doing Boston yeah me too kthxbye — before quickly realizing that when we’re all wearing a thousand layers of spandex, colorful wicking materials, and comparably copious amounts of anti-chafing cream and lubricating moisturizer to ward off the gnarliest of Chicago-area winds mid-winter, we’re alllllllllll human. And all similarly dorky.     

this isn’t Peter Sagal; instead, it’s my dear friend and former training partner David! from the 2012 March Madness half marathon in Cary, IL (a great half marathon about an hour away from Chicago and the race (and year, I think) where I was mega-nerd and talked to Peter Sagal)

Similarly, there was a time in my life when I was a regular, if not avid, Runner’s World reader and subscriber. Sagal’s column was always one that I looked forward to and one that I always read right away. With little effort, I can tell you about the time when he got crucified for banditing the Chicago Marathon because he wrote about it in RW, for some odd reason, or about how he’s been a sighted runner for visually-impaired racers at the Boston Marathon for the past couple years, or about that one time he ran in his underwear for a Cupid’s Run somewhere. I can vaguely recall him writing about his training for the Philadelphia Marathon, a big PR day for him, and about the work he took to get that sub-3:10 effort. He’s a good writer, equally informative, entertaining, and inspiring, and I loved reading his stuff.  

Given everything that I already knew about Sagal’s running career over the past few years, I wasn’t sure what I was going to get out of his book. It doesn’t read like a linear autobiography, something that recounts his earliest interactions with the sport and ends it in the present day. Instead, each chapter offers a moment in time in his running tenure — including, but not limited to, how and why he began running, the two times when he served as a sighted runner in the Boston Marathon (and how he very, very narrowly missed being in the finish chute when the bombs detonated), how his running (via his radio show) has allowed him to explore the US in fairly profound ways, and his PR training and race execution at Philly. He punctuates each vignette, if you want to call it that, with general ruminations about the sport of running, overall, and marathoning, specifically, as he more or less implores each of us to get outside our heads and just keep the thing, the thing, and just go do the thing FFS.


“To talk about running is to talk about change and the promise of change. Running, as a topic, has a narcissistic focus on the self–its current flaws and future glories” (xiv). 

I’ve always felt that running is an incredible equalizing agent, and Sagal’s ruminations in this regard left me shaking my head in agreement so often, and so vigorously, that I’m surprised that it didn’t leave me with neck strain. If I weren’t borrowing this book from a library, I’d be highlighting the shit of out of lot of his commentary. Non-runners tend to think that runners one day just magically woke up, decided I’M GOING TO BE A RUNNER TODAY!, and simply sprinted out the door at 5:50 pace for 20 miles. Of course — maybe save for the professionals in the room — that’s simply not the case for the overwhelming majority of the runner plebeian society. For most of us, this stuff is super hard and damn near impossible at first.

Very few of us talk about how hard running is and how hard it is to get started — how much it utterly sucks at times, how hard it is to not compare ourselves to our peers or to our “glory days,” assuming we had ever had any in the first place, and how hard it is sometimes to just get our butts out the door in the cold, rain, wind, snow, dark, sun, heat, whatever to do this thing that we know is good for us and that we actually enjoy when it’s all said and done (the “said and done” being the operative parts of that sentence). Sagal doesn’t shy from talking about all of these rather undesirable tenets of running and doesn’t balk from essentially saying yes, it really sucks sometimes, and hey you may even shit yourself a few times, but just a few steps can take you a long ways over the course of your lifetime. His story is a testament to this, and you may find your narrative is similar to his. I know I did.

“There are, broadly speaking, two ways to approach marathoning. The first is tactical. […] I have come slowly to another view, based on longtime experience and disappointment. I now believe, along with Sun Tzu, that the war is lost or won long before the day of battle. You train, mentally and physically, as best you can, and on the day of the race you cast yourself upon the road and see where your legs take you. You run until somebody or something tells you to stop” (11).  PC: Elise

Even though I found some of Sagal’s staccato comedic fill-ins to be slightly annoying at times — I love me some dad jokes and clever bantering as much as the next person, but still — and some of his run-related ruminating a bit sanctimonious — I don’t enjoy running on treadmills, but I’m not going to imply that runners who do are any “less” a runner — I think the biggest takeaway from Sagal’s writing is how embedded he has made his running to his mental health, how important an element his daily miles have become in making him the healthiest version of himself, both physically and mentally. It’s an oversimplification to say that his book is about himself, a more or less lifelong runner, who found himself at mid-life with a crisis and used his running to get through it all. It is about that, yes, but there’s so much more to the story.  

It is clear from nearly page one that running plays a huge role in his mental wellness and that it was one of the few constants in his life through some pretty shitty times. How many of us can relate to that? That he, as a public figure, had the courage to talk about his mental health struggles is commendable and admirable, and that he talks about how important his running has become for multiple dimensions of his health I think can inspire all of us to talk about the same with our own health providers with similar frankness and candor. There’s so much out there now about running being therapeutic — the subject of my current read — and Sagal’s story is but one example.  

The general, non-running public tends to think that we run simply for the cardiovascular benefits it imparts; that running can do a number for your mental health is seemingly the best-kept secret there is but one that we need not keep to ourselves any longer. It’s a secret worth sharing because it’ll do the world a world of good, and the world sure needs a lot of good right now. Sagal went through some pretty crappy mid-life stuff, and in his words, running was one of the few things over which he felt he had any control or agency. Again: how many of us can relate to that?    

“You have everything you need to begin. If you don’t have sneakers, just grab your most comfortable shoes, or go barefoot on dirt or sand. If you don’t have shorts, get an old pair of jeans and cut off the legs. If anybody judges you for wearing ratty clothes, one of the privileges and benefits of running is leaving people behind. Every first step is the same, every last step is different” (35).

Prior to reading this book, I knew nothing about Sagal’s apparently quite difficult and quite drawn-out divorce following a 19-year marriage, nor did I know anything about how said divorce seemingly alienated or estranged him, at least temporarily, from his three teenaged daughters, as they all were trying to equilibrate following and during this major life change. He doesn’t mince words as he talks about the grieving process he experienced during what sounded like many tumultuous years of essentially starting over, not knowing if he’d ever find himself in a caretaking capacity again as he had been as a husband and father, and coming to terms with the futility of it all, an existential crisis that was years in the making and that simply catastrophized with the deterioration of his marriage. This stuff isn’t for the faint of heart.  

Having friends going through these motions right now made Sagal’s writing hit a stronger, more personal chord, and I felt completely gutted for him. I couldn’t read his words without thinking of my friends, and at times, it took my breath away. He doesn’t devote an entire chapter to his divorce or starting over or anything like that, however; instead, he usually brings it up as a quick reorientation, a subtle reminder of the present-day that was a backdrop to all his running experiences in his life. In fact, for example, it was due to a coalescing of these events that led him to sighting at Boston the first time, something that surprised me simply because when it was actually happening, I don’t recall ever reading about it before. Though he was in the thick of his divorce at that time, the sighting experiences profoundly affected him and arguably played a bigger-than-anticipated role in his life at that time and since.

The same thing goes for when he was a participant and a major fundraiser in a Cupid’s Run during Valentine’s Day; I can recall reading a RW column about it and just thinking oh that’s nice, Peter Sagal is running somewhere in his underwear for charity. How nice of him.

It’s a good reminder that when we’re on the starting line at any race, our fellow racers (and perhaps us, too) are carrying with them some pretty powerful stories and burdens. We’re all there to run hard and fast, yes, but for many, it’s about something much greater.

We will speed up and slow down, perhaps run farther or shorter distances than ever before as we age, but the process — the bread and butter of putting one foot in front of the other, repeatedly — that doesn’t change.

“Our sport seems mindless only to people who never run long enough for any thought to form other than ‘When can I stop running?’ But the only way to succeed as a long-distance runner is to do it mindfully, to be aware of the body and the world it is moving through” (67). PC: Women Who Fly 

In a world where change is the only constant, there is something special — holy, even — about the process of running and the gamut of emotions it engenders remaining the same, no matter the noise and chaos that surrounds us. Csikszentmihalyi is onto something.

We who run intuitively know this to be true, and the science — particularly related to mental health and exercise, and specifically to running — is beginning to catch-up.

If you’re looking for a training book about how to run your best race, Sagal’s book isn’t it.

If you’re looking for a definitive autobiography or memoir about Sagal and his professional life, this one isn’t it, either.

If you’re looking for a brutally candid account of the transformative power of the oldest sport on the planet, the one that we all come out innately knowing how to do, the one that is arguably one of the most cathartic motions we can do with our bodies, Sagal’s Incomplete Book of Running is it.

His love for the sport couldn’t be more evident, but his evangelism doesn’t come without a healthy amount of admission that sometimes — ahem, often — this sport is hella hard. His book is incomplete because his running story is incomplete, as is the case for all of us who run. We’ll never know where our miles will take us unless and until we go out and just simply run them.

Though Sagal may think that his fastest days are behind him, and that his drive to surpass his fastest times is long-gone, he’s a lifer in this sport. It’s a status to which all of us who love this sport should aspire. Regardless of his mile splits or his weekly volume, so long as he continues to run for the rest of his life, he will continue to reap the incalculable benefits that putting one foot in front of the other, hundreds if not thousands of times yields, no matter the shitstorm (or lack thereof) surrounding him in life.

Running is a gift that can keep on giving, no matter, and Sagal’s account is a testament to that. 

“People ask me about the benefits of running, and there are many, even more than the ones discussed in this book, and I have realized many of them […] But if there’s one thing that I have gained from my running career, it’s not the strength of cardiovascular fitness to run ten or twenty-six miles at a time, but the patience and focus to stay in the mile I’m in. Run long enough, and everything comes into view, be it a finish line or a home, a new one or one remade. What running has given me, most of all, is the practice of persistence.

And maybe, too, a habit of hope. Running sometimes sucks, but every run ends, and tomorrow is a new opportunity to take a first step” (180).
2018 California International Marathon (CIM) Race Report – Folsom-Sacramento, CA

2018 California International Marathon (CIM) Race Report – Folsom-Sacramento, CA

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The tl;dr version is that I shared a fantastic and memorable weekend with friends, bonding over the experience of running a marathon, in what would amount to be my second go at the California International Marathon (CIM) and my thirty-third 26.2. Under Coach Lisa’s guidance, I had trained hard in anticipation of fighting for a big PR at CIM, and (spoiler) while that unfortunately didn’t manifest, it doesn’t dilute or sour the weekend’s experience, particularly when I consider how well so many of my friends ran and how utterly and genuinely happy and proud I am for/of them.

Don’t get me wrong: it is really gutting to train really hard and not have a race day performance that you’ve envisioned; dare I be so dramatic to say that in the heat of the moment, it’s  heartbreaking.

That said, it’s irrational and illogical to decide that the totality of a training cycle, the relative success and growth and self-discovery and everything else, is bound up in how fast you can ultimately cover the distance come race day. That just ain’t how I roll with this stuff anymore. 

If that metric remains as your chief, principle deciding factor or governor of happiness, I can promise you that you’ll be disappointed and saddened by this sport more often than you are left feeling jubilant. It’s how it goes.

I’ve already written about my training and such leading to CIM in my pre-race post, so by the time race weekend rolled around, I was feeling pretty solid, pretty satisfied with my training, carrying the mentality of run a race you know you’re capable of posting into the weekend. Since I made a big jump in my marathon finish time in 2013, going from 3:31 in Houston (January) to 3:20 in Eugene (April), my marathon PR has hovered squarely at that precipice, dropping sub-3:20 only twice, at Two Cities in 2016 and then three seconds faster, 3:19:10, at CIM ‘17. I know I am capable of a faster time, and with every marathon I’ve trained for since 2013, I’ve trained with the intention and goal of going sub-3:20 in a big way. The results from the past five years show that far more often than not, it doesn’t come together on the day, but dammit if I haven’t stopped striving for it. The fun is in the work and in the chase.

breaking 3:20 for the first time at Two Cities

Saturday

Race weekend at CIM, just as it was last year, was a lot of fun. After a shake-out run in the rain with Janet in SJ, we journeyed north to the expo and to meet up with Meredith, with whom we’d be shacking up overnight. At the expo, we ran into many Wolfpack teammates who’d be competing on Sunday, which was delightful. It was good vibes all around, minimal nerves, and more than anything, just a lovely way to spend a Saturday.

rainy shakeout in SJ

 

obligatory (and in dry clothes)

Post-expo, post-lunch, Meredith, Janet, and I ventured out to circa mile 14 on the course for Meredith to stow her rental car overnight, since she was planning to drop at that point in the race, and soon afterwards, we checked into the hotel and then met the rest of our group for dinner at the same place where Meredith, Connie, and I ate last year. Again: all good vibes, minimal nerves, and more than anything, just a lovely way to spend a Saturday night. The marathon talk and scheming was there for sure, but in no way was it domineering. It was as though we all happened to be in Sacramento that night and all happened to be doing a little footrace in the morning. It was an awesome pre-race vibe if there ever were one.

we originally planned to stow the rental at a church overnight. eventually, intuition kicked in and made it be known that it was a horrible idea. moving on…

 

…but no worries, we found a better (read: safer) alternative!

 

race eve dining with Lisa, Anna, Krystal, Mitchell, Meredith, and Janet

Janet, Meredith, and I returned to the hotel and were in bed shortly afterward and likely asleep by 9 or 10pm, as a 3:45 alarm would be haunting us in the morning. Despite a seemingly non-functional heater, I slept well enough and woke up Sunday morning feeling ready to go.

Sunday, pre-race

Joining Meredith, Janet and me in our hotel room by about 4am was Meg, who was staying with her family down the street at another hotel, so she wouldn’t have to get ready while tip-toeing around her slumbering family. For it being 4am and all, it actually made for a fun morning, with the four of us hanging out, getting ready to go race a marathon, and hoping for a satisfying pre-race poop before the morning got going. Meg and I had similar goals — as did a lot of other Wolfpack harriers — so it was cool to scheme with her and share race strategies. Leilani came into our room from down the hall just a short bit later, and before too long, we all loaded up into my minivan to head over to the convention center to board the Folsom-bound busses. We managed to find the most expensive parking in downtown Sacramento that morning — since we left a little later than we planned, we didn’t want to waste time circling for free street parking — but at any rate, we were all on the bus together and got to Folsom by about 6:20 for the 7am start.

party in the van with Lani, Meredith, Janet, and Meg; can you see everyone? it was super dark!

 

strolling through a hella expensive garage en route to the Folsom-bound busses while sipping on water

Practically as soon as we arrived, Janet, Lani, and I departed the busses and headed for the bathroom lines, anticipating that this was going to be our only chance to, uh, drop any extra weight pre-race. (Success!) From there, as race mornings always do, things moved fast: bathroom to gear drop to warm-up to finding Coach Lisa and my teammates Krystal, Julie, and Anna. By the time Janet and I finished a quick ~5 minute warm-up, it was already just a few minutes’ shy of the gun, and we started sardined way back with the 3:40-3:45 group. Even though we had just seen Lisa, Krystal, Julie, and Anna moments earlier, right before our warm-up, we had no idea where they were, and I never found Meg before the start, after I left the bus. It was relatively chaotic compared to last year’s start, but it was fine, nothing to get hung up about.

The actual race

Of course, the side benefit of starting farther back in the corral than initially planned is that you’re really forced to be conservative early on; I told myself that this was a good thing, a la NYC 2013, and that I’d be grateful for it later. As it turned out, not too far after the starting line, Janet and I saw Krystal, Lisa, Anna, and Julie, and thus began our ‘pack running. Julie was going to be unofficially pacing all of us to a sub-3:20 finish, and Krystal and Lisa would be on bikes for the remainder of the race, providing moral support to us and to the other harriers further afield. It was going to be a fabulous morning with a lot of my teammates; it just happened to be backdropped by a 26.2 mile race that I was going to try to run as hard and as fast as I possibly could.

definitely a party at the start  (PC: this and most others, someone from my team)

 

smiling the miles

 

and so the climbing begins within the first mile, ha

 

following the pack leader, Julie, in the black crop

The 2018 weather gods doled out basically the same as they did last year — relative race day perfection — and there was no wind to speak of, nary a cloud in the sky, and probably temps in the 40s in the early miles. This was the weather that runners dream about during summer and autumnal training. I felt completely comfortable in my neon singlet and shorts, was casually chatting with my teammates and other friends I spotted throughout the course, and felt completely in control. The goal was to come through the half in 1:40/1:41, a little slower than last year’s 1:38, and I came through at mid-1:39, just about where I wanted to be if maybe a teeny, tiny bit fast. I took my SiS regularly every four miles and even got an orange slice in the mix there around the 10k marker from a spectator. I was feeling good and felt pretty at ease as I anticipated the negative split I was trained to execute over the second half of the race.   

Admittedly, however, from the get-go, despite the perfect weather and despite the relative ease at which I was ticking off 7:1x-7:4x paces, my body never felt springy-fresh. Earlier in the week, I definitely had that caged animal feeling — despite dealing with the kids’ colds/infections and my own until about Thursday — but on race morning, in the thick of the race, from the get-go, there was little, if any, bounce or pep in my step. It’s fine. Even if it takes you 10+ miles to warm-up, there’s still a lot of race left to run.

A wonderful benefit of having your coach and teammates riding along the course is that you can get updates on how other friends are doing. Pretty much anytime I saw Lisa, I asked how Meg was doing (“she’s looking SO STRONG!”) or where and how Mitchell or Leilani were, since we had gotten separated at the start (“they’re not too far ahead but are looking really good!”). As I ran ahead, with Julie and Anna just a few feet ahead of me until the halfway mark, I kept scanning the crowds for my teammates and friends, looking for neon orange singlets and Meg’s pink shorts.

somewhere within the first half

 

post-halfway mark and running nearly in stride with another teammate whom I didn’t know!

 

As the miles wore on, I tried to keep on with the same effort level, relative to whether we were ascending or descending, while taking in the surroundings and spectators and still looking for Mitchell and Meg. Sometime around the halfway mark, I heard and saw Christina and Melissa from Arete/she.is.beautiful, waiting to begin their relay and pacing roles, and shortly after, I got another huge boost of encouragement from unexpectedly seeing Bjorn, Ida, and CT cheering for all of us on the sidelines. Even if I wasn’t feeling fantastic or fresh, I knew my effort was staying fairly consistent, and hearing and seeing so many friends along the way buoyed my spirits tremendously.

no idea where this is, though probably somewhere between 14-20

I wasn’t doing much clock-watching during the race, but a few times late in the game I began doing the mental math — inadvisable mid-marathon, but whatever — to determine my odds to go 3:18 +/-. Everything seemed feasible, and again, while the freshness wasn’t really there, nothing hurt, nor was my energy tanking, since I had been taking SiS regularly and tolerating the unpalatable nuun (again this year, ugh) and water. I could feel the beginning of some chafing near my right armpit, and part of my left foot had some weird rubbing action against my shoes, but on the whole, all things considered, for having run at least 18 miles at my goal marathon pace, going into the last eight miles, it was game on. I felt strong and ready to take them head on, reminding myself to run a marathon you know you’re capable of posting. Patience is a virtue with this stuff, and I had been patient for nearly 30km and was ready to duke it out for the final 12k.

Somewhere in this needlessly-dramatic monologue, I finally found Mitchell and yelled to him that I was right behind him; he mentioned something about wanting to take it easy in that mile, so I figured he’d catch up to me shortly. As I came upon mile 20, I tried to relax and smiled as I thought about spectating there in 2016 with my eldest and how much fun we had. Finally, at long last, I was at the flattest part of the course, ~10k to go, and I was ready to do what I needed to do. Nevermind that that sought-after freshness never arrived; mentally, I knew that the fortitude was there. At dinner the night before, Lisa had reminded me as much and helped me remember all the workouts we had done in an effort to strengthen me for the last 10k.  

…and then, the chassis just inexplicably and rather dramatically deteriorated. Seemingly like *that*, with about an 8k to go — my bread-and-butter, just-about-everyday minimal distance — I had gone from feeling like eh I’m not springy but I can rumble to there is not a chance, hell will first freeze over, and no amount of mental trickery or self love or loathing or ‘how badly do you want it?’ or anything is going to change things.

In other words, I had gone from not great but tolerating of the distance ahead of me to my body all but saying no fucking way. No. fucking. Way.

Laughably, right about the time that my body had made it resoundingly clear that the last 8k was going to be rather uncomfortable and sloggy, Coach Lisa pulled up beside me. What timing! I muttered something to her about how the PR was out the window and that a finish was the one and only goal, and bless her soul for trying to convince me that I was running really strongly, evenly, and powerfully and that the tracker was anticipating a 3:18 finish still. The goal shifted from PR to finish/finish faster than SF. 

It completely blew to get that far into the race, only to have it begin to self-destruct, but unfortunately, that’s the marathon sometimes. It was as though I had gone from GMP to recovery pace in a moment’s notice, and my body wasn’t going to calibrate in any other direction. I didn’t feel dehydrated or like I was salting out or bonking; my legs just suddenly felt as though they were physically incapable, like they hadn’t been trained to run further than the distance I had already covered. I had run 21 miles well, and now, I was done. Dammit! 

screengrab from the video of me crossing the ~35k mark, I think (and talking to Lisa on the bike), telling her of the imminent grind

The last 8k was all about one foot in front of the other and ridiculously smiling through the utter discomfort that was reverberating through my body. Naturally, I probably saw more people I knew over the last 8k than I had all race long, so my sincerest commiserations for showcasing my beautiful pain cave grimace to you 🙂 With every step I took over that last 8k, every part of both my legs just shook — like they were doing this stuff for the first time ever— convincing me that if I stopped for any reason or even slowed substantially, I’d be done. Head down, use your arms, keep grinding, smile like a maniac: anything to lessen that perceived exertion.

grinding and sputtering with about 5k to go but thankful to see my TSFM ambo teammates on the sidelines (PC: Jenni)

With about 5k to go, Lani caught up to me and passed me — so happy I was for her, as I knew she was en route to a nice PR and at about 11 weeks pregnant, no less — and soon after, I saw more friends and teammates on the sidelines before making those last couple turns into the Capitol area. Last year, I posted a 6:something kick at the end; this year, the best I could haul was in the just-shy-of-9-minute range. I finished, completely gutted, gassed, and deflated, with a low 3:24. I was thrilled to be done.

Jesus, circa mile 25 and change, had a sign whose opposite side conveniently reminded me that the end was near. great capture by my teammate, Bjorn.

It was awesome to see so many of my teammates and friends right as I was finishing, and practically as soon as I crossed the line, I saw Coach Lisa. Admittedly, I felt horrible. As soon as I crossed the line, stopped my watch, and stopped moving, I did one of those weird side-step shuffle things, making a volunteer bolt over to me right away in fear that I was about to collapse; it was disorienting for sure and something that I don’t remember feeling before in any marathon recently.

 

I hadn’t really had time to process the 3:24 finish before I saw Margot, who was beaming with enthusiasm for breaking 3:30, and I only wish I was more in-my-body so I could have reciprocated her happiness better because I knew how big a deal that was to her. (Sorry, friend, but major, major congrats). I quickly learned from friends and teammates on the sidelines that Anna and Julie had come in around 3:15, Meg at 3:16, and Robin just a little north of 3:10, all big PRs for everyone, which was just incredible, fantastic, and so, so inspiring. It’s hard to feel shitty about your own race for very long when many of your friends (in whose training you are invested) accomplished some big-time goals of their own. After downing several cups’ worth of water and barely a few nibbles of food, I made my way over to gear check, got my stuff, and met up with my teammates and began sharing stories of what went down over the course of 26.2. The marathon has a funny way of bringing people together; everyone experiences something over the distance, and it’s always entertaining to compare highs and lows ex post facto.

 

just a handful of the harriers who competed this year and who cheered on the sidelines on Sunday. in the mix include an OTQ, some PRs, some BQs, and some grittyass performances. lotsa love for these fine human beings.

 

I shared a lot of miles and milestones with these two this year! behind us is the infamous BQ bell that people line up to ring post-race. I’m hella lazy and had no interest, but I think the sentiment is super special. BQs are pretty special, whether they’re your first or 21st (yea!).

I will be the first to admit that it was disappointing to come up short of my goal in a marathon for the second time this year; that burns. All those feelings of inferiority, of wondering if I should hang up my 26.2 shoes, and of thinking that I’ve reached my peak came flooding back shortly after I crossed the finish line, which sucks. It sucks bad. It’s also pretty silly and dramatic.

I think we amateur/average runners have a weird thing with this hobby of ours. I invest so much of myself into this hobby — physically, for sure, but also mentally, in particular — that when things go south and I underperform in a distance of this magnitude, one that dictates weeks’ worth of recovery after the fact and precludes frequent attempts at it, it stings. I’m always happy with a finish and don’t take it for granted, but it is also kinda deflating to finish knowing that I am capable of more, of better, but couldn’t bring it on the day for (insert reason here).

I think there’s something uniquely quixotic, compelling, and enamoring about this sport. Being able to run a marathon is a feat unto itself, and finishing one is even more so. We can spell failure in many different ways, and one of those ways need not be how we perform on race day. After all, race day comprises a very, very small part of the hours and hours’ worth of training that goes into the ordeal. No doubt this line of thinking sounds for sure like a great cop-out, a convenient way to cover the burn and suckerpunch feeling that follows us for days after the race. I don’t think it’s the case though. Train well and hard and consistently, and do the best that you can do on The Day. If The Day doesn’t materialize to your liking, move on, and keep grinding. 

Keep showing up, a la Des Linden.

When race day doesn’t pan out how you envisioned, for whatever reason — out of your control or otherwise — be a human being and allow yourself the dignity of having an emotional response. Cry your ugly cry, in public or in private. Write it down. Talk to people who “get it” and who can help you strategize for the next go. “Mourn,” if you want to call it that, for a bit.

Get the despair out of your system, learn from the experience, both in training and in the race, and then metabolize the feelings and the learnings into fuel for the fire for the next time. Give yourself both the permission and the opportunity to have a next time. Remain open to the experience where marathoning takes you because it is certainly a wild and unpredictable ride. That’s both part of the joy and of the heartbreak or surprise. The chase and the work is gratifying.  

I’m proud of myself for gutting it out to the finish; quitting was never an option or even a passing interest. I am so thankful to be surrounded by so many people in my life who are supportive of my running endeavors, folks who are runners (many of my friends) and non-runners (most of my family members). On race day, the camaraderie was real and felt in a profoundly moving way both on the course and through the marvels of modern technology. THANK YOU. Celebrating so many others’ successes and joys — as well as commiserating with those whose experiences left them hungry for more and for better — reminds me of the depth of experiences the marathon can bring out for every single one of us. This is some beautiful stuff, gang! So many dear friends had The Race They Were Dreaming Of, and man, that’s really, really awesome. We all know that those days are really hard to come by, so when they do, they are damn near magical for all of us by extension.

The folks at the Sacramento Running Association yet again put on a great experience at CIM, and it’s one that I’d highly recommend runners doing. I’m already committed to ‘19 (early bird pricing FTW). In the interim, and for the rest of the year, I’m excitedly retreating to the drawing board (and to blowing up Coach Lisa’s phone with messages) to begin hypothesizing how to make next year the time when I post the The Race I Am Dreaming Of, The Race That I Know I Am Capable of Posting. 

Many thanks for the continued support throughout this little adventure. It means more than words can adequately describe. 33rd 26.2, 21st BQ, hungry for the next! xo