The 13 emotional states of a marathon
So, you think you can run a marathon?
You’re doing the training, you’re eating right, you’ve all the right gear, your body is feeling good and you find it easy to motivate yourself.
Put a check mark next to all those traits and you’re onto a winner.
However, nothing can truly prepare you for the emotional roller coaster of running a marathon.
There will be highs (usually after sucking the life out of a gel packet), lows, tears, mind games, laughter, resilience, resignation, spiritual rebirth and glory among other irrational feelings.
Now, don’t panic and think positive.
Once you’re aware of the potential stages your mind can go through you can flag them and deal with each situation. So, here are 13 emotional states that you might encounter at various times on the day.
If you’re not nervous the morning of a marathon then you are probably unable to feel any emotion - you lucky fecker!
The butterflies are fluttering around the stomach and the harsh realisation of what you are about to embark on is very much at the forefront of your mind.
The race begins, the crowded streets bring acclaim and, after a couple of miles, the nerves have died. You start to enjoy the race.
It’s quite easy, this running lark, isn’t it?
Fabulous #iecorkmarathon medals celebrating the 10 years of Cork City Marathon, brought to you by @corkcitycouncil pic.twitter.com/GySijUCX3d
— Analog Devices Cork City Marathon (@TheCorkMarathon) May 30, 2016
The crowds dissipate as the race meanders into less populated territory along motorways and through industrial estates.
You chat to fellow runners with, “How many have you done?”, being a common opening line. You start to feel like an athlete and these are your people. You’re where you belong and it feels good.
The talking has stopped and you are glancing at your watch. You still feel okay physically but as the minutes pass away you realise that this is no training run. It’s the real thing and you will be doing 26.2 miles today.
All your friends and family are aware of it too, so there’s no pulling out now.
Now the mind games with yourself begin. You list a thousand reasons in your head as to why you need to get to the finish line in the best shape you possibly can and begin to calculate what time you’ll get there in if you keep a certain pace.
You know there will be diminishing returns so you are faced with a dilemma: Put time in the bank or hold back and keep a steady pace?
Time goals are sometimes thrown away at this point as getting to the tape becomes the top priority. Your survival is valued above all else.
The build up to the @TheCorkMarathon begins here. Join the action with #IECorkMarathon https://t.co/HpM9hgZdOm ^DH pic.twitter.com/lhaSz1dx1P
— Irish Examiner (@irishexaminer) May 31, 2016
The mind is growing ever darker and the negative thoughts are setting in. You wonder if you can actually complete this mammoth distance at all.
The 20-mile run you did two weeks previous to the race left you stiff and sore and today you have an extra 6.2 miles to do.
This is daunting but it’s a natural thing and you’ll soon realise the training you did is going to get that weary body over the line no matter what.
Not before things get a lot more hormonal, though.
You and you alone decided to do a marathon but it’s everybody else’s fault anyway.
A lively half-marathon runner sees you struggling, comes gliding past tapping you on the back with an encouraging word and you think, “It’s alright for them, they only have 13 miles to do, bloody wusses.”
You’ll feel like shouting at this lovely person but your energy levels are so sapped a barely audible grunt is all you can muster.
You’ll meet them later at baggage claim and give them a hug.
And what about the pesky organisers?
“Where did they put that finish line, feckin’ Donegal? What kind of an idiot devised a route with so many hills? This is a stupid race, never again!”
So on and so forth.
“I’m in so much pain. Why did I do this to myself? I can’t run. Why did I think I could run? Nobody on earth could possibly understand how sore my hips and back feel right now!”
You’ve never known chafing quite like it and the salty sweat from your forehead is running into your eyes and mouth. That’s the taste of self-loathing.
It always comes when you least expect it and will sweep on for a mile or two as you begin to adapt and think that you may actually be able to finish this thing.
It doesn’t last long, though, you know you need to use it, so you speed up and very soon after, slow down again.
The pain returns….. the searing, brutal pain of your naivety.
In a moment of almost spiritual enlightenment, your soul is detached from your body in motion below, putting one foot in front of the other in the pursuit of a piece of metal to wear around your neck.
Everything is clear now. The world has been freed of complication and you see everything in a different light. If you can survive this race, you can do anything. World domination awaits as soon as you cross the finish line.
All of this is soon discarded, though, as the pain returns!
As soon as you reach the 24-mile mark and see all the people clapping and cheering you, you’ll be lifted from your hell.
The 26-mile marker will induce a sprint - well, you’ll think it’s a sprint, but it’s more of a lively, awkward jog to observers - as your urgency levels are heightened by sight of the finish line.
“It’s nearly over!!!”
Nearly there.... @TheCorkMarathon pic.twitter.com/dGWbwEy1sP
— Frances Lynch (@francork) June 2, 2016
Your aching body and muscles mean you’re quite vulnerable, so you’re a big bag of emotion at the finish line. There’s no need to worry about tears, though, as you’re so dehydrated it’s impossible to cry.
With a marathon medal around your neck you’ll start to look at people in the street and ask yourself if they have done a marathon. You reason that they probably haven’t and that they are obviously inferior beings to your good self.
Humility does not return to normal levels for at least three months.
CONNECT WITH US TODAY
Be the first to know the latest news and updates
