While we were at an amazing wedding last weekend in Castle Leslie(great food, fantastic music and brilliant fun. Can I do it all again this weekend?!) a funny thing happened, the groom introduced myself and Aubrey as 'the athletes'. I've never laughed so hard in my life. I run, sorry move quicker than a walk, but would never in a million years call myself an athlete(I PRESUME he was joking when he was referring to me!)
I wasn't sporty in school(my friends will testify! In fact I perfected forging my parents signature in order to get out of PE!) and have been a sporadic gym go-er yo yo-ing between 5/6 days a week to once every 5/6 weeks! However at the back of my mind I've always admired people who run marathons and wanted to be one of those people. I'm not talking Sonia O'Sullivan style but someone who could finish a marathon without the help of an ambulance.
When I turned 29, inspired by the crazy fit Aubrey I decided right, that's it, if I do nothing this year I'll complete a marathon. I set myself a birthday goal and wrote it on a piece of paper. I told everyone I knew about it, which meant there was no way I could back out of it! I did it for myself to see what I could achieve, no charity involved as if I didn't make it across the finish line I wanted only to be letting myself down.
It was tough, really tough and I'm only talking about the training, nevermind the marathon itself! Barcelona was the marathon I set my sights on which meant training through the winter(horrible idea!) it's cold, windy, rainy and sometimes snowy which means indoor training which is no fun. Trying to run 10k on a treadmill is like torture, every second feels like a lifetime, it's really a struggle. Coupled with that I picked up a knee injury which made training hellish.
4 months of training 4 days a week is torture for someone who likes to be sporadic and go with the flow. The weeks leading up to the big event is nerve wracking, will I get enough sleep the night before? What can I expect? Will my feet fall off due to the amount of blisters I'm sure I'm going to get? What if my legs fall off? What if I actually die because I am the least sporty person in the world?! My over active imagination went into overdrive in the weeks leading up to Barcelona.
The night before's sleep - if I can call it that was limited, I spent most of it tossing and turning, full of anxious thoughts, Why am I doing this to myself?!
But once you get to the start line you realise why you're doing it. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. The excitment, the smell of deep heat, the banana skins, the anticipation in the air. The start, thousands of runners moving in the same direction, ready for the challenge, the next few hours, the blisters, the pain and the litres of gross powerade! The months of preparation, you've done everything you can do, no room for last minute cramming. THIS IS IT!
All of this for what? A shiny medal that's what! And the knowledge that you beat yourself, you proved yourself wrong - you are a marathoner!
This time it's going to be even better, the crowds in New York, running through those streets, wearing the Irish Cancer Society's logo with pride, knowing this time, I'm not just beating myself and hoping for my own marathon PB I'm helping do something in the fight against cancer.
And I can't wait!
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