As the title suggests, I finished the L.A. Marathon.
How do I feel?
Physically, I feel like I was attacked by a group of angry feral cats. EVERYTHING hurts. Going to the bathroom is a hindrance at this point.
Mentally, I’m lost. I made a point to get all of this weeks readings done before heading to L.A. for the marathon. I don’t remember ANYTHING that I read.
Emotionally. After I crossed the finish line, I wanted to cry. Not from the pain, but from the reality that I actually accomplished what I set out to do. While this isn’t new to me, when I set a goal, I usually don’t think of it as difficult. I lay out a map, and get to work. A marathon is hard. There’s no map. I mean, there are training plans, but even then, it’s HARD. This is why I set out to do a marathon in the first place.
The morning of the race, I literally woke up and said, “I don’t want to do this.” I was over it.
Obviously, I got my butt out of bed, and headed to Dodger’s Stadium.
At Mile 18, I was >>>THIS<<<< close to calling my mom and saying that I wanted to quit. I didn’t call. I just kept running. I stopped moving twice to squat. My glutes were on fire. Otherwise, I kept moving. I knew that I would never forgive myself if I were to quit.
Crossing the finish line felt like…hmm…not to sound corny, but it felt like I could do anything. I no longer have the excuse to say that something is hard. The marathon was, hands down, the hardest thing I ever done. If I could do it again, I would. However, don’t quote me. I’m still disoriented from the entire experience.