I trudged along the gravel path, as the gray dust coated my legs. The trail was boundless in both directions, revealing only the predictable, bare horizon. The only sign of progression was the top of The Family Arena—the silver dome drew agonizingly closer with each step. My hamstrings and quads creaked with soreness. My trot slowed to a walk under the mid-afternoon sun.
We have all heard the tale. The Greek messenger Pheidippidies, in the ultimate feat of will and determination, ran from Marathon to Athens to announce Greek victory over the Persians. Then, exhausted from physical expenditure, he fell dead. Is a marathon truly a task worthy of death? Or was Pheidippidies just soft? I took it upon myself to find out. I decided that I would attempt to run a marathon on my own with practically no training.
In place of traditional training, I turned to the internet for tips and tricks. I scoured blogs and articles in hopes that they would provide me with useful counsel. I found that the most common mistake among marathon runners is going out at an unsustainable pace, which is tempting given the adrenaline and excitement present at the start. I also read that it was a popular tactic to postpone listening to music until the final hour or so of the journey, when the going would be especially tough. The most popular forms of nourishment seemed to be carbohydrate packets in the form of gels or gummies. One brand in particular, GU Energy Labs, was especially admired on blog posts due to its products’ abundance of sodium, which would help to replace nutrients lost in sweat.
With these strategies in mind, I turned my attention to the particulars. I decided to run at the Katy Trail, a long gravel stretch of straight, flat land. I would go on the morning of Saturday, Feb. 3. The conditions would be ideal: partly cloudy and a temperature in the mid-fifties. But on Thursday, while playing pick-up football at school, I slipped on the grass, wet from the morning dew, forcing me to make an awkward, jerking movement to prevent a fall. I had pulled a muscle in my lower back. Due to this injury and a fever discovered Sunday morning, the endeavor was delayed until Monday.
As I pulled into the empty parking lot I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was 10:45 a.m. I began to stretch, and I realized that I would not be finished until midafternoon. I chose a three-hour Joe Rogan podcast that would help to pass the time, and I set up the GPS on my watch. Just as I took my first step, an imposing whine echoed across the river. My sudden confusion turned to amusement as I realized the coincidence in timing; the monthly tornado siren test had promptly released me on my journey.
For the first few miles I went at an uncomfortably slow pace. I reached the five-mile mark in 45 minutes. I felt great: my breathing was relaxed and surprisingly smooth, my legs were feeling fresh, and my mind was absorbed by the podcast. I turned around and headed back toward my car where I took a short hydration break. I opened a bag of orange gummies that I had brought and began to feast. The next few miles were similarly enjoyable. The sun gently shone over the trail and the rural scenery was charming. The husky growl of a Harley or pickup truck periodically drowned out the soft birdsong. As I drew nearer to the 10-mile mark, however, I could feel heaviness seep into my legs, and my mouth gradually became dry. My attention began to stray from the podcast and the rustic view. I inevitably began to focus on the remaining distance. In an hour and a half I reached the trailhead—mile 10. I slowly jogged up the hill to the parking lot, where I guzzled a bottle of Powerade and devoured another bag of gummies. I made sure to walk around the parking lot to prevent my muscles from tightening up.
After the stop, I began to notice a significant difference in difficulty. My hips were rigid and I could feel my legs straining with each step. My stride began to shorten and I was now at about a 9:35 mile pace. I struggled on and eventually came to a small public park. I stopped for a few minutes to use the restroom. At this point, I had been on the trail for a little less than two and a half hours. There was an unpleasant realization when I glanced at my watch, which revealed that I was 15 miles into the trek – I was barely over halfway. I was parched, but the water fountains at the park were disabled for the winter. I lodged my head sideways in the bathroom sink to drink directly from the faucet. I was getting desperate.
After using the restroom, I turned back toward the trailhead. Now, I was really feeling it. My calves throbbed with pain, and my hips ached with every step. I had heard that many runners hit a wall at around mile 17 or 18 and I could feel myself begin to falter. My breathing was becoming heavier and at mile 17 I decided to walk for a few minutes. I replaced the podcast that I was listening to with music, hoping this would provide a boost in morale. Unfortunately, Eminem’s rapid rhymes and Kurt Cobain’s primal screams did little to animate my ravaged body. After a three or four-minute walk, I forced myself into a clumsy jog. I arrived at mile 20 with my full body in a dull, aching pain. I finished off a few bottles of Powerade, an unhealthy amount of DayQuil, and another bag of gummies. This time I spent about 10 minutes in the parking lot drinking, eating, and wandering around slowly.
Eager to be finished, I trotted back down to the trail. I set out in the original direction, slowly and painfully. I decided to implement a new strategy. I would run 0.8 miles and then walk the remaining 0.2, before repeating the process for the next mile. I hoped that this would help keep my mind off of the total distance remaining. The next three miles were slow but bearable. I turned around after I had gone a little further than three miles from the trailhead. Now I just had to make it back. I continued my strategy of intermittent walking. Finally, at mile 25, adrenaline started to kick in. I eagerly pushed through the soreness. I watched the bridge near the trailhead grow larger and larger. Then, I could see it in the distance— the finish line, where the gravel faded back into pavement. Dizzy and elated, I stumbled onto the pavement. I immediately hunched over, with my hands on my knees. My exhaustion pleaded with me, begging me to fall to the ground and sleep. But I stayed on my feet, hell-bent on outdoing Pheidippides.
