13 Reasons Why You Should NEVER Run A Marathon
Let's not beat around the bush here: the only two reasons anyone actually runs a marathon are the medal and the lifetime bragging rights. That's it. That's the whole sport. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you, or worse, lying to themselves.
Those are basically the only good reasons. Everything else about marathon training is, objectively, a terrible idea. Allow me to explain, from someone currently three World Marathon Majors deep into this sheer nonsense.
You will become weirdly obsessed with shoelaces
And not just your running shoes. ALL your shoes. You will develop opinions about lacing techniques for high arches, for wide feet, for "runner's toe," for problems you didn't know you had until a run exposed them. And then, and this is the real problem, you will feel utterly compelled to teach everyone around you how to properly tie their shoes, too. Nobody asked. But it’s your duty to tell them.
You will transform into a strange tech goblin
Suddenly, you're syncing watches to apps to other apps, cross-referencing training load against recovery scores against resting heart rate, all while doing the school run, replying to a work email, and defrosting something for dinner. You develop the multitasking powers of an absolute five-head giga-mom. Nobody trained you for this. You just became it.
Your calendar becomes a hostage negotiation
Every week now revolves around the (dreaded) long run. Social events (if you have any because I’m about as social as platypus) get RSVP'd to with one eye on the training plan. And if you're solo-parenting because your other half is away for work, that long run somehow has to happen in the 2-minute gap between nursery drop-off and a full day of actual paid work, which is less "me time" and more "logistical warfare."
Your bike becomes the third wheel in your relationship
Running and cycling will both want your weekend attention, and you will spend actual, real time feeling guilty about cheating on one with the other. Your bike ends up just sitting there, glaring at you as you meticulously tie your running shoes. You know the look. Good thing bikes don’t have feelings, right? (or do they?)
Your wardrobe becomes 90% activewear
Little shorts, Lycra, compression socks, vests, the works. And somewhere along the way you convince yourself it's completely normal to wear this to the shops, or on the school run, in February. It's not really about comfort, if I’m honest. It's so everyone knows you run. And, deep down, so everyone knows you're better than them. You are winning at life (in your mind).
Chafing
Yea, sorry, there's no positive spin here. I'm not even going to try. Chafing is just straightforwardly, unglamorously awful, and marathon training guarantees you'll meet it eventually, somewhere you really didn't want to… or think you could.
You will sh*t yourself
No joke. It happens to all of us. Just ask Paula Radcliffe. Marathon training is intense on your stomach at the best of times, and that's before you add gels and chews sloshing around your gut like a washing machine. But here's the upside: once you've popped your mid-run poop seal for the first time, you have one less f*ck to give for the rest of your life.
You will try SO hard not to talk about it, and fail spectacularly
You'll go into a social situation with a genuine plan not to mention your training. You'll last about four minutes. Then someone says a word, any word, "Sunday," for example, and you will seize the opening like a starving animal and shoehorn marathon training into the conversation regardless of whether it fits. Everyone can see you doing it. You cannot stop yourself.
You will hate 99% of every training run while you're doing it
And then feel like an absolute boss bitch the second you've finished it. This is what people mean by "type 2 fun." Maybe even type 3. You will spend an hour genuinely questioning your life choices mid-run, and then spend the rest of the day insufferably pleased with yourself about it.
You will ugly-cry at home, and in public
Not from the pain, though there's plenty of that too. From gratitude. From a stranger holding a sign that says something ridiculous. From the sheer, stupid joy of a finish line after months of squeezing training into lunch breaks and missed sessions and days that didn't go to plan. Actually, crossing a marathon finish line is the only acceptable reason to completely let yourself go and ugly cry, and it’ll be the best cry of your life.
You start planning holidays around cities that host marathons
Somewhere along the way, "where shall we go on holiday?" becomes less of a question consulted with your other half. You already know where you’re going on holiday, you already know the course, the elevation profile and how long you have to squeeze in a decent training block.
You will never, ever feel like you've "arrived"
You'll finish one marathon, and the feeling of accomplishment is bloody great. But it’s a fleeting moment before it turns into an itch, a craving to feel that sense of absolute bad-assery. You'll wonder if you can do it faster. Or further. Or with slightly less crying at the end of it. There is no finish line for wanting to know what you're capable of, which is either the most inspiring or the most exhausting thing about this whole bloody running malarkey.
So there you go. Terrible hobby. Ruins your shoe collection, your wardrobe, and your ability to shut up about it.
Ten out of ten, would absolutely recommend.
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