By Peggy HunterT
omorrow morning at 8:45 a.m., the gun goes off for the
Victor ia Marat hon. It w ill be my 15t h marat hon, if I make
it to the starting line. I’ve done the training, have no injuries
to report and the taper went smoothly – except for a growing
sense of dread.
This race is keeping me awake at night. Between 2 and 4 a.m.
I begin to chase the marathon mind monkeys. What if that
groin twinge morphs into something agonizing? What if I feel
nauseous? What if I don’t finish? What if I finish but it’s a new
personal worst? And why, why do I sign up for these bloody
races? Even the best marathons, the PBs, have been ordeals. A
few races, forever burned in my psyche, have gone decidedly
sideways. Somewhere in all those miles, a seed of fear was
planted, and now it is consuming me.
Last night, around 3 a.m., I decided to drop down to the half.
With firm intentions this morning, I headed to the race expo. I
stood in the late registration line to hand in my marathon bib
and trim my commitment in two. As I approached the front of
the line, a paralyzing sense of loss gripped me. I was certain
that if I handed in this race bib, I would never run another
marathon. So, I stepped out of the line.
I decided to wander the expo and wrestle the running demons
a little longer. The expo was abuzz and there were more than a
few familiar faces. Departing a book booth, where I had endlessly
thumbed running literature seeking guidance, I encountered
Jim, who coaches the group I train with. He is a running sage of
rare calm, unfathomable inner strength and incomprehensible
speed. His runners adore him. They suffer quad searing hill
repeats and tempos for the sole privilege of hearing him murmur
a few words of gentle praise as they gasp past him. I tried to artic-
ulate my angst. Jim laughed with genuine bemusement. “You’ve
done the training, run the race,” he urged. Indeed.
Mustering resolve, I headed for the exit, where I encountered
Laura, who runs with our group but has never done the Victoria
Marathon. She’s one of the many volunteers who work tirelessly
every year to make this marathon a destination race. Despite three
hours of sleep, she is as cheerful and intuitive as ever. She wisely coun-
selled that there was no shame in deciding not to run a race. Indeed.
Feeling foolish for bending compassionate ears, I headed for home.
As I left the expo, Donna and Anna arrived to pick up their race kits.
They are my dearest running friends. We have slogged through all of
the long training runs for tomorrow’s race together. I spill my mara-
thon turmoil. These special women make a very self less proposal.
We will start and finish the marathon together. We will run, not race,
this marathon. We will keep the pace comfortable and we will just
enjoy ourselves. It’s an incredibly kind offer. Both of these women
could reasonably expect to finish at the top of their age group.It’s 11 p.m. and I am still unpacking
mental baggage. I realize that I’m not just
wrestling with a fear of the marathon: I
fear losing my identity as a runner and
losing my cherished running friends.
Before heading to bed, I check email
in the vain hope of some miraculous
race cancellation. There’s an email from
Donna with “Why I do it” as the subject
line. “Hey Peggy, this might not help you
in the slightest, but I’ve been thinking
about why I race. It’s not about any wonderful euphoria (is there
even such a thing?). It’s about finishing something really damn hard.
That’s about it .” I laughed. Indeed.
So I got up the next morning and, along with thousands of other
runners, finished something really damned hard.Victoria native Peggy Hunter continues to outrun her mind monkeys.Marathon Mind Monkeys
Battling away the pre-race demons in the search to find
the reason why we do what we do on race day
“You’ve done the training, run the race,” he urged. Indeed.
Hunter running the
Victoria Marathon72 Canadian Running November & December 2016, Volume 9, Issue 7
Marathon Fotocrossing the line