Hitting The Psychological Wall

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I keep saying that I'm going to run a full marathon ... all 42-point something kilometers, all 26-point something miles ... and I never do it. The year that I was actually trained for it, I got sick. The year I wasn't trained but felt like running I quit at 27 kilometers - and wanted to curl up and die. This year, despite grand intentions, I didn't finish either. I hit The Wall.

I really wanted to run the Madrid marathon for two reasons: A) the city has a personal sentiment ... it's the city where I first started "really" running and thus seemed fitting for a first marathon finish and B) I wanted to finish my first marathon with a friend who had become my "personal trainer" while I was living in Barcelona but who, as it happens, doesn't have papers to legally live in Europe and thus can't travel outside of Spain for (even greater) risk of being caught. Thus, Madrid it was.

Then, Geneva happened. Cheese and chocolate in abundance, a sedentary desk job and not exaclty the warmest, sunniest climate to train in, my training plan failed miserabley. And then, when I did manage to talk myself into running in the dark cold, I tripped over my own two feet, resulting in an ankle the size of a grapefruit and rendering me useless for much self-transportation that required my feet. Murphy's law, when it was just about healed up 'real good, "oops I did it again" and was back in the ankle-the-size-of-grapefruit gimpy club.

Needless to say, come marathon time, I had ZERO expectations of getting to the finish line. In fact, even half was semi dreaming. Add in the sun and heat factors that I'm no longer accostomed to and that my running buddy was down for the count with injuries of his own, and expectations were low. Again, keeping in mind that I'm back in Madrid with beer, wine, tapas, friends and fiestas galore, it's no suprise that I tossed all caution to the wind the night before the race ... after all, I wasn't in shape anyhow.

Here we should pause for an honoring of my roof-over-my-head hosts, personal marathon cheerleaders and photographers, Sylvie, Hector and Dani. And honored also for their bravery in attempting the day-before marathoners pasta party ... they nearly did better than I in getting the pasta paste down. Spaghetti may be difficult to screw up, but these chefs certainly succeeded. THE most disgusting pasta you can imagine ... though Hector took a liking to it for sentimental reasons, saying it reminded him of elementary school lunches. Mmmm. Did I mention our forks stood straight up in it?

Anyhow, back to the race. Quick summary:

1) Almost missed the start waiting in the dang bathroom lines. Again, some things never change.

2) Get to 11km where Sylvie and Hector are cheering and photographing from atop the concrete barriers. We're in the ugly part of town and I'm ready to keel over. I tell them I'll be done shortly.

3) Reach the 15km mark, passing through Sol, the center of Madrid, which was JAM packed with manaiacally screeming fans, bands and clapping hands ... suddenly feel inspired, if not to say emotional, and begin imagining myself unexpectedly eating up the 42+km

4) Totally zoned in at the 20km mark, don't even see/hear my personal fans screaming at me (my deaf obliviousness is documented on video), Hector jumps over the spectators and runs several meters with me before blending back into the fans

5) Fly by 22km - the half marathon point - in grand form and hardly even noticing. Time: 2:14. Not bad for not being anything close to in shape.

6) Kilometers 24 - 29 psychological hell. Half the runners quit at the half marathon point, those of us who are left are entirely spread out, many start to walk and due to the fact that we were now traversing a difficultly-accessed natural park, ZERO fans cheering us on. My feet are numb.

7) Kilometer 29. I claim to be bored. Physically I'm doing quite well (thank you Red Cross roller bladers for the consistent muscles sprays throughout the race), though I am now quite grouchy about the fact that the race organizer's "earth friendly recycling plan" has cut out any food/fruit distribution during the race, as well as drink lids that would otherwise allow you to carry your bottle with you. Send SMS to my fan club who was waiting eagerly at km 33 - I'm psychologically beat. I quit.

8. Head to the finish line by metro, sneak into runners area to claim "free" food. Low and behold, it's the first race I've ever seen that offers beer boths rather than PowerAid. Paramedic mayheim, collapsing runners found in all parts, being run around on stretchers, ambulances running over separation gates.

9) Go for FOOD. Contemplate the surely pending days of utter stiffness. Wonder in curious realization that marathons really are 90% psychological and a 30km in 3 hours untrained personal best!

10) Find out that the "psychological hell stretch" is notoriously known for being the most difficult section of the Madrid marathon because of the sense of isolation. Discover that the 30km mark in any marathon is lovingly known as "The Wall" for being the psychologically most difficult point ... if you can get past 30km you're good to go.

Next time, I'll be bringing my wall climbing shoes.