I had a bad feeling about this race.
I don’t know if it came about in the 45-minute walk from my AirBNB to the start line. It was a brisk morning and I was bundled up in an Australia sweatshirt that I was going to throw into my bag and check at the finish. Sure, the gusty wind that whistled through the Odense streets cut through and chilled me to the bone… but I’ve been colder before. And it wasn’t that I arrived ridiculously early, as frankly I so often do for races. I only know that while I was leaning against a pillar in the heated hallway of the stadium waiting for the start, a steady flow of Danes arrived, seemingly cheering each other on, family members hugging and kissing loved ones in encouragement as they prepared to brave the running challenge, be it 10K, half marathon, or full distance. Rightly so, it was all Danish all the time, with no English to be found. I’m not good in groups anyway but this whole thing had a cacophonous noise to it, an overwhelming Phil Spector-ian wall of sound that made me feel like the walls were closing in.
I decided to head to the start line early, to breathe the open air, to acclimate to the chill of the morn with goose pimples making the hairs on my extremities stand on end, and to try and find solace in solitude to mentally psych myself up… when in fact I seemed to have psyched myself out. I had something of a low-grade panic attack, the feeling of a boulder pressed against my chest, constricting the flow of oxygen from my lungs. On top of that I felt like a heavy anchor had been wrapped about my feet. While I stood in the corral, one of the first to arrive, I spotted various groups getting in some warm-up distances before the race (a process I’ve never quite understood – we’re going to be running soon enough and far enough for me). I knew today was going to be a tough day.
As the crowds gathered in the corral, filling up space, runners jockeying for a few extra paces closer to the line, I felt jostled and bumped and at times shoved aside. I’m not sure if there were Danish apologies made, an “excuse me” or a “sorry about that….” There didn’t seem to be any words spoken, just actions. I don’t know if European personal space bubbles are perhaps tighter than what I’m accustomed to as an American or if I was doing something wrong or if I was being overly sensitive. But I did find myself uncomfortable in the crowd.
I tried though to shrug it all off, to smile and laugh, to fake it and thus to trick myself into a brighter outlook and mood. We all put on a mask now and again, a shiny, happy face that sometimes… sometimes… becomes reality in the telling. But all too often it’s just a dodge, an attempt to hide from the reality. Today’s reality was a struggle. And it got worse as the day wore on.
My legs and body and soul all were tired before the race even started. And I don’t know if it was psychological or physiological symptom that I was feeling light headed and had trouble staying in a straight line; I seemed to be wavering and weaving as one made with wine. I admit to having a small glass with a bowl of pasta the night before… but that had been more than 12 hours prior. Perhaps I was dehydrated, a common enough occurrence. But with my inability to catch my breath due to the metaphorical boulder clutched to my chest, I couldn’t rule out anything.
The race itself was a two-loop endeavor, a route redirected and redrawn due to the myriad construction projects going on in Odense. There were far more folks out cheering on the first loop, no doubt there to support a half-marathoner they knew. By the second lap, it had grown quieter and lonelier on the course, even with fellow marathoners surrounding me. As I would stumble to a halting pace, they would shout what I presume to be words of encouragement. But I didn’t know how to respond. I tried to find the words to say, “I’m trying…” and yet I don’t know if that was comprehensible through my wheezing. Eventually I think I gleaned that “tak” was a Danish “thank you” and I tried to say that to volunteers along the way. But truly this was a race that though there were others about, I was very much alone. A marathon I’ve often said is an incredibly personal endeavor done in the most supportive communal atmosphere imaginable. But there are times when no matter the size or enthusiasm of the crowd, you are just within a uniquely individualistic struggle.
I had one of those days where I knew I was faltering and there wasn’t anything to be done. A pipe dream was that I wanted to see if I could somehow make a BQ time… not even the new 2020 cutoff but the apparently “all-too-easy” time of 3:15. Running the numbers as I ran the race, I knew this was beyond a pipe dream – it was a fool’s quest. But I still held out hope to beat my time from the previous race. And yet, somewhere around mile 20 I was passed by the pacer that meant I had no chance of doing that either. I got passed by a lot of people as the kilometer markers clicked by. If I’m reading the stats correctly at the race’s end, I wound up being passed by well over 200 people. I think all in there were about 1500 marathoners. It was a disheartening experience, a rolling sense of failing that just left me feeling ever more panicked… and ever more disappointed in myself.
There is more to be said about all this and indeed the weeks in Europe before, something I hope will help provide context and insight into what’s been happening. But before I get to that, as is tradition on RunKevinRun marathon recaps, here’s a photo gallery of the race:
By the way – I never did see that legacy runner guy I met at the expo. I have no idea what fairy tale character he was. Indeed, I didn’t see ANYONE in costume, either in the race or along the route. It was… a bit of a bummer to be honest.
I know there have been criticisms levied at me regarding the tone and wordings of my posts. And I know this piece has done little to course-correct. But what comes next may explain why. At least, I hope it does.