Earlier this year, I impulsively ran my first half marathon without any training. My friend had gotten injured and offered me his bib a couple of days before the Brooks run. And I hated every moment of it because I wasn’t prepared.
I really should have learnt my lesson.
Last Saturday night, I was telling someone that I had somehow lost my half marathon bib and that I was planning to run without it. He happened to be holding on to a mutual friend’s full marathon bib whom had to go overseas for work unexpectedly.
He asked me if I wanted to run the full marathon instead.
My first reaction was “Heck no, are you crazy???” I hadn’t really trained at all – I had run only once in August and twice in September at distances of around 10km each time – and I had done just enough for me to feel like I’d be able to scrape through the half marathon. And then as the night went on, I started thinking about it more and more over dinner, and wondered if I could do it. What started as an itching curiosity slowly grew to a burning question.
That’s the problem with the competitive male ego. When you ask yourself questions about whether you can do something, many times you start finding a way to say yes. “It’s all about the pace. If I go slow, it will be fine.” “It’s all in the mind. They say that if you don’t give up, anyone can do it.” “I already did the half marathon without training. How much worse could this be?”
By the time I had finished dinner, I was convinced I could run it like the wind.
I went home, watched the Man Utd-West Brom game, which wasn’t the best idea because it was a horrible result which distressed me greatly. And then, since my friend was picking me up only two hours later, I decided not to sleep at all. This is something I don’t recommend at all as getting a good sleep before a run is essential and staying up really messed up my condition.
So I find myself at the starting line half asleep from not sleeping, woefully unprepared from a lack of training, and where the only part of me ready to run the race…was my ego.
Surprisingly, I actually start off pretty well. They had these wonderful big, helium-filled balloons attached to the pacers for the race and I decided to try to stay ahead of the 5:00 pacer because that was a good, comfortable pace. As usual at around the 8km mark, I started feeling some soreness in my legs, since I’m only used to running around 10km. But it was a manageable discomfort and I pushed through to reach the 21km marker before 2:20.
Then it started to get crazy. I’ve heard that you usually hit your wall at around 33 to 34km. I hit mine in my 22nd km. I started to alternate between walking and jogging slowly, progressively relying on walking a lot more. My muscles were fine and I didn’t feel particularly tired. But every joint in my leg was starting to be in excruciating pain – both ankles, both knees and the ligaments at the back of the knees, and my right hip flexor.
Most of time, people tell me about muscle cramps during long runs, especially in their calves. But I haven’t heard a lot talk about joint pain. And at 22km onwards, all I could think about was that I was only halfway through and imagining myself crawling over the finish line only using my hands like those decapitated zombies in The Walking Dead.
There were a few times I almost walked across the road to flag down a taxi, but each time, I would remember that I had left my wallet in my friend’s car. I honestly think that if I had cash on me, I’d have taken a cab back home, had a long, hot shower, and slept until Monday morning.
I saw a few people stop and sit down at the side of road, and although it was tempting, I knew that if I sat down, I wouldn’t be able to get back up. I may even have put my face down to the pavement to take a power nap while I wait for an ambulance to pick me up...
So I walked and walked, and I thought to myself how much longer I was dragging out this ordeal by limping through so slowly. But every time I worked up the courage to run on my swollen, inflamed joints, it would maybe last 100 metres at most before I went back to walking again. I found every excuse to stop – my rests at each drink station became more and more extended, and I suddenly needed to pee every time I passed a mobile toilet, even when there was nothing left to squeeze out.
I don’t know if I can accurately describe how bad the pain was – it wasn’t a dull, throbbing pain, but a very active, sharp stab every time I took a step. It grew to a point where even walking at my slowest pace still hurt intensely.
The last 6km was particularly sadistic because the organisers decided to put the hilliest part of the course at the end, through the housing area. However, I was quite all right with it because I had already decided that on any uphills, I would walk - it just gave me clear stretches where I could walk without feeling as ‘guilty’.
In the last 2-3km, all the groups from different distances congregated into one finishing route. To be completely honest, I was quite annoyed when I saw the whole group. They looked so ‘fresh’, especially those who were only doing the 10km race and they were walking! It was like a party atmosphere with people skipping around, talking to each other, and stopping to take pictures. Many times, they would stop right in front of other runners without realising it just to pose and take some silly selfie.
Here I was, feeling like I was at death’s door, and experiencing a sensation potentially similar to having screws driven into all my leg joints, trying my hardest to get to the finish line. And I’d be blocked by some oblivious couple, holding hands and humming The Lion King in front me, who decide to take a loving picture in the middle of the road.
If I had a blowtorch right then…
Finally, I see the finish line 100 metres away. I contemplate continuing my slow, limping walk so I can finish the race looking exactly as I feel. But then I see the cameras. And for one last, brutal, 100 meters, I jog.
I completed the 2013 Standard Charted Full Marathon in an unenviable time of 5 hours 24 minutes and 47 seconds (the cut off time was 6 hours). It was a stupid decision to try it without training and I wouldn’t advise anyone to do the same.
So is it possible to run a full marathon without training? According to my experience, it isn’t possible. It’s too taxing and your body hasn’t built up the capacity to handle the distance yet, especially the legs.
But is it possible to complete a full marathon without training? Absolutely. With a lot of pain and a decent base of fitness, it’s possible. But only with lot of walking – I don’t see anyone running throughout the 42km without preparation.
My actual first full marathon was supposed to be SCM Singapore this December. And this is where I’m determined to redeem myself by training for it and hitting sub 5 hours. Let’s see how that works out.
I leave you with some pictures from the day.
My 'fake' smile at the 36km marker
With Gabe, who finished in around 5 hours despite nursing a really bad cramp
The three of us who are no longer Full Marathon Virgins
Showing off our finisher T-Shirts
With the BWC running group after lunch
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