In 2022, I thought a lot about the temporary distraction of running a marathon

Published on 13 December 2022

Running a marathon takes a long time. Training for one takes longer. And planning the training to run one takes even longer still. This year I ran my first marathon and I found the process – from signing up to crossing the finish line – all consuming. Little space was left to think about or process anything else.  

I gave myself 6 months to train. I had a training spreadsheet, I had consulted multiple training programmes, but I also had differing advice from runner friends that started to confuse me. Planning for the 25, 30, 35 kilometre runs, and then making them happen, was just as hard mentally as they were physically. I had to learn what worked for me, not what worked for others, so I wouldn’t get in my head and end up skipping runs completely. And when I was actually out there, training, I had to learn not to beat myself up when I wanted to walk or to take a break or to go slow. I had to learn to be as kind to myself as I would be to someone else running a marathon for the first time. It took time. And practice. 

I found events along the way to keep myself in check: a 15 kilometre trail run plus a couple of half marathons. Training for the halfway mark felt quite straightforward – I’d run some half marathons over the past few years but once I got past that marker, I was in unknown territory. For the 3 months before the date, I planned a long run every weekend, along with 2 to 3 shorter runs during the week, and cross-training.

At this point, the planning, the preparation and the running became pretty much the sole thing I could focus on. The marathon was like some sort of semi-porous blocker that prevented me from feeling other emotions too deeply because my focus was so firmly on the 26-mile challenge. 

In the midst of the training, someone I had been romantically involved with came back into my life, with the goal of being friends. But, every time we saw each other it became more clear that romantic feelings still lingered and it was difficult, for both of us, to set boundaries. They were now in a relationship and so seeing where those feelings may lead wasn’t possible. We cut things off. I was hurt. Heartbroken. But I had a marathon to run and don’t ask me how but somehow this heart ache was subconsciously syphoned off and put somewhere else. It was still there. I could feel it. But it was dull. I didn’t have time to focus on that. 

I threw myself into the last month of training. 

And then, I ran it. It was the most incredible thing I have ever challenged myself to. I am so proud of my muscles and bones and flesh that carried me around Berlin and over the line. I am so proud of my strength of mind that was always one step ahead. I rode on the high of accomplishment for days afterwards.

And then I got home. I went back to work. Life returned to normal. I had time for thoughts that weren’t about running and preparation again. And all of the feelings my being had put elsewhere trickled, and then burst, into my mind. They weren’t a dull ache anymore. They were sharp. Excruciating.  

A part of me wasn’t surprised. People talk about the ‘post-marathon low’. Your hormones drop, and your routine changes. What I was surprised by was the trickery my mind had played on me. When we drew a line under our relationship I was upset but the training was an unintentional distraction from the grief. It led me to believe that I was over it. But as soon as I was no longer consumed by this goal I’d set myself, the feelings of hurt, sadness, anger and heartbreak were more present than they’d ever been. I hadn’t moved on because I hadn’t sat with and processed my emotions. 

And so, I got gentle with myself. I slowed down. And I finally began to move through the stages of grief.  

This year I’ve thought a lot about my strength of mind. It overcame my heart to protect me from emotional turmoil so I could achieve a goal I had put so much work into. It’s been a long process to recover from running the marathon – in more ways than one. But it’s made me stronger, and more resilient in more ways than one as well.