My nipples hurt. It’s been two weeks since I began training for this year’s P.F Chang’s Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon in Phoenix, and at five miles into a six-mile training run the rubbing of my cotton shirt against my bare chest is causing some major chafing. The training regimens I found online never told me about that particular side effect, but I guess this is what I get for procrastinating.
There have been a lot of events I’ve wanted to experience during my tenure at ASU. As a senior, I’m now out of time to put them off and I’m forced to sign up. Running in the very marathon that had blocked traffic and made me find different routes home for three years was one of those things.
A regular marathon is 26.2 miles, a distance chosen to commemorate the fabled run of Greek messenger Pheidippides. Legend has it that he was sent from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens to announce to the Greek assembly that the Persians had been defeated in the Battle of Marathon about 26 miles away. Pheidippides ran the whole distance without stopping, delivered his message and promptly dropped dead, somehow inspiring thousands to follow in his footsteps.
A half-marathon is the toned-down version for the more sane among us. At 13.1 miles, it’s far less daunting than the full marathon, but is still a long time to be running. It’s also a task that requires a decent amount of training, which, as I mentioned, takes a toll on the body.
Four miles and under is easy enough. But once I got into six, eight or ten-plus training days, I realize that there’s a reason people don’t usually sign up for these things on a whim. I’m six-and-a-half feet tall and 220 pounds. Whatever this body was built for, it wasn’t distance running. Sore knees, throbbing feet, tendonitis and chafed nips were just some of the injuries I experience during training. But it all paid off in the end.
RACE DAY
It’s Sunday morning, Jan. 17, and I’m in downtown Phoenix about to run 13 miles surrounded by more than 21,000 other people who paid from $80-145 for the privilege.It’s a party atmosphere. Thousands of people, shoulder to shoulder, itching with anticipation and talking excitedly with those around them. Some have dressed for the occasion — I spot a man robed like the statue of liberty and a pair of college kids in orange and powder-blue suits like those in "Dumb & Dumber." Some radio announcers with megaphones are at the starting line enlivening the massive crowd. Even Sen. John McCain has come out to see us off.
Because so many people partake in the half-marathon, runners must be separated to groups (called ‘corrals,’ which makes me feel more than a bit like cattle) and released at staggered time intervals to avoid chaos. My goal time of two hours places me in corral seven, and we get to the starting line about 20 minutes after the actual start of the race. The announcer sends us off, I cross the line of balloons, and my race begins.
You can get lost in your thoughts. After a time, the act of running becomes an involuntary muscle movement, like breathing. You often don’t even realize you’re doing it until you snap back into consciousness, conspicuously farther down the road.
Pain, however, brings you right back to reality, and it hits me at mile nine. The little aches and twinges that have heretofore been only faint reminders of the soreness to come have now become screaming, howling beasts. Every step is agony. I have to shorten my stride to reduce the strain on my right achilles tendon, slow my step to reduce the jarring shaking the very bones in my left foot. Pavement is a hard, unforgiving bitch, and I feel like I might soon join Pheidippides in the annals of fallen runners.
But suddenly, I’m at mile 11, and everything changes. This is longer than I’ve ever run before, I realize, and I’m not dead yet. I’m inspired by a quote I found in a book recently: “To finish first, first you must finish.” A Mountain and the finish line are just a short distance away, and I will make it there, if only for the free bananas we get after.
I crossed the finish line with a time of 1:55:58. Out of the 21,458 people that finished the half marathon that day, I placed 3612th overall, 2382nd in my sex, 185th in my age group.
I take the light rail to the downtown campus twice a week, a distance close to what I ran that Sunday. Sitting comfortably in an air-conditioned capsule, watching the world whiz by at a 40 mph blur, you don’t realize how far you’re going, how much you miss. Running a long distance may be slow (and at times painful), but there are few ways to become more in touch with the world around you and to get an idea of just how vast the earth really is.
Few experiences can match the pride of having set and accomplished such a major goal. I finished something only a small percentage of humans can, and I did it four minutes under my goal time.
And thank God I did, because now I never have to do it again.
Contact the reporter at Zach.Fowle@asu.edu
