Since last week, when Don baited my postpartum blob of a person into running the GR Marathon in exchange for a free race entry and readership by those who mean more to me than Sylvester Stallone (especially after he never responded to the photo album I mailed to him in 2010), my brain has been in Marathon Training Mode.
Unlike the prenatal marathon training mode that existed in 2016 where I’d do multiple long runs weekly and meet up with Da Plan running group (Sunday mornings, 8 am, at John Ball Park—pancakes after!), postpartum marathon training has been the strong-willed intention of running at least 8 miles after Baby goes back in her cell/crib for the night, then instead going to Kroger to buy a cake because, “I’ve earned it after managing to be a person who hasn’t killed her husband for the last 305 days.”
So far, my “marathon training” has consisted of a couple 5Ks and one 5-mile run between now and when I wrote to y’all last week. Falling short of several miles and chaffing in areas that only other runners will understand, I come to you with a step count that puts me below my mom in “Here’s Your Weekly Progress Report from Fitbit! Wow! You Were Garbage This Week.”
So, is marathon training going well?
According to Fitbit? No. According to my legs that do 400 squats per day picking crap off the floor that Baby threw there? ...I hope that counts.
It’s insanely palatable to turn to cake instead of going for a run when all you can do is spare enough time to run a mile or two—if even that! What good does a 3-mile scamper do in regards to a 26.2-mile jaunt? I’m hoping more than I think.
If I’ve learned anything from training for my first marathon in 2016 other than not to precede an 11-mile group run with four CoronaRitas the night before, it’s that every little run you manage counts toward your ability to keep running when all you want to do is quit. And I’ll tell you something that’s guaranteed, folks: You’re going to want to quit during a marathon. I’ve found during those tempting, no-consequence-if-you-duck-out, miles that remembering those times you dragged yourself out for a 1.5-, 2-, or 3-mile run, instead of DoorDashing yourself every flavor of Muddy Buddies Chex Mix makes, gives you the kind of momentum that only PTSD can trigger.
As of now and until October 16, 2022, it’s uncertain whether or not I’ll be able to complete this marathon without $hitting myself—I mean—14 months after childbirth. But if I believe the small amount of time I can spare to work toward this goal is futile, then I know my outcome is cemented.
See if you can run a marathon by signing up for the GR Marathon at grandrapidsmarathon.com. If we give up mid-race, we can drag each other to the finish line.
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