Run Your First Marathon

Run a marathon. I did, and it hurt. But it was fun -- and it was fun in part because of the hurt. Part of the glory of marathoning is the pain.

But the funny thing about running is that I still can't say I like it, at least all the time. When I like it, it's usually because I'm running for a purpose. Hum-drum morning runs are a great way to get the blood flowing, but in my mind, it's little different from doing the dishes.

But take the same run at the same time of day with the same sweaty, hot conditions and add some goal -- say, a marathon -- and I'm all for it. Even if I'm doing something as simple and relatively unimportant as running, it's got to have a decent purpose. I think that goes for everyone. For some, it's getting the blood moving. For me, it's pushing farther to see if I can accomplish something new and discipline myself appropriately.

So these are the good pursuits: things that have specific goals. Any activity should be done with a view toward meaning and excellence.

It would be silly if someone just ran as the primary focus in their life. Dean Karnazes does this, and he may pull it off. He provides inspiration to many and raises money for worthy causes. But running in and of itself is not an end. There is a certain point at which you cannot go farther, even if you have run 350 miles straight in the past. Soon, any activity begins to chase the wind.

Back to training: overall, training isn't extremely painful or hard. But there is difficulty, and that comes in small, intense pockets. It's pretty similar to the difficulty of the first 3 minutes of an early morning: the decision to finally swing the legs over the bedside and the physical action of the first step are the most painful moments. But almost immediately after, being awake and running is downright fun.

So how do you train for a marathon?

The tactic of prepping for a marathon is to run long distances on the weekends and shorter distances during the week. It's stupidity incarnate to run long and hard every day. Still, having never run much before this, I did not like training. The shortest distances hurt. I couldn't really breathe. (Shocker: I do not like the feeling of not being able to breathe.) Then an epiphany: I should not attempt a quick pace. I should not run at the speed I thought "a real jogger" would do. I should not worry about how slowly it looked like I was hobbling.

And that was the key. Those are the reasons why training caught on.

In a nutshell, I realized that the primary goal was to finish the run. Loftier goals later. Often I debated internally, wondering whether I was actually "jogging." It definitely did not look like much more than walking. I had an aversion to doing something imperfectly: why attempt to run at all if I can only shuffle? Why settle for "just finishing" when I want to be excellent in everything?

But then I finished this so-called jog. That was key. The hobbling gradually became legitimate prep for real running later.

Getting out the door is maybe the hardest part of training. My motivation is regularly dead, and my legs feel creaky and uncomfortable. It's the easiest thing in the world to rationalize: I'll do it tomorrow. What's a single day?

Kill those thoughts. Get out the door. Without fail, within five minutes of starting, you'll be glad you did.

But those first minutes of running are tough, too. In the first mile, breathing is rough: my body says "Would you mind?" My feet feel like they hit the ground harder than they should, and my stomach feels funny from the previous meal. But after the first mile, my body remembers what this is all about. Feet hit the ground more gently, breathing settles in, legs stop creaking, and it actually seems like I'm running faster than before.

This is what is difficult about running. Getting started.

The long runs are tough. But they're beatable. During long runs, you settle into a slow pace (even elite runners go slow on long runs) and blaze new trails. If you're new to it, it's especially fun, because you've likely never run as far as you do during each successive long run.

Mentally engage. Win the battle before you start. By the time I've hit the tough part of the run where I've been on my feet for a very long time, my mind kicks into full gear. I'm at the phase where I'm either breaking new ground or I've already come far enough to make stopping stupid. The discomfort takes a back seat. Starting is the real problem, and that problem is only mental.

So find a marathon, sign up, and run. It's fun. The insane difficulty makes it fun. You won't regret it. As Prince Humperdink says, "I'd bet my life on it."